Latest news with #ChrisD'Sylva
Daily Mirror
28-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mirror
'I went to UK's most unique restaurant – I can't believe what happened there'
A food reviewer has shared his experience at one of London's most unique restaurants which offers 'the craziest dining experience' and is priced at a whopping £250 per person A food lover from the US was floored after visiting this unique restaurant in London – and it is not for the squeamish. There are so many restaurants in the capital city which cater to people's food needs, and if you are a fish lover, Tuna Fight Club could be for you. The VIP spot has been hailed as "the craziest dining experience" as staff chop up a large tuna fish, killed the day before off the coast of Spain, moments before you eat it. The owner of the Notting Hill eatery, Chris D'Sylva, started the tradition at the local fishmonger he co-owns, before transforming it into a premium supermarket during the Covid-19 pandemic. The owners hired chefs who had been made redundant, partnered with Cornish fishermen, then began hosting an event at Supermarket of Dreams in Holland Park, where guests are ushered in to see and taste the bluefin tuna. Viral food reviewer Jack, better known as Jack's Dining Room on TikTok where he boasts 1.7million followers and tries the most popular food spots, went to experience Tuna Fight Club for the first time recently. As he shared clips of his experience, Jack explained: "We're at Tuna Flight Club, they get a fresh tuna flown in to Heathrow Airport and they drive it directly to the restaurant then they cut it in front of the entire restaurant. They wheel it through the restaurant, put it on this massive chopping block, saw this tuna in half and you have a nine course tasting meal. "Honestly, this is one of the most insane things I've ever seen in my life," he added. "It doesn't really get fresher than this, they break it down two inches away from your table." They served the tuna in seaweed wraps, in sushi form with some fresh truffle, cooked with caviar on top, and more. One individual who is keen to visit the spot said: "London has the BEST restaurants in the world!" "As a tuna fisherman, this is so cool to watch," commented another. "This is my dream meal," commented one other. "Wow this looks and sounds absolutely amazing," added one other. One other agreed: "Broooo! This is amazing. I need to go there! Just wow! You really put on the the people. Bless man." Another said: "Looks amazing! I'd so try this. What an experience." Another who is not as keen, commented: "I know about this." "Raw fish? No way," commented another. "Nah, this is wild," said another. "Anybody thinking, oh my god that poor fish?" questioned another. "The tripping blood got me...," agreed another. "I wouldn't eat raw fish for anything," added one other. How to visit Tuna Flight Club Tickets to visit Tuna Flight Club are £250 per person, which includes Krug Champagne on arrival and caviar through the night. Tickets are now available for August. A spokesperson for Tuna Flight Club said: "Due to overwhelming demand, you will no longer be able to 'race' online for tickets. To eliminate the resale and trading of Tuna Flight Club tickets, regulars can purchase through direct channels and first timers/newbies will need to be invited, in person, by visiting one of our brands. Tuna Flight Club is earned." They added: "We have introduced a new system, with Monday night only for first timers/newbies and Tuesday night for regulars. Tickets will be offered in tranches of two or four. Priority will be given to tranches of four tickets per purchase. First timers: will only be able to secure tickets in person (IRL) by coming to eat at Urchin, Dorian or Eel sushi, This won't necessarily entitle you to tickets but 'charm is the currency', entitlement is punished! "If you're a nice the team will invite you to purchase tickets."
