To Jason Wells, the British café culture a decade ago was still steeped in the tradition of the greasy spoon and gut-busting fried breakfasts.
Ten years on, he and a wave of Antipodean peers bearing avocados and flat whites have begun to import the premium, laid-back, all-day café model of their homeland, most notably found in Melbourne.
Yet with the fight for the third space being waged across the sector, Wells – the operator of a growing five-strong group in south-west London – is not concerned about copycats.
The reason, as he sees it, is British complacency. Wells is sceptical about home-grown restaurateurs’ appetite for the militant approach to making everything from scratch that he employs at Brew Cafe.
“What we do is not easy and sometimes it’s not cost effective”, Wells says, of making everything from pastries to half-ton batches of bacon. “What it does, though, is give customers real quality and gives you greater control over quality.
“It’s not always about margins – though you have to make money. There’s no substitute for that integrity and honesty in making it all yourself.
“Have we set a precedent? Yes we have. You can feel people are trying to copy us. But they’re doing it like a jigsaw puzzle and making it in a cheaper, more economical way.
“I don’t think they will do it because it’s not the English way.”
Born in Melbourne, Wells originally wanted to be an engineer, but took an apprenticeship at a butcher’s shop, where he learned how to run a business.
He went on to open his own butchers’ shops aged 20, before an ill-fated foray into restaurants, which proved popular but under-capitalised. “It was the best lesson I’ve ever had,” he says. “You can be as enthusiastic as you like and believe in yourself, but you’ve got to have all your numbers add up.”
After arriving in the UK with his English wife it was obvious London was lacking the Melbourne style café culture he took for granted back home. Even fancy hotels were serving freezer muffins and packet ham in their eggs Benedict – anathema to Wells.
Despite the determination to make everything from scratch, he insists the approach is actually straightforward.
“It’s not that complicated. The logistics are hard. But when you’re making it it’s not. The Australian thing is to really keep it simple. I had one of our burgers the other day and it nearly made me cry. It’s just meat, tomato and lettuce, with in-house sauce and brioche bun.
“That’s why we’ve got legs. Our accountant says we can save 7% to 8% a month if we use production line facilities from someone else. But I do not want to that. I don’t want to sell myself to the devil.”
To Wells, the change in how people see food in the UK has touched all levels of society. “When I first came here food was fuel, but now it’s passionate,” he says. “I was in a Marlow pub and there was a painter and a plasterer talking about how they’ve made an avocado dish. Ten years ago they would have been talking football. It was fascinating.”
Speaking ahead of the launch of Antipodea this month in Kew Gardens, a larger more special-occasion bistro in the evenings, though still offering all-day cafe dining, Wells also has ambitions to establish new clusters of restaurants elsewhere.
After opening in Teddington and Parsons Green, he hopes to move to north London and start a new cluster of sites, while Manchester, and affluent towns like Esher and Marlow also being considered.
With each grouping feeding from a production kitchen, the model becomes more economical as more sites are added.
Yet despite this ambition to expand, he is scathing about the rapid rollouts of branded restaurants, and sees his businesses as replacing expired restaurants rather than creating net additions.
“You’ve got to make money, you can’t kid yourself,” he said. “But the world has got lost with a ‘more, more, more’ culture.
“People talk about 100 sites, it’s just ego, who cares? What you want is a sustainable profitable business and if you can do that with 10 sites then great.
“There are only so many people in the UK. How many restaurants do you need? There are brands that have done their time. That’s where we should go. Not as well as them, in place of them. Otherwise everyone is cannibalising each other.”
Wells still rates some branded restaurants such as Côte, for its reliable service and food. But he predicts a fattening of the independent segment as the casual-dining sector gets consolidated and discerning consumers demand better quality.
While turnover at Brew has remained steady, Wells believes his demographic of customers are eating out less as they save money for their holidays amid exchange rate fluctuation.
Supportive of the National Living Wage, and paying some general managers and chefs salaries of up to £80,000, he thinks customers and operators should contribute more for their experiences.
But as operators scramble to make sense of turbulent times, his message is keep calm and carry on. “We always have ebbs and flows,” he adds. “People are always going to eat out. You’ve just got to get on with it.”
