“Indeed. We aren’t a registered venue but Larchdown House is, and it’s only a couple of miles away. They can offer catering, but it’s all outside caterers and setting up marquees. I’m hoping we can work with them on a package to hold the receptions here. And of course, there would be heavy involvement in that process.” The way he smiles gives me a feeling I might be asking the right questions.
“Would you like to see around the place?” he asks, and I agree eagerly, keen to see it for myself. We head back out to the staff area, and then through a door opposite to the way we’ve come. It leads to another long corridor.
“This is the event space on our left. We can enter here, which is staff only...” He points to a door on the left. “But we’ll go along to the main entrance.” There’s a door at the end of the corridor. We go through and I can see we’re in a large area—the central part of the U-shape. Straight ahead is a bar, which curves back away from us to the left. At the moment, the space before it is empty. To the right, there’s a central reception desk for the venue, with stairs beyond which lead to a mezzanine floor for the double-story height that the building is in this part. I look up at the striking wooden vaulted ceiling.
“That up there used to be a hayloft. Can you imagine having that as the roof of your hayloft?”
“Is that original, then?” I ask, getting a crick in my neck trying to take in all the detail.
“Yes, though it needed some restoration, the same with all the stonework. It’s taken specialist companies and nearly a year to turn it into this.”
“It’s impressive,” I say with awe, and I can see he’s pleased.
He opens a set of large wooden doors on the left, and I look in at a large space which I can see could be multi-purpose, lending itself equally to balls or conferences. He shuts the door and turns round.
“This area is obviously the bar. Here we’ll have low tables and comfortable chairs, but we’re still in the process of fitting it out.” He leads me to the right. “Obviously this is the main desk, where there’ll also be a cloakroom. There are a few tables upstairs which are part of the restaurant, though we are considering making it a private space that people can hire out for small events. There’s a lift in the corner as well. But this is the mainpart of the restaurant.” He gestures with his hand to the right hand side of the U. It’s a long space, and though empty at the moment, I can envision the tables and chairs. What strikes me most is the view. There are large windows looking out on the courtyard, but on the other side are sets of glass doors which open the other way. I walk over and look out.
“That’s our polo field,” Gabriel says, sounding pleased.
“It’s huge,” I say with reverence. It’s a lot bigger than the one in Aspen.
“Nine football pitches,” Gabriel says with a smile, bringing me back to my first introduction to polo.
“Saying that is one thing, but seeing it is another,” I say looking left and right trying to take it all in. “In here would be a ringside seat.”
“Quite literally,” Gabriel explains. “This area just outside will be utilised on match days, and we’ll have tables out here too.” I remember the hospitality tent at Aspen and how people liked to be close to the action.
“Would you like to see the kitchen?” he offers.
“I’m very keen to see it,” I say, especially now I’ve seen the rest.
“The whole kitchen and pantry, as well as the bar storage is behind this central section. There are doors at this end and also right at the other end of the bar, so there’s no need to cross the main entrance,” he says as we walk towards the door at the end of the restaurant space. I’d seen as much with the quick look of the plans I got, and it seems logical, which I like. “On this side, the doors go straight into the kitchen, but not at the other end, which you’ll see.”
He pushes open the door and I follow him into . . . an empty space.
“Oh,” I exclaim and turn as Gabriel laughs at my reaction.
“Not what you were expecting, huh?” he asks.
“Not really,” I say, turning a full three sixty in the space. It’s tiled on the walls and floors like a kitchen, but apart from that there’s nothing here. “I was expecting maybe a little more.” I was expecting a whole lot more, like a fully fitted kitchen. Gabriel is still smiling as he leans back against the door frame and casually crosses his arms.
“Well, I don’t know the first thing about fitting out a commercial kitchen. I could have got a company to do it, but would it be right? I don’t know. I want a kitchen that suits the person who has to run it.”
I turn to look at him, my eyes widening.
“Are you talking about being able to create this? Myself?” I almost squeak at the possibilities as the excitement I felt before resurfaces.
“I am. You’d have a blank slate,” he says and then looks at his watch. “In fact, I have a phone call to make. How about you have a look around and come up with a rough plan. Come back to my office in say, ten minutes, and tell me about it.” He doesn’t wait for an answer but pushes back through the doors and disappears. I stare after him for a few seconds, my heart pounding. It would take me a week or more to come up with a plan for this kitchen and he wants something in ten minutes? It takes me a few deep breaths for the panic to subside and to realise he’s not expecting a detailed plan. That this is actually just a test, part of the interview. Be innovative under pressure.My already high regard for him goes up a few notches. Okay, I can do this. I walk the room a couple of times, getting a feel for the exits and where would be the best positions to set everything up. Refrigeration, ovens, hobs, preparation, pre-cooking and plating-up areas. As I let my imagination take over, I can almost hear the chorus of “yes chef,” and I break into a wide grin. I don’t have anything to sketch on as I left all my paper in Gabriel’s office, but I take a couple of photos of the space and commit my ideas to memory. I’m back outside his office door and knocking on it at exactly the ten-minute mark.
He opens the door and invites me in.
“How did it go?” he asks.
“I have ideas but I didn’t have any paper, so do you mind if I take a few minutes to sketch them out?”
“Not at all. I’ll make us a drink if you want one.”
“Thanks,” I reply, already sitting and pulling a piece of paper towards me, starting to lay out my plans. I’m just about finished when he returns, and after a quick sip of coffee I go through it.
