Darina & Rachel Allen
Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law at the Ballymaloe Cookery School, Co Cork; both writers, teachers and broadcasters
This September, Ballymaloe cookery school celebrates its 30th anniversary. Darina Allen opened it with husband Tim in 1983, after inheriting a farm from his parents. With the skills she learned from her mother-in-law, chef and author Myrtle Allen, Darina turned the fledgling enterprise into one of the most highly regarded cookery schools in the world. She also wrote cookbooks and, by the end of the 80s, was one of Ireland's most famous TV chefs.
"History repeating itself" is how Darina describes her daughter-in-law's story. After leaving school at 18, Rachel travelled south from Dublin to take the 12-week course at Ballymaloe. She worked at the school and in 1998 married Isaac, Darina's son. Now she, too, is a bestselling writer and TV presenter although she still considers teaching at Ballymaloe to be her main occupation.
Darina says she's passing on the encouragement from her own mother-in-law. "When I was younger, a lot of women weren't allowed to fulfil their potential. When I came to Ballymaloe, everyone was encouraged to have a go. If it didn't work: well, fine, you tried. It was empowering not to be told you were being silly."
The fact that two daughters-in-law have headed the Allen dynasty has something, they suggest, to do with its Quaker roots and that movement's egalitarian attitude. This may also explain why the family has stuck so closely together – no one I talk to seems to know how many Allens are involved in Ballymaloe or associated enterprises in the area, but they are numerous.
Is anyone in the next generation snapping at their heels? "I can see a busy-ness in several of them," says Darina. "You think, well that little one will rule the world given half a chance."
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Rowley & Ruth Leigh
Father and daughter, chef patron and assistant manager, Le Café Anglais, London W2
In summer 2007, Ruth Leigh's father came to visit her with a proposal. Ruth was 22, studying philosophy in Leeds and working at a bar called the Oracle. As for what she might do after finishing her degree, she wasn't sure. "Dad said: 'I'm opening somewhere, come down and help me.'"
After nearly 20 years at Kensington Place, the influential modern British restaurant in Notting Hill, Rowley Leigh had decided to set up a place of his own. The location was unpromising – a former McDonald's on the first floor of a shopping centre in Bayswater – but Leigh and his team, including Ruth, transformed it into a grand art deco-style brasserie serving elegant Anglo-French comfort food.Half a decade on, Le Café Anglais is still thriving.
Ruth is currently assistant manager, looking after bookings and menus, stock takes and running service seven times a week. Which offers plenty of opportunity to clash with her father at the kitchen pass. "It can be tense," says Rowley, who is in the kitchen five or six days a week. "When we're both under pressure, we tend to give off a bit."
"We don't mince our words much around each other," Ruth agrees.
Rowley puts it in context: "The front of house is under pressure because the customers are giving them a hard time. They pass it on to the kitchen, and the kitchen is already stressed so they'll bite back." But apart from the fact that she occasionally tells him to "get lost", Rowley seems pleased with the arrangement. "I like working with daughters," he says. "It's about the only way you get to see them."
Ruth isn't the only Leigh of her generation working at Le Café Anglais. Her younger sister Daisy is doing a few shifts, and assorted step-siblings and cousins have cropped up on the payroll, but none apart from Ruth seems to be thinking about it in career terms.
It wasn't always obvious that she would follow in her father's footsteps. Growing up, home wasn't a particularly food-oriented place. Her mother – Rowley's first wife, Sara – was "completely unfoodie", despite having worked as a maître d' at Joe Allen in Covent Garden. Ruth drifted into the business, waitressing part-time during school holidays.
Was it difficult coming to work as the boss's daughter? "I think occasionally people make jokes about it, but that's fine," she says.
Asked if they are like-minded, Rowley says: "We share the same vision … which is mine." (They enjoy winding each other up.) Then he becomes sincere about his daughter's contribution. "She cares a great deal about the food," he says at one point. "If she sees something not right, she tells me."
"I am quite obsessive about it," admits Ruth. (Later, she inspects a ham hock and foie gras terrine, announcing: "I'm not 100% sold on that spiced melon," prodding the dish's accompaniment with a fork.)
What does she enjoy most about her job? "It's a bit abstract," she says, "but when you have a very busy service that's running well and you take a tiny step back and you can 'hear' how well it's going…"
"The machine is purring, everyone's engaged and confident." Rowley nods. "It's the sweetest feeling."
Karam & Sunaina Sethi
Brother and sister, head chef and sommelier, Trishna, London
At 15, Karam Sethi was putting together dinner parties for his mother's friends. A decade later he had opened his first restaurant, Trishna, in central London (it won a Michelin star last October). In 2010, his younger sister Sunaina spent a few months helping out, but was soon running front of house and training as a sommelier. "I got sucked in," she says. "No, I fell in love."
The Sethis are quietly influential: Karam is a director at Bubbledogs, the popular hot-dogs-and-champagne restaurant in Fitzrovia, and Sunaina is consulting for the Pearson Room, a huge new brasserie in Canary Wharf. Karam insists having family at the heart of the business is a plus. "You know that they're in it for the same reasons," he says. "There's no tiptoeing around," says Sunaina.