New York Times
18-04-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Too Many People Talked About Tuna Fight Club
For a while, Tuna Fight Club was not only one of the most gruesome meals in London, but one of the most exclusive. Then influencers broke the unspoken rule. The type of food served at Fight Club can be found on high-end tasting menus throughout the city. But what's on offer here is a show, with a side of dinner. The star is a Harley-size female bluefin tuna, killed the day before at a fish farm off the coast of Spain. Its carcass lies prone on a stainless steel slab as chefs carve it into pieces throughout the evening, then serve up the fish as sashimi and nigiri. From the start, the spectacle was conceived as an insiders-only pop-up to be publicized by word of mouth among West London types who could afford a few hundred pounds for a Wednesday night sushi dinner. The owner, Chris D'Sylva, started the tuna cuttings at the local fishmonger he co-owns in the early days of the pandemic lockdowns. They received little press coverage, save for a 2020 article in the Financial Times that gave Tuna Fight Club its name. But toward the end of last year, the event quickly took on the tone of TikTok, after flashy food influencers made video after fawning video. Reservations are now sold out through July. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
The Guardian
16-03-2025
- Business
- The Guardian
Mind your manners, diners, restaurants are turning the tables on grumpy reviewers
My new duvet cover is upset with me. This is not, I stress, due to offensive activities in the bedroom. My sin is that two months after purchasing this admirably functional, mid-market item of bed linen, I have yet to leave a review on the company website. Ever since my initial purchase – online, of course – I have been haunted by an increasingly plaintive sequence of requests, demands and, eventually, cajoling whimpers. Recently, these pleas moved firmly into the territory of emotional blackmail. As an 'independent, family business', my bed linen providers rely on positive reviews to keep a roof over their heads, I was told. I'm aware that the duvet cover itself isn't sentient but, with this level of pressure leveraged in its name, it's hard to catch sight of it in the laundry and not attribute to it a smidge of cotton-fibred resentment. Incessant demands for consumer feedback are the newest plague on our inboxes. It's not just the duvet cover: Tripadvisor is still badgering me to review a restaurant I didn't actually attend, after looking it up last month; my new exercise mat came with a questionnaire; and when I bought a splurge item through a luxury fashion marketplace, I was invited separately to review the web portal, the individual brand, and the delivery company, each in turn. It's enough to drive one back to shopping in person, with cash – anything that doesn't require an email address. So I was initially enthused to hear about Dorian, the Notting Hill restaurant that is tearing up the rulebook on customer feedback. Gone is the review-driven service and the abject apologies issued online to any grumpy sot who issues calumnies from behind a pseudonym. Any complaints left on Google or Tripadvisor will be roundly ignored; any customer who even mutters about leaving a review will be ejected on the spot. They certainly won't be emailing you to ask if there's room for improvement. Instead, it is the customers who get reviewed. Buckle up, diners of London W11, and get ready for your manners to be marked out of five. As the old joke used to go: 'In Soviet Russia, television watches you.' Nowadays, in Notting Hill, potato rösti reviews you. These reviews aren't published, so you won't be exposed to public shame, although you'll get a sense of where you rate, based on whether you're blocked from repeat bookings, or added to an elite WhatsApp group with access to last-minute reservations. But the in-house notes sound copious. Dorian's owner Chris D'Sylva told the Mail last week that he keeps a logbook of diners' behaviour. 'It's a tiered system whereby we rank how much we like the customer and the value of the customer, or the destructiveness of the customer.' Behaviours likely to get you marked as 'destructive'? Turn up with a ring-light and demand help filming your dinner for Instagram. (D'Sylva has a healthy scorn for Insta influencers, largely due to the number of freebies they request.) The worst crime, however, is to show any hint of offering your own feedback. The only critique that matters here is the one issued to the customer. The Dorian approach may seem aggressive to many, and no doubt has been publicised as a calculated strategy to cultivate a reputation for exclusiveness. The Mail's initial interview with D'Sylva included a blingy list of celebrities, or 'people of influence' to use his preferred phrase, who do merit a regular table. Yet, in 2025, there's surely something laudable about any business owner who refuses to be held hostage by any curmudgeon with a laptop and a Google account. Restaurant workers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your Tripadvisor stars! We do all understand why businesses have been reduced to begging customers for online reviews. These now define how we spend our money. The result is a series of industries shouldering unjust levels of reputational vulnerability. No wonder criminals are monetising this weakness: last July, an acclaimed restaurant chain in the north-west revealed that it was being blackmailed by a gang who had begun to flood its online listings with fake one-star reviews, and threatened to continue if not paid off. Andrew Sheridan, the star chef targeted by the scammers, has joined a list of chefs backing Dorian's approach, although he doesn't ignore bad reviews by tricky customers: 'I respond to every unfair, bad online review, explaining why it's unreasonable.' It's not only negative reviews that can be faked. In 