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London holds a special place in the hearts of food enthusiasts. In the halcyon days of the UK’s place in the European Union, it could even be said that the capital was one of the best cities in Europe – if not the best – for food. Despite it being beaten out by Paris in the Michelin guide (the French capital boasts 119 Michelin stars compared to London’s 74), the city’s sheer diversity made it stand out, with nearly every cuisine under the sun available somewhere in its streets. But recently it hasn’t really felt this way, and the people have noticed. Last week, Lily Allen tweeted: “Having been in New York for most of the time since Covid, I’ve spent long enough away to notice how far the standards have slipped in London’s restaurant scene… Delivery food and takeaways are even worse. Dunno if it’s Brexit or ghost kitchens or inflation or whatever, but it’s a terrible shame.” It’s evident from social media posts and online reviews that a lot of patrons feel the same. The restaurant industry has taken blow after blow in recent years, beginning with the UK’s messy divorce from the EU in 2016. And as it was trying to recover from Brexit, which resulted in increased costs, new bureaucracy and staff shortages, Covid hit. Restaurants were forced to shutter their doors for unknown periods of time, deal with confusing new rules, and magic whole new delivery systems out of thin air. Now, the industry is having to weather the cost of living crisis. In the face of all this, it might be a little cruel to denounce London’s usually thriving food landscape as “mediocre”. But, as painful as it might be, there is some truth to it. Ben Orpwood, a former contestant on the BBC reality series The Great British Menu, tells me that Allen’s observation, while perhaps a bit strongly worded, wasn’t completely wrong about the state of the industry. Orpwood, who was previously the executive chef at Gordon Ramsay’s Lucky Cat, has been cooking in some of the world’s finest kitchens for nearly two decades. But he says he’s never seen anything like the state of affairs at his latest opening, 20 Berkeley in Mayfair. “Normally when you first open a restaurant, the drop-off from the opening team [staff] is something like 20 per cent,” he explains. “You lose people who applied for something they’re not really ready for and opening week is very intense – so they go. But after we opened 20 Berkeley in June, apart from my core team, we had 100 per cent turnover. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He says that staff are leaving even with benefits like getting two meals a day, days and nights off, at least £13.50 an hour for employees with no prior experience, and a nice, conducive kitchen environment to work in – a far cry from the shouting and screaming he endured earlier in his career. “I had a pastry chef that left last week who worked 3pm-11pm, five days a week, no double shifts – he didn’t like how much work there was,” Orpwood marvels. “I can’t get my head around that mentality. The talent and the drive is just not there anymore, there are very few talented young chefs around and all the good restaurants are scrapping over them. When you’re going through that as a new restaurant, it makes it so much harder.” The chef, who has more than two decades of experience under his belt, explains that the aftermath of Brexit and Covid are primarily to blame. Brexit caused an exodus of EU citizens, many of whom questioned whether or not they were welcome in the UK. When Covid hit, more people returned to their home countries and discovered new work opportunities there, opting not to come back to British shores. “Then the government goes, ‘We’ll plug the shortage with young British workers’, except that they introduced needless academic requirements to apprenticeships with a minimum wage that people can’t pay their rent on,” Orpwood adds. The national minimum wage for apprentices aged 21 in their first year is £5.28 an hour, while the average rent for a room in London has rocketed to almost £1k a month. To say that we’re mediocre, I don’t really think it’s a fair reflection Ben Mulock Of course, some industry folk are more optimistic. Ben Mulock, executive chef of Balans, says: “The London food scene for me is still vibrant, it’s still innovative. We still have some great authenticity to it.” However, even the most positive outlook can’t ignore the biggest, most glaring problem restaurants currently face: the skills shortage. “I’ve been cooking since I was 14, and it’s never been like this throughout my entire career,” Mulock laments. “But we are striving and pushing our standards higher to try and give people the experience of years gone by with this new