I came to Becco after slowly working through the ranks of Melbourne’s hospitality scene. Becco was the Italian restaurant in a city full of Italian restaurants. Clubby with dark booths, timber joinery, terrazzo floors. The pulse, the cool, Nina Simone. I learnt the craft – how to use a flat cloth, hang a guest’s jacket, silver serve fried calamari, decant Barbaresco, and above all, to fall in love with restaurants.
Simon Hartley and Richard Lodge owned the restaurant and would often break for a meeting between services. Sometimes these breaks would last all night. A good break would always commence with Martinis, followed by VB throwdowns and icy glasses of Shaw + Smith M3 Chardonnay. They both ruled the floor, experts at their trade. Both had completely different styles, and it was wise to understand how they operated.
My ritual for preparing for the work week was always the same. Monday mornings were for washing, drying and ironing my six starchy white shirts.
Richard was jovial, friendly and kind. A regular of my father’s pub, he liked drinking Carlton Draught and relaxing with his girlfriend. His mother was a painter who designed Becco’s enchanting menus. He hired me and, therefore, had a duty of care toward me. He was patient and tolerant when it came to my incompetence. He was an excellent manager and fantastic waiter – a gentle hand teaching me the trade.
Simon was the opposite of Richard in temperament. He was tall and wiry. He opened his first restaurant when he was 22 years old, a hospitality veteran. He could intimidate as well as cajole, running the venue to an exacting standard, no details slipping his dark, beady eyes. As scared as I was of Simon, I’m forever grateful for the pressure he put on me, the training I received, and his unwavering dedication to his guests.
This is an excerpt from issue 2 of Swill. Grab a copy of Swill today to read the whole thing!
