Chef and critic?

“What’s the best restaurant in London?”

The dreaded question. What to say? My credibility as a chef is on the line.

I can think of some classic options, your usual open-fire, nose-to-tail, seasonal-regional sourcing restaurants. But they are perhaps too obvious, too familiar, too close to what I do every day. A boring option to go for.

Or we have the hole-in-the-wall options. Neighbourhood spots. Tiny and elusive. The shabbier and dingier the better, seats no more than eight, no reservations, a husband-and-wife-affair, cooking their little heart out. But that, too, might sound too forced. Too try-hard to be alternative.

I would never dare to name the ones that are popping off on social media (although I can’t deny that they, too, must evidently be doing a good job). And naming a fine-dining-tasting-menu restaurant doesn’t feel quite right either – sure, it’s quite the dining experience, but who really can be arsed to sit through eleven tiny courses only to spend a sixth of their month’s earnings? (Chef salary, speaking.) 

And then there’s my own workplace. I may honour it as a final thought, a last suggestion, but after the innumerable hours, weeks, months, if not years of cooking the food, my objective understanding is so warped that I sometimes question whether we serve anything worth enjoying at all.

It's easy to turn to chefs as reliable and educated restaurant critics. We know the ins and outs, the new top spots, the up-and-coming openings, the who’s who and what’s what of the industry. You might argue that we are indeed the most qualified when it comes to evaluating the quality of a restaurant. But there are a few side factors to consider when taking a chef’s recommendation: Overfamiliarity. Pride. Competition. Jealousy. Or pretending that we know more than we actually do.

There may be perfectly fine restaurants that chefs might turn their noses up against, simply because the dishes are “too basic”, or because there are too many “people pleasers” on the menu (God forbid a restaurant tries to please its customers). They may criticise the quality and originality of the ingredients (“Where’s the offal??”) or, the worst: the restaurant was successful enough to open up another, even bigger branch – too commercial! A sell-out! Into the bin they go!

You may ask a chef about their opinion about a restaurant and be greeted with points like: “Their head chef is an arrogant prick”, or, “Oh the team there is full of alcoholics”. Now I’m not saying these aren’t points worth considering, but if you were just figuring out where to book a cosy weeknight dinner with friends, this information may well feel a tad, well, dare I say, irrelevant. A quick note about the quality of the pasta and a recommendation on the dessert options would have, perhaps, sufficed.

And heaven forbid you bring up a restaurant which a chef considers to be in competition with their own place of work, or one which, in their opinion, has been enjoying a little too much success recently; watch them pull out criticisms from the depth of their greasy sleeves. Listen out to subtle changes of tone, the way they describe the menu items, perhaps pointing out the privileges and budgets and extensive staff of said restaurant. Then they go in for the kill with a few savage descriptions of the food itself (underseasoned, overcooked, unoriginal), or a personal dig at the executive chef, only to finish with pursed lips, a shrug, and a challenging: “But hey, what do I know!”.

So, of course, feel free to listen to our opinions. But just as every other customer, we are merely subjective diners with our own little opinions worth no more than anyone else’s. Indeed, we are perhaps a little too subjective.