Debt spirals and fine cuisine do not mix in the crunch over The Wolseley

For my friend, Ian, from Bury in Greater Manchester, it was his first time at The Wolseley and he wanted to put its reputation to the test. He was in London for business and we were squeezing in a breakfast at the restaurant in Piccadilly, next to the Ritz Hotel. He looked at the menu and put it on one side. When the waitress came over, he said he would have an Egg McMuffin. She raised her eyebrows and said: “This is The Wolseley sir, not McDonald’s.” He implored her to have a go, he really felt like one. The waitress went to talk to the maitre d’. They glanced across and the maitre d’ shrugged. When she brought the order there it was, a Wolseley version of the fast-food giant’s muffin, ham and eggs Benedict staple. Ian had one mouthful and called her back. “I want you to know, That’s the best Egg McMuffin I’ve ever tasted,” he said. It must count as the sign of something that a place that can rise to such a challenge without flinching. Another establishment might have told Ian to go elsewhere but no, this was The Wolseley and the customer always comes first. Once, I was sitting at the table next to David and Victoria Beckham. The same thing happened. He glanced at the menu, closed it; she did the same. He requested “a ham sandwich on plain white sliced bread”; she wanted “lettuce soup”. Neither were on the menu. They both duly arrived, exactly as requested, perfectly executed. It’s that attentiveness, the willingness to accommodate, that sets the restaurant apart. That’s why it is so beloved by celebrities, by actors, pop stars, authors, politicians and commercial titans, but not just them – by people like Ian who also got what he wished. Of course, most stick to what is being offered, but there again, they also know it will be delivered just so, nothing too fancy, not flash, but with a familiar, comforting touch. Which is why London is in such a lather because, whisper it, The Wolseley and its sister restaurants have gone into administration. That’s right, the management of the flagship and siblings The Delaunay (and The Delaunay Counter), Brasserie Zédel, Colbert, Fischer’s, Café Wolseley, Soutine and Bellanger are now entrusted to accountants. To say it’s a shock is an understatement. How will the number crunchers fare? When Lucien Freud died, The Wolseley covered the painter’s regular table in a black cloth with a single candle on top. Would the bean counters do that for someone else, equally celebrated, who also loves it there? Or will they prefer not to waste the table and sell it for the evening? In his trademark fashion, Jeremy King, the co-founder along with Chris Corbin, has posted a video explaining the nature of the crisis engulfing the group. It’s only the second time he has addressed the clientele this way. The first was to ask for support when the restaurants were closed because of the coronavirus. It’s typical King, polished, urbane, confident, possessing an easy manner developed by decades of patrolling the floors, talking to the diners, many by name. The main point he wants to make is that the administration is a technical one, brought about by Minor International, the Thai majority shareholder, to seize full control of the company. Minor, which holds 74 per cent, according to King, has not invested a single pound in the company since buying into it. He said that all Corbin & King restaurants are fully solvent and trading well, and all 745 staff and suppliers are being fully paid – it is “business as usual”. He also reassures guests that all bookings are being processed as normal and that diners and event organisers can consider their reservations secure. King ends his open missive by announcing he plans to buy the holding company out of administration, pay back what is owed and get back to doing what Corbin & King do best. The founding pair were famous for running The Ivy and Le Caprice before selling up and launching the current business. While some of their ventures have acquired stellar status, their track record is not one of smooth success. Their stab at owning hotels ended in failure when they launched the Beaumont (and Colony Grill), in Mayfair only to soon relinquish control following rent rises and high opening costs. Their St Alban restaurant in the relative desert of Lower Regent Street was another expensive cropper. There have been other wobbles. The genesis of the present trauma is that over the years, Corbin and King offloaded shares to raise cash so they could keep on expanding. That’s how they ended up with Minor becoming major, as it were. Minor has ideas of its own for growth. They do not match those of Corbin, who has taken a back seat in recent years, and King. Minor would like to take the brands overseas and put them in their hotels. But Corbin and King are not at an age when rushing round the world appeals, and besides, they’re conscious of the dangers of diluting quality and stretching the management too thinly. The problem, however, is that they’re not in much of a position to argue. Add to the mix an unsympathetic landlord of The Wolseley, the decimation caused by the coronavirus pandemic and a London that is only now showing signs of recovery but desperately missing foreign tourists, and the stage is set for a power battle, albeit one that is heavily skewed. The Thai investors would like to see a return on their cash. The founding pair are stymied, unable to meet their demands, unwilling to share their ambition. Matters came to a head when Minor called in a loan of £38m, saying Corbin & King could not meet its financial obligations and was insolvent. King is hopeful that Knighthead Capital Management, a US investment fund, may step in. He’s been talking to them for months. The difficulty he and Corbin face is that they do not get to choose – it is up to the administrator, FRP Advisory, to decide. Their firm could then go to the highest bidder and that could be Richard Caring. This is where it gets deliciously edgy: there is no love lost between Caring and his people and Corbin and King. Fashion tycoon Caring now owns The Ivy as well as a host of acclaimed restaurants, among them Sexy Fish, Scott’s and J Sheekey. The two groups are arch-rivals. Their competition has been good for London, maintaining and pushing standards, and providing the capital with a slew of smart restaurants where not that long ago there were few. Caring has not been afraid to roll out The Ivy brand, creating a chain of successful outlets. In truth, while old-timers may complain some of the lustre has been lost from the once, out-on-its-own Ivy, they are trusted and reliable and serve the same food as the still busy Covent Garden original. Of the two, Caring has proved to have the greater vision, and he possesses the means and wherewithal to achieve it. The tension between them has given rise to King making the pointed comparison between a restaurateur and a restaurant owner. “It’s the difference of running a business from the boardroom, or from the floor. And obviously I run mine from the floor.” For his part, Caring is no fool. He knows that to buy the Corbin & King restaurants and not keep on the two creators in some capacity would invite the prospect of much sniping, possibly an outright feud. They could begin again, who knows? So, bread may be broken if he goes ahead with a bid – he is said to be speaking to the administrators. It will be freshly baked and perfect bread, whether they meet in Scott’s or The Wolseley or whichever of their many private rooms. That is a given.