18/10/2026
Mussel Memory Loss and Other Restaurant Tragedies... the joys of running a small, independently owned restaurant
As a chef, one of the pleasures of owning a small restaurant is that I can put pretty much whatever I fancy on the menu. More often than not, that means whatever I can get my hands on that's particularly fresh, interesting or just tickles my fancy...
A few weeks ago, that happened to be Barramundi, which at the time I served with a West Coast mussel velouté. It was a lekker dish, sold well, and as Barramundi is sustainably and ethically farmed, it's a fish I'm very happy to serve. Better still, I can get it fairly consistently.
Fast-forward three weeks to today.
We had 140 people booked for lunch, and with only three portions of Barramundi left, I'd taken it off the menu – there's little point advertising something I'm guaranteed to run out of. Instead, I had some fresh Red Roman, a fantastic local fish that didn't have to travel halfway around the world to reach my kitchen.
Enter two lovely ladies who'd apparently enjoyed the Barramundi three weeks earlier and were absolutely determined to have it again.
My waiter came through to ask whether I could possibly make an exception. Being the ever-accommodating host, chef, pot washer and general dogsbody, I agreed. Two of my last three Barramundi fillets were duly cooked and sent out.
No good deed ever goes unpunished...
Three weeks earlier, the Barramundi had been served with fresh West Coast mussels. The operative word here is fresh. Fresh mussels are only fresh for as long as they're fresh. I don't have a freezer full of them waiting for someone to develop a craving three weeks later.
The ladies received their specially prepared, off-menu Barramundi and were most indignant.
Apparently, they'd really only come back for the four mussels served in the sauce. The Barramundi itself was almost incidental.
The fact that the dish wasn't on the menu, that I'd made a special exception to accommodate them, and that nobody had promised them mussels was apparently entirely irrelevant.
Toys were duly tossed.
Both ladies proceeded to eat their fish with great gusto, declaring it absolutely delicious, while simultaneously expressing their profound disappointment at the absence of eight mussels.
Apparently, 2026 had been going swimmingly for them until this unfortunate incident, and I had now single-handedly ruined the entire year. Quite an achievement for a Sunday lunch service.
Naturally, compensation was required.
Two desserts, apparently, were the only possible way to make amends for this culinary catastrophe.
They ordered their desserts. They ate their desserts. They were presented with a bill that included their desserts.
And then they scratched them out and refused to pay.
Eight missing mussels. R185 in demanded compensation.
For a dish that wasn't on the menu, wasn't advertised, was specially prepared at their request, was eaten in its entirety and was, by their own admission, delicious.
I completely understand disappointment when you visit a fine-dining restaurant, pay R2,000 a head for a carefully constructed tasting menu, and something specifically on the menu fails to materialise. Quite right too. Pay for an experience and expect a result.
But there's a difference between that and walking into a small restaurant, asking the chef to prepare something that isn't on the menu, having him oblige, thoroughly enjoying it, and then deciding that a portion of your bill should be written off because it wasn't exactly as you remembered it three weeks earlier. And that's after you've chewed out Jana and made the waiter feel like an abject failure.
I love what I do. I love finding interesting ingredients, cooking good food and making people happy. And I will generally bend over backwards to accommodate a reasonable request. This week we were voted 41st nationally in the Dineplan Awards, among a large pool of great establishments, but somewhere along the line, hospitality seems to have become confused with an obligation to indulge absolutely anything simply because you're the customer. Entitlement, apparently, now includes the right to be outraged and refuse to pay when your expectations aren't met.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the joy of running a small restaurant.
Next time I'll either say no or wait for Checkers Sixty60 to deliver frozen mussels. It'll certainly be cheaper than the comped desserts and the headache