2023 the consumer champion Which? revealed that 10% of surveyed Amazon customers had been offered bribes by retailers to leave a five-star review, often compromising a gift card of greater value than the original amount spent. Whether in retail or hospitality, we find ourselves in a culture of uber-reviewing: a world in which we're all reviewing each other, all the time, and positive reviews are currency. The most obvious form of low-level irritation this provokes is that of the hassled customer: the part of me that resents when a retailer expects me to make payment by giving up my time, as well as my cash. Sign up to Observed Analysis and opinion on the week's news and culture brought to you by the best Observer writers after newsletter promotion More invidiously, however, it builds a world in which we're encouraged to complain after an encounter rather than adopt strategies to build trust with those who serve us. There is something avoidant about the post-dinner review. Too often, it seems to be an outlet for any minor dissatisfaction that a diner has never quite dared voice to a waiter. The same moral cheapness surely creeps in when customers themselves are reviewed. The old adage tells us to trust a new date by how he treats the waiter, but what if he's only mustering basic courtesy because he wants to stay on the restaurant's list? (He'll need that gold rating if he's planning to bring a different date there next week.) Meanwhile, the services that already feature reviews of consumers have a nasty tendency to reward 'normal' social behaviour. One friend received a bad Airbnb review because he didn't choose to watch the football with his host. It's not clear what socially normative behaviour at Dorian involves, but I suspect it involves racking up heavy wine charges – or being David Beckham. There's no radicalism in finding new ways to perpetuate a culture in which we're all fair game for judgment. I'll probably pass on trying to get myself a reservation. In preparation for this article, I had a peek at some of the Google reviews that D'Sylva is so keen to ignore. There's a healthy 3.9 star average, but the one-star stinker that sticks in my head spoke of being treated with 'utter disdain' by the staff. Fancy that. Kate Maltby writes about theatre, politics and culture
Telegraph
01-03-2025
- Business
- Telegraph
The fed-up restaurants charging £50 per cancellation
It used to be so simple: ring up a restaurant, pick a time and show up on the night. The suggestion that you should have to pay in advance, let alone hand over upwards of £50, would have been laughable. How things change. A growing number of upmarket restaurants are now charging their customers before they've even set foot in the doorway. At Piraña, a Japanese Peruvian restaurant in Mayfair, diners now have to agree to spend a minimum of £95 on food between Tuesday and Sunday. Fail to show up for a booking, and you'll be fined £50. It's a similar story at Gymkhana, the two Michelin-starred Indian restaurant in Mayfair, which recently introduced a £100 minimum spend. Other examples include the high end sushi restaurant The Araki, where diners must pay a £310 fee in advance for its omakase tasting menu. An evening meal at Claridge's Foyer & Reading Room, meanwhile, comes with a minimum spend of £50 per person. These are, admittedly, extreme examples of restaurants that cater to the wealthiest diners. However, up-front fees for reservations are increasingly common in restaurants – particularly in London. Many are imposing steep cancellation fees on customers if they don't show up, or if they cancel but fail to give enough notice, while others now ask for a deposit to ensure diners stay committed to the booking. 'The costs have gone up, and so you've absolutely got to lock it in,' says Chris D'Sylva, the owner of the Michelin-starred Dorian restaurant in Notting Hill, which charges a £25 deposit per head that is then subtracted from the final bill. Fresh shock from Reeves Restaurants have battled with the surging cost of everything from food to energy in recent years as the industry navigated Brexit, the pandemic and the cost of living crisis. Yet just as many costs were beginning to stabilise, Rachel Reeves has hammered the sector with a fresh shock. In her Budget last October, the Chancellor announced a rise in employers' National Insurance (NI) contributions and a fall in the earnings threshold at which it kicks in. At the same time, minimum wage is set to jump by an inflation-busting 6.7pc. Changes take effect from April. Bosses argue the changes will disproportionately hurt hospitality because of the sheer number of part time staff in the sector. The tax rise has already caused companies to slow or pause hiring and cancel investments. The number of people employed in accommodation and food services has begun to fall since the Budget, dropping by 58,000 in January 2025 compared with the same period last year. Only 14pc of hospitality leaders said they felt optimistic about the sector's prospects in the year ahead, according to a survey by data firm CGA. 'Many consumers remain hesitant about their spending, and while inflation has eased in some areas, business costs remain very high across the sector ... Energy price rises and the Government's planned changes to National Insurance thresholds and rates could hardly be coming at a worse time,' says Karl Chessell, director of hospitality operators and food at CGA. Responding to these higher costs may seen counter intuitive. Many diners might find the suggestion that they should lay down money in advance dispiriting, let alone the prospect of calculating who owes what after a large group meal and several glasses of wine have been knocked back. 'Painful' decisions Yet, restaurant owners say these measures are necessary after years of soaring costs and economic chaos that have made it much harder to turn a profit. 