The clock is well shy of midday, and Fergus Henderson, a great believer in ‘elevenses’, is onto his second glass of champagne, when a clearly distressed Trevor Gulliver bursts into the bar of the St John Hotel resplendent in motorcycle waterproofs.
"Don’t even go there, Fergus; I’ve been up since six this morning, but it’s all sorted," he barks at his business partner, referring to some unnamed disaster back at their restaurant HQ. "Bloody Fridays."
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"Is it…," Henderson begins. "What day is it?"
For a moment Gulliver fixes him with a fearsome glare. Then, visibly relaxing, he rolls his eyes, emits an exaggerated sigh and orders a coffee from the passing waiter.
The pair have had a long time to perfect what is among the most treasured of double acts in the restaurant world. It is almost two decades since they opened St John in a converted smokehouse beside London’s Smithfield meat market – Henderson as chef, Gulliver the business brains (he apologises for his official title of CEO) – and created a restaurant that has innately influenced generations of chefs both at home and abroad.
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Henderson’s "nose-to-tail" philosophy – "it’s only polite to eat the whole animal" – seems less revolutionary today than it did in 1994, but this is in large part down to his having inspired restaurants and diners to tackle hooves, offal, sweetbreads and "wobbly bits". Anthony Bourdain has called his friend "the most influential chef in the world" and New York City holds an annual FergusStock, during which Henderson is anointed the city’s culinary king, and its dining scene feasts on livers and brains.
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By GlobalDataBut the pair’s two outposts – they opened St John Bread & Wine further to the east of the city in 2003 – have become equally famous for being the staff canteens for Britain’s creative set. Henderson and Gulliver count Tracy Emin, Sarah Lucas and Peter Doig among a large circle of close friends drawn from the art world and, through the brutally sparse, whitewashed, utilitarian aesthetic of their restaurants, have become unlikely style icons in their own right.
The St John Hotel
So, with a global reputation, an established concept and friends in high places, it seemed only natural when they opened their first hotel 12 months ago. After a lifetime spent in London’s hippest post codes, however, nobody expected it to be in London’s West End.
"We’ve grown up I suppose," suggests Henderson. "It certainly feels quite grown up. Our old crowd is up in this part of town a lot more now than they used to be and we’ve followed them. We’re all still the same at heart; the essence and spirit of St John hasn’t been lost."
The basic premise of the venture is very simple: creating the sort of hotel that its proprietors would like to stay in, serving great food and keeping the bar stocked until sunrise. The rooms themselves, 15 in total, are uncarpeted and utilise brilliantly white bed linen to help ease any fears about what might have gone before.
"You can never be sure what the last guy’s been up to," Gulliver suggests conspiratorially. "We wanted rooms that left no space for doubt."
"And it’s very pleasant to walk on rubber," Henderson chips in.
Both men are frequent travellers and their efforts to create a buzzy, social hub are clearly inspired by their experiences of properties worldwide. "One can have all the luxuries in the world and still feel very lonely," Henderson believes. "I’ve found a lot of these places lacking in warmth and camaraderie. We wanted to instil an element of mischief and have taken a slightly different path. It’s still a question of feeling our way along, but we’re learning as we go."
To help ease the transition from restaurateurs to hoteliers, general manager Matthew Rivett was recruited from the Ritz – "We somehow tempted him across to our cosy little inn," smiles Henderson – but the differences have taken a little getting used to.
"With a restaurant, you shut the door at one in the morning and go home to bed without a care in the world," he continues. "A hotel is more like a baby. It continues to exist; there is no down time. I’ve liked the experience all in all, but of course there have been difficulties."
Central reservations
Currently, the greatest issue is that the St John Hotel, in Gulliver’s words, has been operating "in the middle of a f****ng building site". Renovation of Leicester Square seems to have been underway for as long as most Londoners can remember and the hotel, tucked away on a northern back street in the shadow of the London W, has struggled accordingly.
"Our bank has just written up a report that describes us as living in a tip," he continues. "It’s been like that since we opened and now they’re saying April at the earliest. The ‘vision’ is to reinvent Leicester Square as the outdoor dining capital of London. Seems like a lot of effort to make for the Olympics when the only people coming over for that will be eating bloody hot dogs."
"They may be inventing the most giant of food courts," Henderson adds with a smile, "but, commendable as it is, the process of self-improvement has certainly been a long one."
Even if Leicester Square wasn’t undergoing an £18.5 million revamp, St John’s position within an area synonymous with hen parties, tourist traps and rip-off joints would seem rather incongruous.
"The West End is meant to be all bright and shiny, but we’ve found ourselves in the scuzziest part imaginable," acknowledges Gulliver with a hearty laugh. "Police force the drug dealers and undesirables off Shaftsbury Avenue down onto here. There’s still two brothels just across the way, which are in the process of being shut down, and they leave their mattresses out front once they’ve reached the end of their natural life."
