The Hooker in the Lobby

By Paul Treyvaud

The Hooker in the Lobby captures the essence of working in the hospitality industry – no two days are ever the same! Paul Treyvaud aims to dispel some of the myths and stereotypes associated with working in this fast paced industry. This is his witty, no holds barred account of what really happens behind the kitchen and hotel doors. Paul brings you on a journey, from his somewhat turbulent college days, first job, working life in Ireland and Europe and finally to opening his own restaurant Treyvaud’s, with his brother Mark, in Killarney Co. Kerry.

The author

Paul Treyvaud owns and runs the multi award winning Treyvaud’s Restaurant in Killarney, Co. Kerry with his brother Mark. He studied Hotel Management & Business Studies in Cathal Brugha Street for four years but was classically trained throughout his life by Ireland’s original Masterchef, his father Michel Treyvaud. After spending years working in some of Europe’s and Ireland’s leading hotels he decided it was time to do it all for himself.
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• Language: English
• Publisher: PubliBook Ireland
• Release date: Jun 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9780957425200

Book preview

The Hooker in The Lobby

VERSO

Copyright © Paul Treyvaud, 2012

The author has asserted their moral rights.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/treyvaudsrestaurant

Twitter: @treyvaudsresto

eBook ePub ISBN: 978-0-9574252-0-0

eBook ePub Published in 2012 by PubliBook Ireland

an imprint of CUE | Design, Media & Marketing Solutions

Bective Villa – Bective Street – Kells, Co. Meath, Ireland

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publishers. The rights for images used remain with the originator.

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The Hooker in The Lobby

Paul Treyvaud

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First and foremost, my greatest appreciation goes to my most beautiful and very understanding wife, Elaine. You are my rock, there for me every second of my life. Without you, I am nothing. My two boys, Sean & Dylan, you have given me the greatest tears of laughter I have ever experienced. Daddy loves you more than you will ever know and each second I spend in your company is the most treasured time in my life. Watching you grow up makes me so proud.

To my amazing parents, I love you both so much. What you have given me in life is more than any child could ever dream of. I am truly eternally grateful for all your support in my last thirty six years of walking this planet.

My brother Mark, for whom without, I could not have the life I lead. You are very much the heart of the restaurant.

My sister Lucienne, who works way too hard, one day we will have Christmas in Kerry together.

To my most loyal and wonderful staff, you mean the world to me

To my incredible mad friends, you know who you are – your friendship is everything.

Brian and Eoin, what every business needs behind them; a super accountant and solicitor and I might need to prove your worth if this ever gets published.

And finally, to The Boss, thank you for teaching me.

DEDICATION

Dedicated to Elaine, Sean & Dylan

Introduction

If you are in anyway offended by bad language, put this book down now! I have written this in the way that hotel and restaurant staff speak to each other behind the scenes. In one very famous hotel in Dublin there was a sign on the door that swung into the restaurant from the kitchen, it read ‘Smile, you are on stage’, but there was no sign telling you what you had to say on the way back in. I was brought up in a family that lived, ate and drank the hospitality trade. I was very fortunate to be trained by the first real Master Chef this country has ever seen, my father. ‘He wrote the book’ (as many a chef has told me) on how to operate a kitchen at the highest and most stressful level.

I am by no means anywhere near the calibre of Richard Branson, but working my ass off from a very early age in the hotel industry, I dreamt that one day I would own my own business. I knew from the beginning that I had a problem with authority and a lot of the bullshit that went with it. There was only one way to get around that and that was to become self employed. Hopefully, anyone who reads this will see that even though it is a very tough road to walk down, if you want it bad enough, you can achieve that dream.

I work in an industry which is rampant with complete bluffers, from the hotel manager to the celebrity chef. If I achieve nothing else other than exposing these fraudsters to one person that believes what I say, I will have had the fortune of realising another dream. To every hard working sincere and honest person in this trade, I applaud you for the blood and sweat that you have given for the most part which has gone unnoticed. But, rest assured, it is only unnoticed in the media driven world that has created a cloud for peoples better judgement. Do not for one second feel that it is you that is doing something wrong. It is them.

Being a no body as far as anyone relevant is concerned would never put me off writing this book. I have no intention of competing with the big boys in that field, although one dream I probably will only ever get to dream is to have my own TV series on food. But the recession has been great for one reason; it has given me plenty of time to write!

Chapter 1

I knew what I wanted

What the fuck am I doing here?

I’m sitting in my fathers’ grey pinstriped suit with safety pins strategically placed to tuck in the waist and legs so that no one can see; this should actually be worn by a forty year old weighing in at around 80kgs. My tiny shoulders however need a hell of a lot more than safety pins.

