7. Never Again!

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by David Yip

At home, my younger sister, Diane, is working in Leeds and spends a lot of time there, staying in hotels. She tells me that she will be moving there as it makes more sense, but she needs to sell her houses. She asks if I will buy the one I live in, but I tell her I don’t have the money. She decides to gift me the deposit, which I’m to pay back on top of my mortgage. I’ve never had this financial burden before, but we sit down and go through my financial commitments, and she says I can afford to do it. I give notice on my rental.

At 42, I buy my first house—large, three-bedroomed end terrace. The backyard is a great sun trap.

I decide to celebrate by going on holiday with my sister to Portugal. Two weeks before our departure, my boss from Gran Canaria contacts me and says that Gay Pride is coming up, and she doesn’t think her current staff will manage, asking if I would help. I cancel my holiday to Portugal and instead fly to Gran Canaria and work ten days to help out.

Back in Barrow, our bar manager, Chris, is leaving. He gets a job running a national gym in Barrow. Being a young man, he prefers the hours over the long shifts worked in hospitality. We remain good friends, attending concerts together and catching up whenever we can.

A fallout at work between my boss and the head chef results in him leaving. A couple of days later, he returns, telling us he made the wrong decision. During a meeting with him, I tell my boss that she shouldn’t take him back and that I don’t believe he is committed to the hotel. This falls on deaf ears, and she rehires him.

The head chef tells us he wants to go all out with this year’s festive menus and decides to write separate lunch and evening menus. I don’t agree with this, as it means twice the produce, rather than using core items and changing garnishes, potato options, sauces, etc., to increase profit. I am overruled.

Christmas approaches. The hotel is famous for its elaborate displays. The orangery ceiling has hundreds of branches threaded through the supports, covered in lights, with decorations sourced from Harrods. All the lounges and dining areas have beautiful garlands and decorated trees.

With two weeks to go until the Christmas parties start, the head chef leaves with the rest of his team. We are fully booked throughout December and now have no chefs. Fortunately, we manage to recruit a head chef who brings his whole brigade with him. Our hotel has always had a great reputation for its food, but the first Christmas parties are a disaster. Many guests complain about their dishes. They say that the portions are too small and what they are served didn’t match the description on the menu. Instead of serving a cheesecake in a complete wedge topped with fruit, the chefs serve a deconstructed cheesecake: loose biscuit crumb beside a fruit compote with a quenelle of mascarpone cheese.

The chef is called into a meeting and told the type of food our guests expect and have always enjoyed. We inform him that a couple of sprouts on a plate with a potato won’t be acceptable when guests are used to their dishes being full of potatoes and vegetables.

My boss asks me to go into the kitchen to help.

I spend the following day with them, prepping all of the potatoes and vegetables ready for service. During service, I tell the chef to plate the meat and accompaniments with the gravy or sauce, and I will look after the sides. This is well received by guests, but once again, the guests start to complain. The following day, we are fuming. The chef goes back to plating a few sprouts and a single potato on the plates. He says that this is how he cooks and doesn’t like our way of piling food on. Again, the guests complain, and we have to issue many refunds.

My boss asks to see me. Now she says she wants to fire the chef and asks me to go into the kitchen and do it for her. I explain. If I do this for her his entire brigade will follow. I am only one man, not capable of delivering such large numbers of dishes alone.

We have the worst Christmas in the hotel’s history. The reviews that come in are terrible, and we refund table after table.

Taking an early holiday the following year, I am lying on a beach when my mobile phone rings. My boss tells me she has dismissed all the chefs! I ask what she plans to do, and she says, “Will you go in the kitchen until we get some more chefs?” I ask who with, and she tells me, “We have breakfast covered, but that is it.”

Back from my holiday, I cover the kitchen on my own saving the hotel a small fortune in wages each week. I want a pay rise. She agrees to pay me money on top of my salary until we find some new chefs.

I cater for all lunches and dinners, seven days a week, on my own. I also cook for wedding parties of up to 70 guests during the day serving elaborate menus, at one point hosting 120 guests at an evening reception. I work three months without a day off and lose nearly two stone. Never being the biggest-built guy, always having a slim build, my family and friends tell me I look dreadful.

To my relief, our former sous chef, who had become head chef, decides to return. I stay in the kitchen working alongside him until he recruits more staff. At least I get some days off.

In my time off, I arrange to meet a former chef, a few years younger than me, who I worked with more than 20 years ago. We enjoy a meal together in the next town when our talk turns to our youth. He asks, “Do you remember that place in town about 20 years ago that everyone always tried to get into, but you could never get in?” I ask where it was, and when he tell me, I start to laugh.

“I was there all the time. it was mine. I lived there!” He’s gobsmacked and says, “OMG, that place was legendary. I tried to get in there all the time, most weekends, in fact.” “You could have just called me,” I say, laughing. And he says, “If I’d bloody known that then, I would have!” We have a great night catching up, and he remains a good friend to this day. I feel better after our meeting.

My boss’s daughter falls ill, and I am asked to meet the family at her home. They explain that she can no longer have the stress of the business on her shoulders and tell me and they want to make me General Manager. I am offered an annual salary of £46,000. I accept.

Despite my new position, nothing changes. I am not given access to any finances and once again have to fend off suppliers for their payments and pay staff from my own pocket.

After working for my boss for seven years, she suddenly stops paying my wages. I was due to go on holiday with my sister and so ask my boss that my salary be paid into my account while I am away. No payments arrive.

My sister tells me to leave me job. I explain I have commitments and cannot walk away from a job when I don’t have one. She says she will happily support me until I find work, as she knows I will pay it back. I submit my notice via email, informing my boss that because I haven’t been paid, I wouldn’t be returning.

Back from my holiday, my boss has posted a letter through the door.

She writes that the hotel will be lost without me, with her daughter being unwell, and asks that I reconsider. I contact the hotel for my wages and don’t get any response. My mum advises me to contact ACAS, who help people with such matters. Her daughter rejects the amount of money I am owed, stating I was terrible at my job, and refuses to pay. I forward the letter from her mum to ACAS and show bank statements of my wages. It takes nearly three months for me to get my wages, but she settles before I tell her I will take her to court. I do this despite the fact that I still have a tremendous amount of respect for my boss and the business she has created.