As someone who has worked in restaurants, pubs, kitchens & bars most of his adult life to date, I feel I am ideally suited to comment on the industry in general.
If there are two things I like to do when indeed I am not conducting a successful service, it is eating out, and writing (not necessarily about eating out, until now). So while I enjoy working at the higher end of the market, with great chefs, serving inspiring food, pouring sensual wines and shaking elaborate cocktails, I have one major drawback... I work in hospitality. Therefore, as a father, I don't have the income to eat out all the often, especially not in places that are equally inspiring & ground breaking.
When I do have the opportunity, and the capital, I like to spend it on eating out with the woman of my dreams (someone who, I'm pleased to say shares my passion for great dining experiences). This isn't always an extravagant excursion. For every visit to Hawksmoor, there's two or three country pub lunches or safe branded conveniences.
Something that has come to my attention, particularly in these choking economic times, is that even at the higher end, the more refined venues are providing a more relaxed menu, with more comfortable items, with a more exciting atmosphere, with a wittier service. The lines are blurring. The tables are turning (hopefully literally in most restaurants). The mission, these days, far simpler. To put a smile on the face, arouse the buds, and fill the belly through perfection at all levels of hospitality. Any less is unacceptable & as I intend to point out, completely avoidable.
So why The Dirty Chicken? Well because as the classically carnivorous male that I am, some days I do want to eat out, some days I do want to spend a bit of money, but some days I want to spend that money on a box of fried chicken (preferably from an alternative/premium vendor, but not essential). Seasoned to perfection. Crispy, salty skin. Juicy, succulent flesh. Dirty fingers. Happy boy.
No comments:
Post a Comment