I try all day to get out of this stinking class room and here I am at 8 o’clock in the evening sitting in front of three top executives from the best accountancy firm in Ireland.

Our Career Guidance teacher had told us at great lengths, for the last month, how hard he had worked at securing all these bloody top executives so that we could do these mock interviews. Good man, I said, Who have you got from Liverpool FC?

You see, to a young fourteen year old boy, well simply put, he couldn’t really give a flying fuck about top executives and what he was going to do when he grew up. This was dream time. It’s a time that all fourteen year olds should be allowed have. In fact, there should be a ban on all adults asking young kids what do they want to be when they grow up? I am going to be the top goal scorer for Liverpool for three consecutive years and then I going to buy the club with all my mates.

Sorry, are you going the answer the question? One of the interviewers leaned forward. I had three morons looking at me. They couldn’t even pronounce my name right when I came in, so how fucking smart could these guys actually be? Come to think of it, even after I told them how to pronounce it and given them a short geographical lesson on Switzerland, they still couldn’t get it right. This was my first insight into life that just because someone thinks and acts like they are smarter than you, there’s a good chance they are actually a tosser

So why do want to join our firm? This came from the guy in the middle. He was clearly the one in charge, and the other two were brought to make him and the firm look impressive. My father also taught me my most valuable lesson in life. Always tell the truth he told me that way, you never have to remember what you told anyone.

To be honest, I said, beginning to pick myself up out of the chair, because my mother told me

What the hell kind of answer is that? I had really pissed off the middle suit now. Well, she told me under no circumstances was I to join the hotel industry and that I should become an accountant or something stupid like that

Something stupid like that?

Fuck me; I really wound him up now. Might as well keep going I thought. Yeah, well it’s pretty stupid if it’s not what I want to do.

His two other companions were still sitting up out of their chairs with a little steam a brewing, but the middle guy sat back and I could see he was starting to think to himself. So what mock interview should you be doing? None, I said, I’ve a semi final on Friday and I should be outside training right now. Oh, and by the way, you know the way they always say mothers know best? Well mine doesn’t. If Liverpool doesn’t snap me up, then I am going into the hotel industry.

Well, I have a funny feeling you might be bringing me tea one day, he muttered to himself as he put down his head and scratched my name off the list. I hope for your sake I don’t, I proudly said as I got up, I might spill it on you. His jaw just dropped to the floor as he watched the little shite in front of him get up and walk out. I passed the classroom where the hotel College interviews were taking place. I paused for a second and thought of my football match that was coming up, smiled to myself and just kept on walking.

Chapter 2

The College Days

I’m not that smart. I have always said that. Well that’s if you measure smartness like they do in schools. I’ve had this argument with countless teachers over the years and I firmly believe that it’s our memory that is measured in school and not our intelligence. Think about it. We are given pages and pages of shite to read and then asked to regurgitate it all back out for exams. We are told to learn other peoples’ opinions and write about them as opposed to thinking for ourselves. Jesus, if I ever meet Peig, I’ll kill her again! We read one page of that fucking book every day for 2 years in school. Our teacher wouldn’t explain it to us at all. Then he had the nerve to be pissed off with us for not understanding it. And what’s bloody worse, when they finally did the book in English (just as we were nearly finished), I still didn’t understand the damn thing!

Look sir, I got enough to get into college. Liverpool never answered my calls, ah well; their loss and I decided what I wanted to be soon after that. The principle turns around to me and says It’s a waste of time; you’ll never get past first year. What a bollix. Could you imagine saying that to a kid who had just got his exam results. I was seventeen at the time and had just received my Leaving Cert results, but I was old enough to realise that it now no longer mattered what this man thought. He suspended me twice for having long hair. Anytime I’m down I tell this story to someone because now I’m as bald as a fart. He made me miss a big soccer match and he punched one of my best friends across the jaw. This was the calibre of man we were told to respect.

A plain and simple Fuck you, Sir, was the last thing I ever said to him. The funny thing was about twelve years after that, the then principle rang me up looking for €2000 to raise money for the school and a plain and simple Fuck you was the last thing I said to him too. There was only one teacher who seemed to like me and that was because I was pretty good at football back then, the rest just didn’t like the fact that a kid could have an opinion of his own. How many people that think they are in a position of authority have ruined kids hopes, just because they never amounted to anything themselves. Thousands before, and millions after, will prove these guys wrong. If you want something bad enough, you will get it. Of course you need talent to go with your determination, but some little shit should never be in a position to stop you.

My father, my eldest brother, my sister and my other brother had all gone down the same route. I knew I was always going to do the same. I knew nothing else. When this industry gets into your blood, it’s worse than heroin. It’s so bloody addictive. If you want to make it in this game, you need to let it take over you. You need to become a junkie to the trade. You need to let it block out everything else so that the only thing that matters is your job. If you want to succeed in this game, you have to be prepared to do this. If you want to last in this game, you need to know when you have succeeded and then stop taking the drug.