Jason Wells launched Brew Café with a mission to bring Melbourne café culture to London. He talks to Finn Scott-Delany about saturation in the casual-dining market and how his competitors will always be held back because of the British approach to brand building
To Jason Wells, the British café culture a decade ago was still steeped in the tradition of the greasy spoon and gut-busting fried breakfasts.
Ten years on, he and a wave of Antipodean peers bearing avocados and flat whites have begun to import the premium, laid-back, all-day café model of their homeland, most notably found in Melbourne.
Yet with the fight for the third space being waged across the sector, Wells – the operator of a growing five-strong group in south-west London – is not concerned about copycats.
The reason, as he sees it, is British complacency. Wells is sceptical about home-grown restaurateurs’ appetite for the militant approach to making everything from scratch that he employs at Brew Cafe.
“What we do is not easy and sometimes it’s not cost effective”, Wells says, of making everything from pastries to half-ton batches of bacon. “What it does, though, is give customers real quality and gives you greater control over quality.
“It’s not always about margins – though you have to make money. There’s no substitute for that integrity and honesty in making it all yourself.
“Have we set a precedent? Yes we have. You can feel people are trying to copy us. But they’re doing it like a jigsaw puzzle and making it in a cheaper, more economical way.
“I don’t think they will do it because it’s not the English way.”
Born in Melbourne, Wells originally wanted to be an engineer, but took an apprenticeship at a butcher’s shop, where he learned how to run a business.
He went on to open his own butchers’ shops aged 20, before an ill-fated foray into restaurants, which proved popular but under-capitalised. “It was the best
lesson I’ve ever had,” he says. “You can be as enthusiastic as you like and believe in yourself, but you’ve got to have all your numbers add up.”
After arriving in the UK with his English wife it was obvious London was lacking the Melbourne style café culture he took for granted back home. Even fancy hotels were serving freezer muffins and packet ham in their eggs Benedict – anathema to Wells.
Despite the determination to make everything from scratch, he insists the approach is actually straightforward.
“It’s not that complicated. The logistics are hard. But when you’re making it it’s
not. The Australian thing is to really keep it simple. I had one of our burgers the
other day and it nearly made me cry. It’s
just meat, tomato and lettuce, with in-house sauce and brioche bun.
“That’s why we’ve got legs. Our accountant says we can save 7% to 8% a month if we use production line facilities from someone else. But I do not want to that. I don’t want to sell myself to the devil.”
To Wells, the change in how people see food in the UK has touched all levels of society. “When I first came here food was fuel, but now it’s passionate,” he says. “I was in a Marlow pub and there was a painter and a plasterer talking about how they’ve made an avocado dish. Ten years ago they would have been talking football. It was fascinating.”
Speaking ahead of the launch of Antipodea this month in Kew Gardens, a larger more special-occasion bistro in the evenings, though still offering all-day cafe dining, Wells also has ambitions to establish new clusters of restaurants elsewhere.
After opening in Teddington and Parsons Green, he hopes to move to north London and start a new cluster of sites, while Manchester, and affluent towns like Esher and Marlow also being considered.
With each grouping feeding from a production kitchen, the model becomes more economical as more sites are added.
Yet despite this ambition to expand, he is scathing about the rapid rollouts of branded restaurants, and sees his businesses as replacing expired restaurants rather than creating net additions.
“You’ve got to make money, you can’t kid yourself,” he said. “But the world has got lost with a ‘more, more, more’ culture.
“People talk about 100 sites, it’s just ego, who cares? What you want is a sustainable profitable business and if you can do that with 10 sites then great.
“There are only so many people in the UK. How many restaurants do you need? There are brands that have done their time. That’s where we should go. Not as well as them, in place of them. Otherwise everyone is cannibalising each other.”
Wells still rates some branded restaurants such as Côte, for its reliable service and food. But he predicts a fattening of the independent segment as the casual-dining
sector gets consolidated and discerning consumers demand better quality.
While turnover at Brew has remained steady, Wells believes his demographic of customers are eating out less as they save money for their holidays amid exchange rate fluctuation.
Supportive of the National Living Wage, and paying some general managers and chefs salaries of up to £80,000, he thinks customers and operators should contribute more for their experiences.
But as operators scramble to make sense of turbulent times, his message is keep calm and carry on. “We always have ebbs and flows,” he adds. “People are always going to eat out. You’ve just got to get on with it.”
