The Ploughman's Principle

Without wishing to tell grandmother how to suck eggs, Andrew Jefford offers a three-point plan for success in pub catering My admiration for pub licensees knows few limits, you'll be pleased to hear. It exceeds my admiration for prime ministers, film stars and radio newsreaders, for the simple reason that those are all jobs I like to think I could have done at least as well as most (and, in the case of prime ministers, rather better than some). But could I run a great pub? I could not. My conversational patience is inadequate; I'm hopeless at DIY; I like an early night; my taste in music would empty a pub within minutes; I'd probably drink the profits; and my appearance in the now-obligatory naked staff calendar would provoke more horror than hilarity. On top of all that, there's the food side of things. I love cooking, as it happens, but the idea of coming up with a pub menu to be served twice a day to an always unpredictable number of customers all of whom have different tastes and whose only feature in common is bad-tempered impatience gives me cold shivers. Please feel free, therefore, to dismiss what I'm about to say as the drivellings of an ignoramus. My suggestions are, though, meant kindly, since one of the great treats in my life is going out for a good pub meal. Pub food attracted the criticism of a number of pub guides last year: the Which? Pub Guide said that those who couldn't do it well shouldn't do it at all, while the Good Pub Guide said that prices were romping ahead of the game. Both, in my view, have a point. I too noticed last year that many main courses where I live in the south east of the country routinely cost between £10 and £15 in non-branded country pubs where food is a central part of the offer ­ and if an evening for two in the pub costs £40 then it ceases to be a weekly activity and becomes a monthly or bi-monthly treat. (Tinged with latent outrage: you can still get a four-course meal in France for £15.) In branded pubs, by contrast, prices are usually lower, but quality is often dismal, with the contribution of the catering supplier, the freezer and the microwave all too evident (though I'd still rather there was some food, than none at all). Does it have to be like this? Maybe not. Here is the three-point Jefford plan for complete customer satisfaction. First, cater for all. High prices usually means high effort ­ which is great; keep it up; and with any luck at least half the customers will be higher rollers than I am. But make sure every two or three high-priced and ambitious dishes are matched by at least one modestly-priced dish, simpler to prepare, requiring less expensive ingredients, but still providing plenty of tasty nourishment. Examples? Rustic bean stews, with a few bits of chorizo thrown in; simple vegetable risottos; main-course soups; an original version of Welsh rarebit or France's croque monsieur. Another way to keep everyone happy and still not lose out on those with money to spend is to offer as many dishes as possible in two sizes, so that those who don't want a full trencher don't have to pay for it. Choice is the key. Secondly, keep it simple. When I first went out to eat in pubs as an impoverished student, I loved the already ubiquitous "ploughman's lunch" since it went brilliantly with a pint of bitter, didn't cost too much and left you nice and full afterwards. I still do. You know what the usual problem is, though? There's never enough bread. Yet what's the cheapest ingredient in a ploughman's? The bread. I'd suggest that most people love simple food, simple ingredients and simple preparation, provided both quality and quantity are amply evident. Why buy all those complicated and expensive Brake Bros frozen-ready dishes and struggle to serve them with four different vegetables al dente and just at the right temperature when half the customers would prefer what is, in effect, top-quality plated picnic food (this is a lesson airlines would do well to remember, too). Thirdly and finally, be generous. Customers notice generosity, and reward it with generous behaviour of their own. Remember that the cost of what's on the plate is a relatively small percentage of what the total food operation is costing you (wages, cleaning bills, kitchen installations and running costs), and contented customers are those most likely to have another pint, order a coffee and maybe a brandy or a malt, and come back again next week. Good complementary bread and fresh unsalted butter; plenty of well-cooked rice; proper salad and not just a few token leaves, with a choice of oil or dressing: all easily overlooked, yet it's touches like this which ensure that no one walks outside again feeling hungry or short-changed. Now, where are those red boxes? I feel a cabinet reshuffle coming on ...