Restaurants

Lunch
So it’s suddenly midday and now I have to look through every part of the menu, which will list four fish mains, four meat and two specials, as well as starters, pasta and desserts. I taste all the sauces, and check everything’s been correctly prepared. Has the spinach been blanched? The potatoes par-roasted? The asparagus cooked? Have the courgettes been thinly sliced and salted so they cook in the heat of the kitchen, the salt drawing out all the moisture?

I check that the ravioli has been blanched in water and then refreshed in iced water, that the lobster stock is waiting to go, that the beef carpaccio has been cut and placed between two pieces of plastic so it doesn’t discolour. Have the beef, duck and veal been weighed? And the ice creams made, churned fresh so they can be scooped easily?

Every single component is portion-controlled in a little container, measured and ready to be plated. The essential thing, of course, is that nothing is actually cooked until the order comes through. Feature continues

The chefs discuss the day's menu

Our customers start to arrive from midday. We often do 100-plus for lunch or 120 if the cellar room’s booked. (Tony Blair enjoyed some sea bass down there recently.) The majority of orders come through at 1.20pm, when it’s as if a couple of coaches have arrived outside. Everyone wants to eat within an hour so it’s a military operation in the kitchen: one person each on the grill, sauce, pasta, salad, and pass [the area where the plates are dressed], the latter usually my sous-chef or me. My number one rule at lunch is no risotto as it takes 20 minutes, which means the customer may have to wait half an hour for their starter.

My job is to jump onto each section when I’m needed. Sometimes word goes round that Michelin has walked in and, even with as much prep as possible, you can never stop your heart racing. Making sure everything is clean is probably the biggest worry. There’s no excuse for anything to be less than perfect.

By 3pm it’s pretty much over. Some people like to eat later, however, or don’t like a full restaurant. Some have bodyguards and always eat late – one politician in exile will only come in after his bodyguards have first checked that it’s not too busy, and then asks for the blinds to be subtly lowered.

At 3pm it’s the two-hour changeover period, and people rattle around the kitchen communicating what needs to be done in preparation for evening service. That’s when I also have a meeting with my two sous-chefs: it might be about who’s eating in the cellar room that night, or any food issues that have arisen, or whether someone needs to be kept an eye on. At 5pm, six of the morning staff will leave, but three will stay on – along with the rest of the evening staff – for the heroic double shift.