'They're hesitant to do it,' says Nick Gross, a hospitality industry consultant who works with restaurateurs. 'It is quite painful to charge someone £50 a head to not sit in your restaurant. It's all about revenue protection. If I didn't sell it today, that that seat is lost.' Chris Galvin, the co-owner of Galvin Restaurants, charges a £50 cancellation fee per person at his Michelin-starred London site, Galvin La Chapelle, if a cancellation is not made within 48 hours of the meal. 'I think people were [previously] afraid to offend customers, but everyone is on this bloody precipice, worried about business and counting every single cover,' he says. 'Why should it be that we're spending a lot of time securing the best, making sure we prepare it by hand, we rota in the staff, we're paying rent and we're turning down other bookings, and then people don't show?' Of course, no-shows are not a new problem for hospitality. Restaurateurs have spent decades scratching their heads over how to handle the problem. But the precarious financial position that many now find themselves in means a more rigorous approach to the issue is needed. Sunitha Southern, the owner of Kira restaurant in Cheshire, now charges customers deposits for meals on special occasions and holidays like Valentine's Day to protect her income. 'We had situations when people didn't turn up, and we had turned people away,' she says. 'It's c--p, everything is affected if they don't turn up. As soon as you open the door, you walk through, the electricity starts ticking. 'Then your staff are lined up – it's such a competitive market that if you don't give them the shifts you have promised, they will just go and they will get picked by somebody else.' She chose to charge a deposit because after the frequency of no-shows increased in the wake of the pandemic. Southern blames online booking systems, arguing they have made booking a table so easy people feel like it is less of a commitment. 'They will say 'oh, sorry, we have double booked' or 'my partner's booked another restaurant' – and this will be when we call them. It is the most frustrating thing,' she says. While he does charge a deposit, D'Sylva of Dorian says he makes exemptions for regulars and locals who he trusts. 'They don't pay the deposit, but they know how to behave: they honour their reservations, or they cancel them with appropriate time – everyone else, I will put them on £25 per person to keep them committed to the booking. 'We used to have a cancellation fee, but with [payment apps] Monzo, Revolut and all that, it's all two-step payment approval. They don't show up, you go to charge them and you can't – they reject the payments.' As well as no-shows, the fee has managed to put off those who 'reservation squat', where people book several restaurants for the same evening to allow them the option to choose on the night. While his upfront charge has been a success, D'Sylva worries the industry is going down a dangerous path. 'It's in conflict with hospitality. It's not welcoming, it's like 'let's talk about the money first, before I've delivered you anything' – that's not what I want to feel from the outset when I come to a restaurant.'
The Independent
26-02-2025
- Business
- The Independent
Want a table? That'll be £100 per head before you even order
Once upon a time, booking a restaurant was simple: you found a place, called up, made a reservation and – crucially – turned up. Now, in an era where dining out is already an expensive endeavour, restaurants are adding yet another hurdle: minimum spends. London's top spots are now enforcing spending thresholds, turning tables into high-stakes investments before you've even glanced at the menu. At Gymkhana, the first Indian restaurant in London to receive two Michelin stars, that's £100 a head. Hutong, a northern Chinese restaurant in the Shard, demands £80 per person on weekends. Chutney Mary, another Indian restaurant, which has been going since 1990, expects you to drop at least £60. Even if you just fancy a quick cocktail and a dessert at Jean-Georges at The Connaught hotel, you'll need to part with £50 per person to secure a spot. What was once a courtesy booking is becoming a financial commitment. For restaurants, this is a necessary defence against rising costs, reservation-squatting and social media freeloaders. But for diners, it's yet another way of extracting cash in an already pricey dining landscape. The real question is: who are restaurants actually fighting? The culprits – no-shows, bots and influencers – or the ordinary customers left holding the bill? Let's be clear: running a restaurant right now is no easy task. The hospitality industry has been battered by rising costs, post-pandemic recovery struggles and shifting dining habits. No-shows are rampant, online bots are reselling reservations and ultra-wealthy diners – once reliable big spenders – are leaving the country in droves. One of the biggest headaches for restaurants is people booking multiple tables across the city and deciding last minute where to actually dine. Chris D'Sylva, owner of Dorian in Notting Hill, calls this 'reservation squatting' and has introduced a £25-per-head deposit to stop it. The problem? Unlike theatre tickets, restaurant reservations are free to make, meaning diners feel no real obligation to commit. This leaves restaurants with empty tables and lost revenue. And while you might assume that walk-ins can fill the gaps, the reality is that fewer people are casually dropping into restaurants these days. Consumers, faced with their own financial pressures, are dining out less frequently and choosing where to spend their money more carefully. On top of that, many restaurants don't even allow walk-ins – some operate exclusively on a reservation basis, now with a charge attached. The spontaneous dinner out is becoming an endangered species, replaced by bookings made weeks in advance, sometimes at a cost before you've even set foot in the door. High-end restaurants