‘If you get the hospitality right, the food tastes better’

Fred Sirieix, general manager, Galvin at Windows

Fred Sirieix knows exactly where his interest in service comes from: his parents’ careers in the French equivalent of the NHS in Limoges, where he grew up. “Every day before going on the night shift my dad would shave,” he says now. “I asked him why he did that. He told me it was to make the patients trust him. The conversation around the dinner table was all about patient care. It was about making sure people had a good experience.”

This, he says, is what has driven him through a lifelong career front of house both in France and the UK. It has led to his current position as general manager of Galvin at Windows, perched high above London at the Park Lane Hilton and, through his role in Channel 4’s First Dates, as the nation’s maître d’, cupid in a sharp suit, making sure that potential lovers have the best possible chance of getting it together over dinner. “When you talk about hospitality,” he says, “you are talking about connecting with people. It’s about giving first and giving generously.”

And all this delivered with the glorious see-saw of his French accent. Sirieix, who has two children and lives in south London with his partner, is bright-eyed and intense. When he talks, there’s never a fear that he will scan the room over your shoulder in search of someone more interesting. He is interested only in you. It is utterly beguiling, as the many fans of his short lectures on the art of love, delivered in First Dates, already know.

And yet beneath this warmth and gloss lies a mind like a steel trap. He is able to take the very emotional business of working front of house and break it down into functions and systems. “What I’m good at,” he says, “is looking at the customer journey, at the what and the how. There are key touch points in it that have to be managed.” He talks about the process when a customer first approaches reception – “you must see, smile and say hello to people before they can do it to you”; about how there should be “five smiles” from his staff en route from reception to the table. “Though, of course, we are a big restaurant. In a smaller restaurant perhaps it is three.” The fact is, he says, that “if you get all that right, the food tastes better”. Unsurprisingly, he’s now in demand as a consultant for companies outside the restaurant world who also have to look at customer service.

As is the often the case, much of his story is happenstance. School did not suit him and when a friend announced he was going to catering college, Sirieix followed. While he did some training in the kitchen, and believes he could still work a service as a cook if they were desperate, he soon specialised in working front of house. After training in a Michelin one-star in France he came to England to work at Pierre Koffmann’s La Tante Claire as much, he says, out of a love of the English language as anything else. That was 24 years ago. Since then he has worked everywhere from Le Gavroche to Sartoria and the Bluebird Cafe, before joining up with the Galvin brothers 10 years ago.

Sirieix readily acknowledges that the British often look down upon working as a waiter. Of the 45 front of house staff at Galvin at Windows, only two are British. So a few years ago, he launched National Waiters Day – it takes place in October this year – to celebrate the job and attract talent into hospitality.

“I wanted people to know there’s a real and rewarding career here. I want to change perceptions about being a waiter. I don’t think British people are bad at being waiters,” he says. “I just don’t think they are offered it as an option. The problem lies with the schools and the parents.” So, I ask, what makes a good waiter? “You have to enjoy people and you need to be able to understand people,” he says. “Every single person is different. But as you become more experienced you get a rucksack of knowledge that helps you to see what’s happening and understand how to react.”

Viewers of First Dates know that however lightly he wears it, his own rucksack is full. Why did he decide to do television? He gives a brilliantly Gallic shrug. “It sounded fun and you have to consider any opportunity. I looked carefully at it and became sure it was a good programme at heart.” So does he enjoy being recognised? He smiles. “It’s nice when you can get a table in a crowded restaurant,” he says. Though of course, only when the maître d’ handles the situation well.

Fred Sirieix’s dos and don’ts

How do you get the best table?
You ask to speak to the manager and explain why it’s important, but always be polite. And sometimes, if you’re lucky you can have it.

What’s the best way to complain?
You say what’s happening. Explain it in a clear and chronological manner. Don’t be an arse about it, but be firm. See their reaction and decide whether they have dealt with the problem properly and if they haven’t, don’t ever go back. Somebody working front of house needs to be able to listen to customers and put themselves in their shoes.

Is the customer always right?
Yes. The times when the customer is not always right are so rare that they are not even worth mentioning. There are words and phrases that no waiter should ever say to a customer. They are: “No, but …”; “I’ll double check …”; “I’ll try”; “Why … ?”

Define the best kind of customer
Any customer is good. I like people. There are those who come by themselves once a year and those who come three times a week. It doesn’t matter how often they come or why. They are all deserving of good service.

