Memories are made of tasty food stories

It’s well over a year now that I retired from the restaurant business, but on entering an eating establishment, I cannot stop myself from thoroughly scanning the place out and noticing the simplest flaw such as a burnt-out bulb or a wonky wall mirror. The small things that would’ve sent me up the wall during my restaurant days. 

Soon after we opened our first restaurant, Krimo’s in May 1985, as novices, Karen and I spent our Sundays, our only day off at the time, scouring the Northeast for restaurants to dine at in order to learn our trade by picking up cooking and service tips. I rarely settled for the type of restaurant which offered food and service of a similar standard to ours, opting instead for those places listed in food guides in a bid to learn new things. It was in the course of those visits that we discovered many of the North’s best restaurants of the late eighties and early nineties. The only snag was that most of them were the old fashion style set in old country houses turned into posh country hotels. A few of them employed the odd snooty head-waiter who pranced around like a peacock and a sommelier who would burst out with laughter if an unfortunate diner ever enquired whether they sold Blue Nun. I often deflated the egos of the more obnoxious ones by emphasising the correct pronunciation of French, Italian or Spanish dishes and wines and watching their reaction. On other occasions, I’d purposely and mischievously order a bottle of that famous Italian wine, “Shianti” just to see the shock on the wine waiter’s face. 

But on the whole, we were fortunate to enjoy many memorable dinners expertly served in smart surroundings. Sadly, most of those places have since either been taken over or simply closed their doors for good. 

I remember 21 Queen St., Terry Laybourne’s first Newcastle restaurant, where he had gained the first and only Michelin star in the Northeast. It was a place for special celebrations only, as the prices were well above average but the food and service were out of this world. The cheeseboard alone could have fed an army on the move with the variety of British and continental cheeses on offer. On one occasion, I asked the waiter to find out where Terry got his filo pastry. He came back a few minutes later with part of the cardboard packaging with the supplier’s name written on the back — a place called Vin Sullivan in Abergavenny (Wales) that is still going to this day. At the time, it was one of the only UK suppliers of foreign produce. Times have definitely changed now when you can get some of the best filo pastry at your local supermarket.

I began ordering quite a few items from that company, including the genuine Greek filo pastry which came frozen. We used it to make our famous boureks. Another dish which used the pastry was a baked salmon fillet served in a creamy chive sauce. 

Nowadays, with the restaurant business well behind me, whenever I dine out, I sadly notice very simple flaws which, if corrected, could delight customers. But then, sometimes when owners are caught on the rollercoaster of running their business, they can be forgiven for missing a few minor details as long as these do not become so big as to undermine the hard work.