When I was trying to get into Cathal Brugha Street, all I needed to do was pass my leaving cert, sit an aptitude test and do an interview. B & C were always going to be the easy part of that equation, but A was my Breechers Brook of a hurdle. I was the kind of guy that had all my books in my school bag and just brought it as a token gesture. It was only ever opened at about 07.45 in the school yard to cog my homework off the swot and then I was ready for the morning 8am game of soccer. I just hated the school part of school.

Anyway, I just barely scraped through scoring a massive 8 points in old scoring tables. But I got what I needed and that’s all I gave a shite about. Went off to do my aptitude test, now these kinds of tests suit me down to the ground, aced that, then had my interview about 3 days later.

I walked into the Hotel College and I knew I was at home. These guys pronounced my name perfectly. Well, this is purely down to the fact that my father was the Gordon Ramsey, Jamie Oliver and all other chefs of modern day rolled into one back then. Actually, the first thing I was asked when I went in was how my father was doing. Come to think of it, I think that was the only thing I was asked.

The points I had from my Leaving were only enough to get me into the Catering Management course. I wanted hotel Management and Business Studies. But I knew, once I got my foot in the door, I had a chance of being moved up. About 2 weeks into college, this is exactly what happened and I got transferred to the course that I really wanted

College life is like the part of life of being a fourteen year old all over again. What’s most important here is that you have a laugh. The studies are secondary. Don’t fuck it up and get turfed out or anything, but make friends, go out and have a great time because once you start working in this game, you lose a great chance to do all this. They should tell you this in college because you actually only realise this when you see it for yourself and then it’s too late.

You lose a lot in this game. You lose a lot of friends, which is a good thing ‘cause you see who your friends actually are People stop inviting you to things because you always say no. You miss out on so many events because you are always working, but most importantly, you miss out on spending more time with your loved ones. When you have a family, you can’t be there for everything you should and want to be there for. You just hope that they understand. You just hope that what you provide them with, some way compensates for your absence. If you don’t love this game, forget about getting into it because your potential loss will far outweigh your possible gain. Unfortunately no college lecturer tells you this and that’s why it’s such a great advantage to come from a family that has worked in the trade so you have gotten firsthand experience of it.

*****

Myself and Fats, he was never actually fat, but it wrecked his head when we’d call him that, were sitting at the back of this big lecture hall. We had been in secondary school together and had become good friends and here we find ourselves sitting beside each other in the same college doing the same course. Whatever way I opened my fold down chair, I knocked a piece of the panel off to reveal a load of switches and buttons. We looked at each other and knew straight away this was going to be a laugh. We were sitting in a theatre style classroom that could hold over five hundred students and there were about sixty of us scattered throughout all the rows of seats. There were fifty odd in the front few rows and all the dossers sitting at the back.

Fats drove to college in a complete piece of shit that just about passed as a car. It was a small car van with no seats in the back. The only time we actually ever got as far as college was when Fat’s girlfriend was going to college too. She was at the college just around the corner from ours, so there was no getting away with bunking off with her around. Every other day, there were golf or poker machines to be played. We finished one exam one day and instead of going back to study for the one the following morning; we went and played a round of golf to celebrate the fact that we thought we had done ok.

Anyway, never mind all that, there was a massive dilemma ahead of us here. Which switch were we going to press first? We had mastered the art of being able to mess and doss but to look straight ahead a long time ago. We were experts at never getting caught and master technicians of making some pure eejit laugh and take the blame for us. We had this talent under our belt by about the age of 7!

The first button was pressed and we couldn’t believe it. NOTHING! You missed the button you gobshite I said to Fats. Shut your mouth and you press one then if you’re so fucking smart. If you ever wondered how hoteliers and restaurateurs are so polite, it’s because our language is so bad when we are not working.

Ok, move over bollix and I’ll do it. I always have to clean up your mess anyway.

Fuck you…

All of a sudden, all the shutters close on all the windows in the class room. Whatever the lecturer was in the middle of, he just stops and looks up at the windows. My fine art of not laughing was gone because myself and Fats were now pissing ourselves. All the students started to talk and wondered what was going on, so no one noticed us falling on the floor with laughter. We’re hiding under the chairs and Fats is applauding me for my excellence in switch selection and I’m saying to him that there must be another one to open them again. This was like a thunderstorm with the noise that came out of it and I wanted to do it again.

The class settles down and about five minutes later, the thunder storm is on top of us again. The other 4 or 5 messers in the class have narrowed it down to us, purely because they knew they had no hand in it and they started to sneak back to our seats to see what we were at.