What is the worst type of customer?
Sometimes people are plain rude, inconsiderate or ignorant. But this is not because they are in a restaurant. This is because they are people. They would be like this in a supermarket or at a doctor’s surgery. These people are not well. But it’s so rare that it’s not worth mentioning. In 10 years here, I have had only two people I would have had to remove from the restaurant if they’d carried on. One was using foul language. The other was a table of ex-public school boys who kept putting their plates on the floor when they’d finished their food. I spoke to them and they topped.

Are there any red lines for customers?
If a customer is drunk and is touching a member of staff inappropriately, if they are using foul language or if their behaviour becomes threatening, then that is unacceptable.

What do you think of phones in restaurants?
In the future, possibly phones will come with health warnings. It’s become an addiction. People are taking pictures of food but they are not talking to each other. Look, I don’t mind what they do. If they are using flash and it is irritating others then yes, I would intervene. When you work front of house you have to use good sense when deciding to get involved.

Many people find service charges and tipping confusing. Do you agree?
Yes, it would be good if you could include service in the price of the meal. But then the price would increase and there would be tax implications. And how do you come up with a system that would work both for McDonald’s and Galvin at Windows? It’s an imperfect system, but if we change it, the replacement has to work for everyone.

Are waiters paid enough in Britain?
No, but I feel the same way about teachers and those who work for the NHS. But both pay and working conditions for waiters are improving.

You should become a waiter because …?
… of the many opportunities in this industry. It opens doors to so many things. You can travel the world as a waiter.

To be a good waiter you must be…?
Human.

‘It doesn’t matter what has happened, it’s how you deal with it’

Danielle Thompson, general manager, Scott’s Mayfair

Danielle Thompson smiles a lot. This is partly just her generally sunny disposition, she thinks, but also she has found it a useful tactic at work, as general manager of Scott’s in Mayfair. “If stuff is going wrong, smiling almost makes you more relaxed in a way,” she says. “Maybe there’s a booking that’s gone in the wrong night and you’ve got six guests standing in front of you with no table. Or maybe a tray of main courses being dropped. It’s a live environment; this is how it is. But, in my opinion, it doesn’t matter what has happened, it’s how you deal with it.”

She goes on: “Some of our best customer relationships have been conceived in a moment of awfulness where somebody has complained. That’s your opportunity then. That’s something you’ve got to build on. It’s about taking ownership, being on the front foot, and smiling and communicating. All basic principles but oft forgotten in restaurants.”

The 38-year-old Thompson has risen very high, very quickly. She graduated in genetics from University College London and most of her fellow students were destined for jobs in research. One of Thompson’s best friends is now a doctor specialising in gene therapy. “Whenever I’m talking to her, I think, ‘God, I’m so glad I’m not doing that!’” she laughs. “It wouldn’t have been right for me. The social aspect of this, the camaraderie. On a very basic level, it’s satisfying to please people through the medium of food and drink. It’s good fun.”

Thompson’s first experience of hospitality was working as second chef in a fish restaurant in the village where she grew up. While at UCL, she helped out friends at Medcalf in Clerkenwell. She has been at Scott’s since 2006, when it was relaunched by Richard Caring as his first venture for Caprice Holdings, first as lunchtime maître d’ and then, after three years, as general manager. Being a young and female GM was “unusual”, she concedes, especially at a high-profile restaurant. Thompson says simply: “In my position now, I carry the can.”

For the most part, Thompson has been at the centre of a decade of enviable success at Scott’s. The restaurant, which first opened in 1851, suddenly became the most desirable spot in London once again. The renowned seafood, especially oysters served from the marble-topped crustacea bar, was part of the draw, but it was the frictionless service that kept the very rich and the very famous coming back again and again.

Not that it has all been smooth: Charles Saatchi’s altercation with Nigella Lawson at Scott’s in 2013 must have been a challenging day at the office. “It was a peculiar thing that happened,” says Thompson, picking her words carefully. “But I haven’t heard anyone make reference to that for probably 12 months now. So hopefully that’s yesterday’s news.” With Scott’s clientele, discretion is essential, but for Thompson the same is true whether your diners are well-known or not. “The celebrity thing is not what we are motivated by at all.”

Three years ago, Thompson’s daughter, Daphne, was born; Thompson took 11 months maternity leave and then returned to Scott’s part-time. Again, this is “unconventional” in hospitality, which demands long, antisocial hours. Thompson gives credit to Caring for being open to the idea and she hopes that her experience will be helpful to other women in a similar position. “Yeah, I’m definitely flying the working-mum flag,” she says. “I didn’t want to pretend it was going to be OK and then totally crash and burn. Hopefully I’ve proved the fact that it is possible.”

