Katz Josh - Berber & Q

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Epub ISBN: 9781473550773

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Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing,

20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

London SW1V 2SA

Ebury Press is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

Text copyright Josh Katz 2018

Cover design by: Noa Shwartz & Hila Ben-navat

Cover photography: James Murphy

Josh Katz has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

First published by Ebury Press in 2018

www.eburypublishing.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Design: Noa&Hila Design in collaboration with Maru Studio

Photography: James Murphy, except for by Tom Bowles

Illustrations: Nick Powell

ISBN 9781785035289

On 24 April 2015 Berber & Q opened its doors to the public for the first time, white smoke billowing from our open mangal onto a dimly lit Haggerston backstreet.

We were born in an old taxi repair shop, housed in the most beautiful converted railway arch Id ever seen. I remember the first moment we saw her, exposed brick as far as the eyes could see, dark, cavernous, dripping in grease but packed with character. It was love at first sight. We had, for some time, been harbouring designs for a hazy, fucked-up barbecue joint, hidden down some neighbourhood alley, shrouded in mystery from the outside, bursting with energy from within. Arch 338 on Acton Mews ticked all the boxes.

Within a few weeks of opening, queues had begun to snake outside our door and down the little mews. The warm red glow of hospitality and heady smell of cumin-scented barbecue emanating from inside our arch seemed to draw local East Londoners in. Groups of mates surged in to huddle around massive tables, eating with their hands from communal trays piled high with Technicolor barbecue, spilling punchy cocktails before emerging half-cut and meat-drunk to free up space for the ever-expanding crowd outside. This was how we dreamed it would be.

Droves have kept coming ever since. Every so often I make sure to stand back and take it all in. Berber & Q has a magical spirit and energy to it that is difficult to capture or express properly in words. Its a combination of our beautiful arch, our beautiful team, but most importantly, our beautiful customers, who have always let us be what we always wanted to be without judgement or reservation. We will be forever grateful for this.

My path to owning a North African and Middle Eastern-influenced barbecue joint has not been paved with clarity and a well-informed sense of direction. Ive always loved barbecue, but I havent always known how to barbecue.

I dont hail from Texas. I didnt spend my school summer holidays working at my local barbecue joint. Ive been to Turkey. Several times. And Ive even followed the grill ustas (masters) around like a bad smell. But I cant claim to be one of them. Not by a long shot. Ive never lived on a farm, nor reared my own herd of needy pigs. And I sure-as-shit have never had to hunt for my food. The closest Ive ever come to foraging in the wild was in the bagel queue at Daniels Bakery on a Sunday morning. (Believe me, it can get pretty primitive in there. Especially if you were responsible for taking the last sesame-seeded chollah.)

I dont come from good barbecuing stock. I grew up in a Jewish household, the youngest child to South African parents, in the leafy enclave of Hampstead Garden Suburb. The beating heart of privileged Jewish North West London, its not an area renowned for its entrenched barbecue culture, save for a few kosher grill houses in nearby Golders Green such as the legendary Sollys, which threw down a mean lamb shawarma but some decidedly average grilled meat skewers.

I think my parents had probably hoped for me to be a banker, or possibly a doctor. Maybe even both, at the same time. I on the other hand had always loved food, and harboured dreams of running restaurants. This was in no small part down to them. Food was always a thing in our house.

Whilst other kids my age were spending their pocket money on music, fashion accessories and trainers, I was buying dim sum at Local Friends, a Chinese restaurant in Golders Green. Id go there on the way home from school for char sui bao (barbecued pork bun) and some prawn cheung fun.

I quickly graduated to taking trips across town to West Londons Edgware Road, with its array of Lebanese and Persian grill houses. By the time we were old enough to drive, my mates and I had discovered apple shisha, and would regularly head down on a Saturday night to smoke flavoured tobacco into the early hours. We thought we were so cool, but in truth, I only ever went for the food. I loved the lamb shawarma from Ranoush Juice, and the hummus beiruty and fattoush from the legendary (though recently closed) Beirut Express. Soon I was commuting across town in the other direction, to Green Lanes Turkish grill houses, where Id introduce my mates to mixed mezze and shared meat platters.

For a long time I refused to seriously consider a profession in the hospitality industry. Back when I was finishing school and deciding what to do with my life, that world was only just starting to garner its current sex appeal. The restaurant business had a bad rep for long hours and low pay. Not much, other than peoples perceptions of it, has changed.

So I did what everyone else was doing and enrolled in university, emerging still without much clue as to what I wanted to do. I began a career in marketing for a small design agency in Covent Garden, a more conventional career path for me, but try as I might I couldnt get into it. When the time came to make a change, it felt right to pursue my love for food and restaurants professionally.

I started my apprenticeship at the eponymous Galvin Bistrot de Luxe, an acclaimed French bistro on Baker Street owned by the Galvin brothers, Jeff and Chris. It was a tough, bruising experience. I was in the shit from the minute I arrived until I left. I stuck it out for 18 months, just to prove wrong those who thought Id only last two weeks. At no point did I really enjoy cooking French food, but I endured out of stubborn resistance.

I moved myself on and found work at Ottolenghi in Notting Hill. At the time it was only just starting to make waves. I had no idea of the seismic impact that Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi would go on to make in the world of cookery, helping to shape and define the way we eat at home. I also had no idea of the effect it would have on my own career, how it would shape and define how and what I like to cook, and how it would open doors for me through association.