workforce. So, to say that we’re mediocre, I don’t really think it’s a fair reflection.” He adds that people who live in the capital have “some of the most discerning palates globally” and that feeding a London crowd “isn’t an easy thing to please”. “But when you get it right, it’s a wonderful, wonderful feeling,” he says. Perhaps, for anyone who lives outside of London, the bar has been set at an artificial high. Influencers invited to restaurants that have a marketing budget are more likely to post gushing reviews, complete with mouthwatering visuals as they stuff their gobs. Meanwhile, restaurant critics for broadsheets have been recently criticised for platforming establishments in more affluent areas, or only if they’ve been invited. Given some publications don’t pay for reviewers’ meals, this is unavoidable – but it generates a false economy in which readers believe those are the best places to eat. In his essay “London Finds Itself”, Vittles editor Jonathan Nunn wrote about the decline of reviews and the rise of simplified maps that pinpoint places to eat, which also manifests itself in lists. It’s why the algorithm adores those “10 stunning places to eat in London” videos, and why publications are desperate to churn out recommendation lists. He wrote: “The review is too discursive, too expensive to produce, written by people who demand to be paid properly. Far better to shop it all out to a freelancer who can google a bunch of stuff and stitch it together without context.” One has to wonder if this, too, has contributed to restaurants falling short of expectations – perhaps no one is looking closely enough. But Hugh Smithson-Wright, a communications specialist for restaurants, says that the food scene is no more mediocre than it’s ever been; in fact, there have always been plenty of middling eateries around. “Not everyone can be so great,” he says. “Some of my favourite restaurants have been places where food is absolutely fine.” But there’s a distinction to be made here. “Fine is OK if it’s not costing you a lot of money. Expensive is fine if the food is incredible. But now, with everything being so much more expensive for everyone on every income level, the places that are fine are getting more expensive, with smaller portions and cheaper produce, and that’s what we’re not tolerating.” Smithson-Wright points to the fate of Prezzo as a perfect example of this reduced level of tolerance. In April, the Italian restaurant chain closed 46 of its 143 branches and said it was due to soaring energy and food costs – but Smithson-Wright adds that its uninspired food was also a factor. “Prezzo was only fine – it wasn’t great or innovative, but as those prices go up, OK is not good enough. It’s these types of mid-range restaurants, whether chains or independent, that will find they have nowhere to go. They can’t suddenly make their food luxurious, and equally, they can’t suddenly charge the prices they perhaps need to be charging to keep the lights on.” Price is a painful topic right now, resulting in a bitter stand-off between some patrons and restaurateurs. But Britons have historically been averse to paying more for their food, lulled into a false sense of security by the cut-throat price war between supermarkets. Or a sense of: if I can spend less than £5 on a Sainsbury’s ready meal, why are restaurants charging three, four, or five times that for a main course? But, as Smithson-Wright points out, the “bravest thing a restaurant can do is charge what they need to” without fear of empty seats. “In some ways, restaurants punish themselves by not charging what they should and now they’re stuck in a mediocrity trap,” he says. “And they’re not helped by the psychological barrier people have over what they will pay for things.” So what does this mean for the future of food in London? The restaurant industry, as a whole, isn’t about to die any time soon. As Orpwood says, this is a resilient industry and will “just get on with it” until it comes out the other side with hopefully greener grass. Smithson-Wright adds that the current situation sounds a death knell for mid-level restaurants, many of which will not survive this period. But Mullock tries to offer a sunnier disposition. “The London food scene is alive and it’s doing some really good things. Everyone’s just pursuing deliciousness.” Read More Sorry lads, we just can’t afford any more reckless, middle-aged adventurers The dish that defines me: Alex Outhwaite’s Vietnamese bun cha Nappy changes and tantrums over Michael Gove: I took my one-year-old to a music festival Sunak rules out any new EU trade deal that undermines Brexit freedoms Tory MP broke rules over £150,000 loan from Russian businessman What is the future of the Conservative Party?