Do they manage to avoid squabbling at work? Sunaina says: "We're used to having our fallings out: within three or four minutes of us screaming at each other, it's forgotten."
Arbitration, if needed, comes from older brother Jyothin, who handles the financial side of the business (his day job is in venture capital). "He's the mediator: he comes in, sits down and sorts things out."
Sam & Eddie Hart
Brothers, co-owners, Quo Vadis, Barrafina, Fino, London
When Sam and Eddie Hart were very young their father left his job in the City to open a hotel at Hambleton Hall, a Victorian country house in Rutland. "Although we didn't live in the hotel, we felt very much part of it," Eddie recalls. "When Mum and Dad had friends round, I remember us staying up late in our pyjamas, hanging people's coats up and pouring whisky. That feeling of hospitality: we definitely learned that at home."
Now aged 38 and 36, Sam and Eddie own three restaurants in central London. They started out in 2003 with Fino, a Spanish restaurant in Fitzrovia. Next came tapas bar Barrafina. In 2007, they bought Quo Vadis from Marco Pierre White hoping to restore the faded Soho institution to glory.
Working together wasn't necessarily a given. Sam started off as a money broker and later ran a nightclub in Mexico. When he and Eddie eventually decided to go into business, being brothers did nothing to discourage them. "At the age of two and four we used to fight, but by the time we were eight and 10 we were mates."
"Buddies," confirms Eddie.
They share most of the tasks involved in running the restaurants and their skills are complementary. "Sam is more capable with figures," says Eddie, "and I have an eye for detail." There is a fast route between each of their three restaurants, short enough that if one brother is away, the other can tour the empire within an hour – to meet and greet or take an order, advise on the wine list or clear a dirty plate. According to Eddie, being so close has streamlined their decision-making. "You know: 'Which napkin should we choose?' 'That one.' 'Good, order it.'"
"The disadvantage," says Sam, "is not having anyone challenging our preconceptions."
Enter Jeremy Lee, who joined Quo Vadis last year as a partner as well as head chef. Having spent 16 years in charge of the Blueprint cafe in Docklands, Lee had strong opinions of his own. The clash of ideas was beneficial – "it freshened things up" – and after a few tricky years, Quo Vadis is once again a Soho institution.
Despite their success, the Harts think sibling partnerships aren't always a good idea, reckoning that, nine times out of 10, it would lead to disaster. "But on the whole," says Sam, "we really like working together."
Laurence Tottingham & Mary-Ellen McTague
Husband and wife, co-head chefs, Aumbry, Prestwich, Manchester
"There's no preparing you for it," says Mary-Ellen McTague with a rueful shake of the head. "There are so many parallels between opening a restaurant and having children." She and her husband Laurence Tottingham should know: when they opened Aumbry in 2009, their son was 15 months old. A year later, he had a brother.
Aumbry was a dream that the couple had nurtured since they first met, a decade earlier, in the Lake District at Sharrow Bay, the acclaimed country house hotel on Ullswater. Laurence, a Cumbria native, was a chef de partie there. She was 21; he was 19. Did they try to keep their relationship secret? "We didn't bother," says Mary-Ellen, who went on to become Sharrow Bay's first female chef. "We'd been seeing each other three weeks and the hotel manager asked us if we'd like a flat together. They were good about it."
They've always worked in the same place since, an unusual feat in such a competitive business. In 2002, he joined her at the Fat Duck, one month after Heston Blumenthal offered her a position. (Mary-Ellen downplays how this happened: "I just mentioned he was coming down to look for a job and they said, 'Right, that's that sorted'. It was just convenient.") They spent four years there – she rose to sous-chef; he helped Blumenthal set up his kitchen at the nearby Hind's Head pub before returning to the north-west.
Tucked away down a quiet church lane, Aumbry is tiny – just 32 seats on the ground floor of a Victorian cottage. Their ambitions were inversely proportional to its size. "For the first two years, we were both working 80-hour weeks and never home," says Mary-Ellen. "Our family had to help out with childcare."
Despite so much time working in the same kitchen, it's taken running their own restaurant for them to discover that their tastes in food aren't quite as similar as they thought. "I like things measured out to one-tenth of a gram, and plating to be pristine," says Mary-Ellen. "Whereas Laurence is a bit more free and easy?"
"I do like the fine details," he says. "But I also just like a really good plate of food."
It's no surprise to learn that, Earlier this year, Laurence went down to one shift a week so that he could spend more time with the kids, with Mary-Ellen, who is "a bit more mad about the cooking side of things", now running the kitchen.
Having altered the work-life balance, they have hired more staff and there is talk of new ventures including a bakery and a second restaurant to showcase Laurence's more robust cooking. "There's a time when you want to say to other people, 'Don't do it!'" says Mary-Ellen. "Then things improve and you're like: 'It's a lovely idea, it'll be great.' So be prepared for a few hellish years; then it'll be all right."