Fuck off Big Ears I said, We found this switch box so it’s ours He had this nickname because of the size of his nose. We thought we were real mates because real mates don’t slag you for looking like an ugly fucker.

This went on for about another ten minutes, and I said to Fats that we’d better be careful because that’s about all we were going to get away with. In the last ten minutes, we had turned off the lecturer’s microphone, turned on the air conditioning, turned on the radio, closed the shutters again and set off some alarm.

Big Ears?

What?

Want a go?

Are you taking the piss or serious?

Serious – swap seats ya bollix before I change my mind

Big Ears jumps into the hot seat, examines the switch board, makes a massive executive decision on which switch to hit and goes for it. Next minute, one by one, all the rows of lights start to go off starting from the front over the lecturer’s head. Then row 1 to 5, 6 to 10, 11 to 15 and so on until the entire room is blacked out. It was pitch black from when we had left the shutters closed. Then this bloody big spotlight comes on over Big Ear’s head. There’s a thump on the ground. Fats has fallen off his chair again with the laughter.

Can you fucking believe our luck there, he shouts. You must have hit every switch except that one.

Big Ears got himself a serious thick ear that day, but what a legend, he never once said anything about us two gobshites. It took us buying him six pints before he forgave us. I reckon he just acted pissed off in order to get the free beer but we were pretty happy to buy them for him

*****

I cried my first day in baby infants, hated anything academic in that school, went to secondary school, hated all that too and just presumed that I had to go to college just to hate that as well. There’s just something about sitting in a class being lectured that I hate. In fact there‘s just something about being told what to do that I hate, full stop. The only teachers I ever got on with were the ones involved with sport. I was on every age group soccer and Gaelic team possible throughout my schooling years and I reckon that’s the only thing that ever got me through those times.

College was no different. Here I was being lectured again, but this time it was by failed hoteliers and chefs. There were one or two very good chefs that taught us some practical classes. He would just come in, teach, and if you could keep up with him without asking a stupid question, you’d learn. If you couldn’t, you could rest assured that you had a great future as a lecturer in a catering college.

You see, what pissed me off about most of these guys was the fact that because they couldn’t hack the trade, then they wanted every young guy to suffer for their shite lives. Most of these guys were alcoholics and completely stressed out. You could tell by their strawberry red faces and shaking hands that they never managed to get away from the drug. It was funny because any lecturers teaching subjects that had fuck all to do with hotel management (like economics) were all young and trendy people. The chefs and hotel management lecturers were old farts with the teaching ability of a corpse. Actually that’s very unfair. You could learn something from a corpse! A lot of these lecturers had chips on their shoulders about not making it in the industry and they took their issues out on students. I was singled out in my very first practical cookery class. The chef that was giving the class had gotten out of the trade quite some time now. He was a complete alcoholic and couldn’t handle the stress anymore. He went through the roll call and then asked us to put up our hands if we were related to anyone in the trade. The usual lick arses were quick to say ‘my daddy this and my daddy that’, but I just kept my mouth shut and put my head down because I knew what was coming. My sister had been here before, and she had me well warned. Then came the question if any of us knew anyone in the trade and again the usual suspects were quick to point out who daddy’s best friends’ were. My mouth was well and truly shut now. I could see the bollix scanning everyone’s face and he eventually asks, ‘so where is this Treyvaud fella so?’ I put up my hand.

Why didn’t you put up your hand when I asked the questions?

Cause no one likes a lick arse Chef I could tell he wasn’t impressed with my answer at all.

Let me tell you all standing here today. This man’s father is one of the greatest chefs that this country has ever seen. There was a brief silence

Thank you chef. I presumed that’s what he was waiting for.

But his son hasn’t the slightest chance of ever becoming half as good as his father.

That’s why I’m studying hotel management chef.

Don’t you dare get cheeky with me young man.

I had no intention of, Chef. I was quite happy keeping my mouth shut. You came looking for me. For that entire practical course I was totally ignored and blanked. To be honest I was just as happy.

*****

What d’ya mean you’re gonna plead guilty? I said to Big Ears.

Well they fucking caught me with it over my shoulder, didn’t they?

Big Ears had this amazing talent of seeing something that no one else would. This talent usually came to light after 6 pints of stout and 8 tequilas. All of a sudden the parking meter on O’Connell Street was an obvious thing to take back to bed with him. A gentle push back and forth, a little bit of unscrewing and a final blow with a left foot ninja kick that Eric Cantona would be impressed with et Voila! One parking meter neatly hoisted over ones shoulder.

She fucking came out of nowhere.

Who came out of nowhere?

The bloody Ban Garda did, that’s who – Have they nothing else to be doing, for fuck sake?