Thompson breaks into another broad smile: “Anyway, looking after my daughter sometimes is a much harder job than this place!”

‘A lot of people who eat out don’t love food. I feel the same myself…’

Gina Glennon, maître d’, 34

Now, this is not something you expect to hear from someone who has worked in restaurants for 18 years. “I’m not hugely into food,” admits Gina Glennon, maître d’ of 34 in Mayfair. “I love going out, I love the way that food looks, I love the way it smells, the rhythm of service. All of that, I love it, but no, not the food and wine.”

If you’ve ever met the 43-year-old Glennon then you probably have not forgotten the encounter. Maître d’s are often monochrome penguins, but not her: today, as most days, she wears bold, thick-rimmed spectacles from Retrosuperfuture, a Cordings tweed blazer and chunky Church’s shoes. In conversation, she manages to be both gossipy and yet discreet, silly and also clearly highly competent. She has a cut-glass accent of a kind little heard since the days of Pathé newsreels.

As it happens, Glennon was born and raised in Dublin and her route into hospitality was an unconventional one. She studied sociology at the University of Sussex, but never graduated. “I got thrown out for bad behaviour,” she recalls, giving those last two words a Kenneth Williams twang. “I don’t think I handed in one piece of work and they finally threw me out after two years when I forgot to show up to an exam.” Glennon moved to London and, mainly because she liked theatre, took a job as a waitress at J Sheekey, in the heart of the West End.

She was not a natural as a waitress and only lasted six months. “I’d like to take the opportunity to apologise to all the customers I served,” she says. Glennon did, however, excel at remembering customers, chatting to them about the plays they’d just seen, and was shifted to the position of assistant maître d. At the time, J Sheekey was owned by Chris Corbin and Jeremy King, the men behind the Ivy and Le Caprice. Although Corbin and King would soon move on – selling the business to Richard Caring, Glennon’s current boss – she learned lessons that she still finds useful 18 years on.

“One Jeremy thing I love is that you go through the room and you physically touch each table,” says Glennon. “It puts people at ease. It says, ‘Can I help? I’m here if you need…’ It’s not the customer’s job to ask; it’s our job to offer.”

She did stints at Scott’s and the Ivy, before moving to 34, Caring’s slick meat-and-grill restaurant, when it opened in 2011. She believes that a great dining experience has much in common with good theatre. Often she will imagine intricate back stories for the customers: why are they here? Is he going to propose? “I’m making a personality for them.” Sometimes, she will supplement her flights of fancy with a Google search. “You plot and plan beforehand and then the doors open and you go live,” says Glennon, before invoking that old Karate Kid philosophy. “But you have to do that ‘wax-on, wax-off’ homework or you’re just doing it by luck.”

Glennon’s distinctive dress sense started to take shape when she moved to 34. “It’s helpful especially with so many different restaurants to be, ‘Oh right, you’re the woman with the big glasses, yes,’” she says. It is, though, very much a uniform. “I dress completely different away from work. What did I wear today? Jeans and trainers. And I love hats, so I’ll constantly be wearing hats around.”

As for not being too interested in food, this, too, can work to her advantage. “There’s lots of people who do love food,” she says, smiling. “But there’s a lot of people who eat out who don’t. And I know how to translate to that whole section: ‘Don’t worry, I feel the same myself…’”

‘There’s no queue jumping – not even if you are the owner’s parents’

José Etura, general manager, Barrafina

José Etura has arguably the hardest job in London restaurants. As the man in charge of service at the trio of Barrafina tapas restaurants, he has to manage some of the city’s hungriest queues. Since the original opened on Soho’s Frith Street in 2007, Barrafina’s food, overseen by chef Nieves Barragán Mohacho, has been acclaimed as some of the city’s very best Spanish cooking. But with all the restaurants boasting non-reservable counter seating only, getting to eat it isn’t always easy. “Sometimes people queue for over two hours,” Etura says. “And when people have queued for that long, you have to work 10 times harder for them, because they have huge expectations, and they have to be fulfilled.”

Etura came to London from Valladolid in north-west Spain in 2007 to learn English, intending only to stay for a year. He got a job in the first Barrafina as a glass polisher, became a waiter a year after that, and nine months later was a manager. Now 35 and the top man front of house, he has had to devise a philosophy of the queue. “You need to be a psychologist,” he says. “You need to understand different sorts of people, that a banker is not the same as an 18-year-old student.”