"Oh you’re exaggerating, Trevor," Henderson interjects.
"I have photos," Gulliver snaps back, "and the bedding certainly hadn’t come from the W."
This experience is nothing new for the partners. At both Smithfields and their second location beside Spitalfields Market, Henderson and Gulliver were pioneers, toiling the soil in preparation for an abundance of restaurants that were soon to follow. Trailblazing comes naturally.
Regeneration game
And it all could have been so different. The idea to enter the hotel business first arose when a friend in Beirut suggested Henderson take over the lease of a former palace.
"I saw myself in the white dinner jacket channelling Bogart: smoking cigarettes, playing draughts in the corner, watching the world go by," he recalls. "Then a property developer came along, offered millions in cash and that was that."
Back in London, the pair soon discovered that former fish restaurant and West End institution Manzi’s, where Henderson has fond memories of eating scampi as a child and Gulliver first met his father-in-law, lay dormant and up for sale. Furthermore, it had rooms!
Raising finances in the City didn’t quite work out: "The most miserable year of my life, spent amidst the most thoroughly unpleasant people," says Henderson; "Self-serving, useless fee-hunters," adds Gulliver.
So they turned to friends and patrons from the art world – their list of backers reads like a YBA retrospective at the Tate Modern. The project was under development for four years, left just two original walls standing and ran over time and over budget, but it is almost as though the business partners felt duty-bound to preserve a piece of London, and personal history.
"If we hadn’t done it, the place would have ended up being just another Nando’s," Gulliver explains. "Our landlords, Shaftsbury, are thinking long-term and see us as an investment by them in changing the area, moving away from the seedy and the tacky. It would be wrong to say that we won’t make a difference."
Seedy and tacky it may be, but Henderson has clearly been exploring the area.
"The M&M store," he exclaims, referring to a three-storey cathedral dedicated exclusively to the American confectionary. "It’s horrendous. Reminded me of a strange, psychedelic champagne bar full of massive tubes of brightly coloured chocolate. You must go."
The location has also forced the pair to make some compromises to the original concept. The restaurant now does a pre-theatre menu, something they had hoped to avoid, and their desire to keep the kitchen open until two o’clock in the morning proved unworkable.
"We had chefs hanging about with nothing to do and it was rather dispiriting for them," Henderson explains. "I don’t think London is ready for that New York attitude towards late night dining. Perhaps I was being overly romantic. The bar is still a bit up and down, but that was the case in the early days of the first restaurant – we must be late bloomers. It will still carry on serving so long as you’re staying, until sunrise if needs be. The bar should be a heart of a hotel; it’s where the mischief happens."
Food for thought
The food itself has been slightly toned down to appease the West End crowds, although one is unlikely to find ‘snails, duck hearts & wild garlic’, ‘devilled pig’s skin & smoked cod’s roe’ or ‘ox heart, chicory & anchovy’ at the neighbouring TGI Friday’s or Hard Rock Cafe.
Diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in his mid-30s, Henderson was forced to leave the kitchen in 2003, but he remains the driving force behind the culinary direction at all of his restaurants.
"We haven’t gone soft," he insists, "but this is a hotel and we’re in the centre of town. That said, perhaps I should be a little tougher; give the diners some tough love. It’s something I’ve been considering. Night-time is nice and busy, but lunches have been a little quieter."
"The kitchen is not doing pizza, curry or chicken in a basket," Gulliver jumps in. "People who come to St John have made a conscious decision to come to St John; they know what to expect. Manzi’s veterans – 80-somethings in felt hats, handkerchief poking out of the jacket pocket – will occasionally rock up. They do get something of a surprise."
A restaurant with rooms
With an outdoor licence they have yet to be able to fully exploit, it is hoped that the onset of summer and an end to the construction hell that currently blights the area will enable the business to fully find its feet.
"It’s nice to have people happen upon us," explains Henderson. "We’d just like it to happen a little more. People eating, drinking, smoking and making merry al fresco would be the best advertisement imaginable."
"It is important to stress that we are a restaurant with rooms; we’re not in the business of rolling out properties for executives from Milwaukee," Gulliver adds, nodding towards his Starwood neighbour. "It’s a hostelry. People can come from abroad, and feel warm, well-fed, safe and secure, or they can come by tube, overindulge and sleep it off upstairs.
"Because of delays in opening and all the crap going on outside we haven’t totally discovered the rhythms of the place yet; the energy’s not quite right. Running a hotel is bloody hard work, but there will come a time when we’ll be as integral to this area as our other two restaurants have become to theirs. After all the problems getting the project off the ground, the construction challenges, any number of issues since, this place shouldn’t exist, and that it does is what makes it so special."
Just don’t expect to see St John’s chicken in a basket on the menu any time soon.