are also facing a new kind of scalping: online bots snapping up reservations, only to resell them for profit. Gymkhana cited reservation bots as one of the key reasons behind its new £100-per-head minimum spend. Realistically, trying to spend less than £100 at Gymkhana is like trying to leave a pub after 'just one pint' – possible in theory, but unlikely in practice. If you actually show up, the minimum spend is essentially just a deposit you'll end up using. But is that fair? For most diners, who'll happily order a starter, main and a cocktail or two, if not the full-whack £140 tasting menu, it won't matter. But if you just fancy a couple of dishes and a beer, tough luck – you'll have to splash out or eat somewhere else. Then there's the flight of Britain's ultra-wealthy. In 2024, the UK government cracked down on tax perks for non-domiciled residents, prompting 10,800 millionaires to leave the country. These were exactly the kind of diners who wouldn't think twice about splashing out on caviar and Château Margaux. With their departure, restaurants are left trying to make up for lost big spenders – and the rest of us are footing the bill. From April 2025, National Insurance costs for employers will soar. In real terms, that means a restaurant with 30 staff will have to find an extra £100k per year. For a franchise with 300 employees, say, that jumps to £1m. This, combined with rising food costs and rent, is forcing restaurants to find ways to secure revenue – minimum spends being one of them. Restaurants are also sick of social media personalities looking for free meals. Dorian along with Hugh Corcoran (chef and proprietor of The Yellow Bittern) have both called out influencers sliding into their DMs with requests for comped dinners. Dorian even posted an exchange with an influencer asking for a collaboration, responding with: 'We're introducing a collab tax on top of the full price menu if you're interested'. Surprisingly, they weren't. Corcoran, meanwhile, exposed a so-called luxury fashion brand for making a big reservation, failing to confirm, then ghosting them entirely on the day. For some restaurants, minimum spends might also be a way of keeping the blaggers at bay. I wonder if whatever restaurateur is writing in favour of no minimum spending would be happy for me to book a table of eight, order some tap water and proceed to use the restaurant like my own living room. Of course not, it is completely ludicrous and disingenuous to say you accept no minimum spend Hugh Corcoran, The Yellow Bittern Corcoran also pointed out that the only thing worse than arguing in favour of a minimum spend is pretending restaurants should have none at all. 'I wonder if whatever restaurateur is writing in favour of no minimum spending would be happy for me to book a table of eight, order some tap water and proceed to use the restaurant like my own living room,' he wrote on Instagram. 'Of course not, it is completely ludicrous and disingenuous to say you accept no minimum spend.' But he also made it clear he wouldn't be introducing one himself, calling the further monetisation of dining out 'deplorable', adding: 'There is a solution to this all – order as if you enjoy eating and drinking!' While restaurants have valid reasons for implementing these policies, the people actually paying for it aren't the no-shows, the bots or the influencers – it's the regular customers. Ultra-wealthy non-doms disappear to Monaco and suddenly we're the ones being told we can't book a table unless we commit to spending £100. It's a financial burden shifting downwards, from absent millionaires to the average Londoner just trying to enjoy a meal out. Rising prices, service charges and expected tips mean London restaurants are already among the most expensive in the world. In fact, £100 a head is fast becoming the norm, whether you're dining at a Michelin-starred establishment or just somewhere that takes itself a bit too seriously. It's no longer just a splurge meal – it's a Tuesday night catch-up with a friend where a couple of cocktails and a steak push you into triple digits before you've even thought about dessert. Minimum spends add yet another financial barrier, turning dining out from a treat into an investment. The big question is whether this will work – or whether customers will start avoiding restaurants with minimum spends. This isn't the first time restaurants have imposed extra charges on diners. In 2023, several establishments introduced solo diner charges, sparking controversy. One such example was Café Royal, which imposed an extra fee on solo guests, arguing that single diners take up valuable table space that could otherwise be occupied by multiple paying customers. The backlash was swift, with many criticising the move as exclusionary and unfair. If minimum spends are now following in these footsteps, the question remains: will diners simply accept them as a necessary evil, as part of London's fine dining landscape, or will they push back? The Araki, Mayfair's ultra-luxury sushi restaurant, already charges £310 per head up front. The US is doing it too – booking platforms like Tock and Dorsia are already setting minimum spends across high-end restaurants, and now Dorsia has launched in the UK, with leading London restaurants such as Strakers, LPM, Akub, Bouchon Racine, Lita's and The Barbary already signed up. If it works there, it may well stick here. Restaurants have legitimate frustrations – no-shows, spiralling costs, influencers who want free food – but their solution is punishing the wrong people. While minimum spends might deter influencers and no-shows, they also risk alienating the loyal diners who actually want to eat there. At some point, customers will decide whether these price walls are worth climbing – or if they'd rather just go somewhere else. Because let's be honest: minimum spends might keep the blaggers out, but at this rate, they might just keep everyone else out too.