Most of all, you need to be clear about the rules. “There is no queue jumping, not even if you are the owner’s parents.” And there is definitely no holding of seats for people who haven’t arrived. “This is a rule that was created by our customers. They do not like looking at empty seats while they are queuing. Only if your whole party is there will you be seated.” The key thing, he says, is to get the bad news in early. “That’s very important. Straight off you tell them what the waiting time will be – 90 minutes is usual. But then you tell them that they can order drinks and some food while in the queue and they relax.” A glass of chilled fino will, he says, work wonders.

Some non-reservation restaurants have introduced text-based systems, so people can queue virtually in a nearby bar, while waiting for the good news on their phone. Why don’t they do that? “We would need another person to administer it, and anyway we’re fine as we are,” he says. “The queue is a very important part of our vibe. It’s also brilliant marketing. If you see a place that’s full you want to know why.”

For Etura, a big part of the job is calculation: working out how long diners will take and when the number of people in the queue matches the amount of time left in which to get them fed. The biggest mistake he could make, he says, is for someone to queue only to be told there is no space. “I’d rather leave seats empty than that happen.” Not that it’s likely. He knows how to work the numbers. And his tip for reducing queue times? “You can queue before we open. At Frith Street the queue for the 5pm opening starts at 4pm. Or use the 90-minute rule. So come at 5pm for 6.30pm, or 6.30pm for 8pm.” And so to the killer question. Would he be willing to queue for as long as his customers? “Of course, and I have. Friends come from Spain and they want to eat here. So we wait.”

At Barrafina, everybody has to observe the rules of the queue, even if they’re the boss.

‘She could make you feel the world was a safe place with just a smile’

Elena Salvoni, Soho’s greatest maitre d’, 1920-2016

Elena Salvoni never retired. She was just unable to make her last service. In early March, aged 95, she was due to preside over another of her regular lunch events at Quo Vadis on Dean Street, after which I would interview her about her eight decades working front of house. A magazine edition dedicated to the art of service would simply not have been complete without Elena Salvoni. The day before, she suffered a major stroke from which she did not recover. Her son Louie was almost apologetic, but mostly because he knew his mother would hate missing the lunch. “She was so looking forward to it,” he said.

Elena, who started as a waitress at Café Bleu aged 14 in 1934, was part of an old Soho that many of us too young to have been there like to claim nostalgia for; a Soho of impoverished artists, Maltese hoods and jazz musicians. For 30 years she ran front of house at Bianchi’s on Frith Street. She came out of retirement to run front of house at L’Escargot on Greek Street for another 20 years, before being given L’Etoile on Charlotte Street. It was renamed Elena’s Etoile by the owners, as a mark of respect. When I reviewed it she was 84, and perched every service on a stool by the door, a tidy, silver-haired lady in black with an eye on the room.

When Michael Redgrave was on leave from the war, she was the one who made sure he was looked after. When Sean Connery and the Python boys were young and poor she made sure they were fed. When Ella Fitzgerald played Ronnie Scott’s she delivered her dinner to the dressing room. (Ella was smart; she knew not to eat the food at Ronnie’s back then.)

She had that combination of discretion and tact combined with the secret agent’s observational skills which make for the perfect maître d’. Some years ago a friend of mine took a date to L’Escargot only noticing as he got to the table, through the surreptitious patting of pockets, that he had forgotten his wallet. Elena called him to the bar for a phone call. It was a ruse. She told him she could see he had no money with him, and that he was not to worry about it. She instructed him to enjoy his dinner. “You’ll pay me tomorrow.”

At 90, the management of Elena’s Etoile told her it was time to step down. The owners of Little Italy, on the site of what had been Bianchi’s, came to the rescue. She was given a lunch to run once a month and generations of her regulars came. Later, that event transferred to Quo Vadis. “She had this extraordinary ability to make you feel the world was a safe place just by looking up at you as you came in and fixing you with a smile,” says Jeremy Lee, head chef of Quo. “The restaurant business will not see her like again.”

I asked Louie what it was that drove his mother onwards. “She just loved people,” he said. “She liked seeing everyone happy.” He was inundated with requests from people who wanted to be at the funeral. “We discussed limiting it and realised that if we’d done that she would have been furious. She always found room for extra people at the table.” Quite right too. Elena Salvoni was never likely to go quietly.