Food can bring people comfort in the darkest times, and for Imad Alarnab, this time came when he was stranded as a refugee in Calais for more than two months. A hot plate had been donated, people collected leftovers from supermarkets, and having been a successful chef back in Damascus – with three restaurants, and a string of cafes and juice bars – Alarnab did what he did best, night after night, he cooked. “It was just something I felt like I needed to do, because you get to make a lot of people happy. Especially at that time, they needed something to be happy about,” says the 45-year-old, who would feed as many as 400 people at a time. The overcrowded camp that became known as The Jungle was close by, but Alarnab says it was too terrifying and overcrowded, so he and a group of several other Syrians slept on the steps of a church instead. And it was here he cooked the food of home – adapted, of course, depending on what they had. “To have a decent warm meal – for people whose lives have been on hold, they can’t cross to safety – was a big deal for all of us,” says the father-of-three. In fact, it was the first time he’d cooked for lots of people since all of his businesses were bombed within a week in 2012, in the country’s civil war, and this was the moment hope returned. “I think it restored all of the faith that things could, and would, get better,” Alarnab writes in his debut cookbook, Imad’s Syrian Kitchen. By July 2015, he’d made the painful decision to leave his wife and three daughters in Damascus to make the treacherous journey via Lebanon, Greece and North Macedonia, to the UK, where they had relatives. With his children too young to make the journey, the family planned to join once he’d been granted asylum. “If I had any other choice, I would have definitely taken it. [Fleeing] wasn’t the easiest but it was somehow the safest,” he says. “When I was in Syria during the war, people were saying, ‘It’s not safe to go out of the house because maybe you’re going to die’. But I needed to feed my family, if I stayed in the house they would die from hunger. There’s no good choice or bad choice, but maybe it’s the only one you can make. “When I was leaving Damascus, my oldest daughter made me promise I would see her within one year. I said, ‘Yes, I promise,’ but I wasn’t really sure if I was going to keep that promise or not.” And during the three months before he reached the UK – walking hundreds of miles on foot, on train, in the back of cars, on push bike, at the mercy of smugglers, with false IDs and the kindness of strangers – there were moments of doubt, like when he was crammed in the back of a lorry in Turkey for seven hours. “There were about 95 of us, I felt it was a stupid decision, risking my life so much. I believe the driver was so scared, or maybe drunk – the speed was absolutely scary. I thought we were not going to make it.” His journey ended eventually by using a fake passport to cross the Channel in October 2015 (the moving, often harrowing, story is weaved through his new cookbook), and first finding work illegally in a car wash, where he also slept as an overnight security guard, sending money home. After his family were able to emigrate (just under the year he’d promised his daughter) someone introduced him to the Cook For Syria scheme – and soon he was hosting super clubs at his house. By May 2021, he’d opened his London restaurant, Imad’s Syrian Kitchen. His first cookbook is a combination of dishes served up at the restaurant and his late mother’s recipes. “Almost every single dish is somehow related to my mother – I keep seeking her approval in everything I do in life, but especially with cooking,” he says. It was his mum, Summer, who first taught him to cook. “Even if you create your own recipes, somehow you will [always] be inspired by your first teacher”. She died very suddenly while Alarnab was living alone in a caravan in west London. Syrian food at its heart is “simple, first of all, and affordable for everyone”, he says. “We use a lot of mild spices, not very hot spices.” They’re mostly things you’ll know; “cumin, mint, garlic, nothing really special about it. [but] you put it together in a special way”. Middle Eastern in identity, much of it might feel familiar; tabbouleh, hummus, baklawa; while traditional dishes include buttered halibut, jaj bailfurn (grilled chicken thighs) and kippeh (lamb and bulgur wheat dumplings). Lunch is typically a feast of many dishes. “We’re a family of five and we never ever have one dish for lunch,” says Alarnab. “And we don’t throw anything away.” Before the war – which began as an uprising against President Bashar al-Assad in 2011 but has since involved a complex number of groups fighting one another, including so-called Islamic State, leaving at least 11 million people displaced – Alarnab was one of the lucky ones, he says. “We had a comfortable life, but most people in Syria were suffering. When you have a dictatorship for more than 50 years, of course people will be suffering. You cannot explain life without freedom to someone who’s lived all of their life with it. “People keep asking me silly questions – ‘Why did you have to go to 10 different countries to come to the UK? You could just get a plane ticket straight from Lebanon to Heathrow’. No, it doesn’t work like that. As a Syrian, my passport takes me to three countries – war zone countries. Even if I wanted to go to every country supporting Assad, I’d still need a visa.” Once the fighting started, food, that once brought him so much joy, lost all meaning. “I don’t know how to describe it, but the food tasted like blood. I know it’s disgusting, but nothing tasted the same. When you live in fear for your family, when your daughters are not safe to go to school, food will taste [bad], nothing can make you happy.” Cooking Syrian food now makes him feel “connected” to his home country, of course, “but it also makes me feel part of this unique community in the UK”. Arriving in London, he says: “I felt safe, I felt ‘I can be different, I can be myself, no one cares’. Everyone’s so different, it makes all of us lookalike.” Even after starting from scratch in a new country after losing everything, with a highly-acclaimed restaurant and now a cookbook, he’s most proud of his daughters. His eldest is studying at Warwick University after gaining straight As, his middle child is a talented artist. “The youngest [13] is the naughty one still,” he laughs. “But you can feel they appreciate their life – they are so happy about it.” ‘Imad’s Syrian Kitchen’ by Imad Alarnab (HQ; £26). Read More The National Portrait Gallery’s new restaurant is fabulous upgrade The dish that defines me: Alex Outhwaite’s Vietnamese bun cha 3 TikTok-approved recipes for picnic season It’s easier to make baklava at home than you might think Get set for Wimbledon with top pastry chef’s strawberry recipes Pinch of Nom: Healthy eating doesn’t have to cost the earth