The politics of gradual change
There was a time when I rarely aired my political views in public or discussed politics with my regular customers for fear of losing at least half my clientele. It was hard enough trying to convince a customer that a juicy, medium-rare steak was miles better than a frazzled one that looks like a shrivelled piece of charcoal.
Mind you, over the years, we did manage to convert a few of those diners who loved their meat well-done. It often took time, sometimes weeks or months, when every time they came to the restaurant, I undercooked their steak slightly more than the last time.
I remember a particular customer, Keith Leck, sadly departed now. When he first came to Krimo’s at Seaton Carew, he ordered a fillet and asked Karen to have it cremated. She tried to explain to him that he should try it medium to well-done and if he didn’t like it, I would gladly cremate it for him. I cooked it. He liked it. The next time he and his wife, Sheila, dined with us, I undercooked his fillet again. He didn’t send it back.
Over the next twelve months, I kept repeating the process of reducing the cooking time by a few seconds until Keith was tucking into his rare fillet and thoroughly loving it. I am not quite sure how vegetarian Sheila reacted to the sight of blood on her husband’s plate.
Not every one of our customers was as flexible or adventurous as Keith was. Over time, I mellowed and gave up on trying to change people’s tastes too drastically and concluded that if they enjoyed their food cremated, who was I to try to educate them.
On the subject of politics, religion and other divisive topics, I always avoided being drawn into having fully-blown discussions that could possibly have led to heated arguments with those who provided me and my staff with a livelihood. Mind you, I do love an argument but my restaurants weren’t the place for them.
Speaking of arguments, my friend and Krimo’s head-chef of many years, Madjid now happily retired, must be the most argumentative person I know. Although we share the same birthday, I on one hand would finish a discussion by agreeing to disagree, Madjid, on the other hand, is like a Rottweiler. He can never let go. He does not have to hold a deep conviction for the subject under discussion. He just takes a side, whichever side, and argues the point. In the years I have worked with him since 1996 when he moved to Hartlepool from Sunderland, we have not gone one single day without disagreeing about something. In my Seaton Carew kitchen, we often got the junior staff roped into our arguments. One day, I said my Béchamel was better than his. We ended up having a white sauce competition with the young chefs for judges. They naturally declared Madjid the winner. Of course, I paid their wages but he was the chef they had to work with on a daily basis.
Nowadays, we meet up once a week for a coffee with other friends, and there is never an occasion when Madjid doesn’t fail to bite. We could be talking about the weather and he would find a reason to argue that the sky is not blue enough or the clouds are too white. When the time comes to part, we shake hands and plan the next get together with a smile.