It is amazing the amount of people who carry a candle, maybe somewhere in the back of their brain, that they would achieve true happiness only when they ran their own restaurant.
I could name two successful authors (and will; Julian Barnes and Adam Gopnik) who nurture this flame and also think of the many people who, when the have discovered that I had a restaurant, used to say “You know, my wife and I have often thought……..

The rewards are there and obvious.
No rat race, no commute, no boss, no power meetings, no more hours spent on “optional” overtime, no more suits and stiff white collars, no more shaving every morning.

Oh the bliss of it, to be ones own boss. Let us sell up, move to the provinces and buy a house big enough to put a restaurant downstairs and then we can live happily ever after.

Well I did it, I loved it, but by God it was hard work.
Here are a few of the qualities it needs to run a restaurant.

One has to be primarily a chef, preparing and serving the food in the restaurant (but also keeping an eye on what food trends are coming up).
This is not just about swanning about in a kitchen creating masterpieces from prawns brandy and cream. The most important of the chef side of things is the sourcing and acquiring of everything that will eventually sit on a plate in the restaurant.
This involves one in trudging through fields pleading with farmers to try to grow Jerusalem Artichokes, or Purple Sprouting Broccoli, begging butchers to hang meat until it became tender(or as he thinks nearly off) but principally building up a relationship of trust with all your suppliers who then could realise that they could risk buying or growing something of quality because you would buy it-and then being prepared to damn the relationship to hell by haggling over the price..
Then you have to be an employer and general father figure for your staff and try and insure that they are all happy, I think they call this role Human Resource Manager.
Next you have to be the great all rounder because if anyone can’t make it in to work the buck stops firmly in your lap, everything from wash up to wine waiting.

You have to be a self publicist par excellence, be prepared to attend any function which might get your face onto the paper, without having to pay for advertising. In my case this also involved me in doing a weekly recipe slot on the local radio.
You reap the dubious rewards of this by becoming a PRESENCE, even on one of my nights off I used to trudge into the restaurant and do the rounds of the tables or be greeted, on the street, with a chorus of ; “It isn’t the same when you aren’t there Martin!”

The person I had to be which I loathed most was accountant, even a mention of the letters VAT make my eyes glaze over. A restaurant is Gods revenge for people who were not good at maths in school. You have to wade through two different Vat rates, PAYE, PRSI, monthly figures, projections in a usually vain attempt to keep ones accountant and bank manager off ones back.

The customer base is fragile, the truism “You are only as good as your last meal” does apply.
You can also serve a perfect meal to someone in bad form who will then blame you and the meal and bad mouth you through the town.

You can also be unlucky, I was lost the custom of a whole section of the local hospital because a nurse found a caterpillar curled up within the flower of her (organic) broccoli.
(“I nearly fainted with the shock” she told hushed attentive wards full of people)

At times you will have to deal with foul, bad mannered customers to whom you will have to be polite. (You know who you are)

But it does have its rewards.

The real joy of people who have dined well saying “I never knew carrots could taste like this”

The satisfaction of telling the foul bad mannered customer that you are sorry, you are full (and knowing that he knew you weren’t)

Working for a boss who understands you and doesn’t push you too much (yourself)

Exercising your artistic flair by producing exquisite, if transitory, masterpieces every evening.

Now I am facing into another challenge, a B&B in France.
No problem I think, just a maximum of Eight dinners, no choices, what could go wrong?

I can see him already, the exhausted proprietor of a French Chambre d’Hote, reading this and thinking;
“It is amazing the amount of people who carry a candle, maybe somewhere in the back of their brain, that they would achieve true happiness only when they ran their own bed and breakfast….”