Tabasco – and other essentials

IT WAS Jude Law (the actor) who told me to always take Tabasco on a plane. Airplane food is bland, so it’s great to give it kick. But I just try my hardest not to eat on flights. I can normally do it up to about 12 hours.

If I go to Australia, I have to eat, obviously, because it’s 24 hours on a plane. I just eat the protein, drowned in Tabasco, which tastes okay – well, it tastes of Tabasco, to be honest. Or I will take stuff with me.

My favourite is a cold protein salad made from cooked salmon, brushed with a little bit of teriyaki sauce and fresh chilli over the top, and some blanched vegetables. I make it at home and put it in my backpack – and eating it six or seven hours later, it’s great.

Every general manager wants to change the world when it comes to room service. And I’ve said, “Look, if you think about it, room service is about getting it to the room as fast as possible.” But if the room service guy has 20 orders to run up and down a massive building, he’ll tell me it’s going to take 40 minutes.

Forty minutes too long, right? So if I order room service, I always, always say “I don’t want my food in a hot box. Leave it on the table with a cloche on top.” Because any food in a hot box, pasta or steak, will stew and go soggy – but they will bring your food first, because it can’t be left to sit around.

In the summer I always go to Italy and the south of France for my holidays.

In Florence, there are two places you must eat.

There’s a tiny little restaurant, right next door to Hermès, called Cantinetta Antinori. It used to be the family’s house, back when they were fighting the Medici to be the best bankers in Italy. You’re talking thousands of years but now they have a little restaurant there.

The first time I had the tomato pasta, everything stopped in the room. It was like a movie. No matter how many times I tried to make it myself, I cannot get it as good. I’ve given up.

And then, just off the beaten track, there’s a little sandwich shop called Ino. If you don’t get there at 11am, you don’t get fed. The queue goes around the block.

There are 30 different sandwiches on the menu, but I always have the nduja (spicy, spreadable pork salumi) and gorgonzola on focaccia. I’m scared if I order anything else, I won’t like it as much, so I eat the same sandwich every time I go.

I’ve even said to the owner: “I want to bring you to London. I will set up a restaurant with you in London, we can go 50-50 on it. I’ll put the money up, and I want to sell your sandwiches in London.”

And he’s, like: “No, no, no, no. It’s okay, it’s okay. I am just happy you come as a customer.”

I’ve opened 17 restaurants in my life. And I can tell you right now,

I’ve never got a restaurant right from day one. Impossible. But after about a year, a restaurant matures and really starts to find its feet. The staff gets to know their regular customers, the chef knows the suppliers really well – when they’re not scared stiff waiting for the critics to walk through the door.

You want all of that hullabaloo to die down, so you get a real experience of what that restaurant could really do. Make sure a restaurant is at least a year old.

Speak to most top chefs, and they’ll say exactly the same thing.

David Gandy (the model) is a mate of mine, and he became the brand ambassador for Thom Sweeney many years ago when they were just starting out. I remember seeing David at various events, and I said to him, “God, I love that suit, where’s that suit from?”

And he’s, like, “Oh, it’s bespoke Thom Sweeney.” The brand’s just launched a ready-to-wear shop about a year ago in Mayfair, in Bruton Place, and it’s slowly but surely becoming the go-to place for the trendy guys. Then there’s Anderson & Sheppard’s haberdashery shop on Burlington Street, which is incredible. They have some of the most beautiful socks, beautiful underwear, beautiful robes.

And then there’s Drake’s. It’s my go-to shop in London for unusual stuff: they do incredible boots for winter, super-cool hats, and I have a seersucker jacket for summer I have to pick up. It’s bloody class.

Ask for a corner room of any hotel, and they’re generally bigger. Think about how they utilise the space in a building: the corner suites are usually bigger than the middle suites, and more interesting, too: You get better views. (Ed note: they also may be more expensive.)

Visiting Hokkaido in Japan, for skiing in the winter is stunning. Halfway up the mountain, there are snow monkeys bathing in the hot springs while you ski past them. And it’s where Japanese ramen originated. Nothing beats enjoying a steaming bowl of miso ramen while looking out over the snow, especially with some hot sake.

Anywhere in Japan, there’s a rule for picking a good restaurant: The tinier the better, with room for eight or 12 people. And because they’re so small, you must, must, must book in advance or you won’t get in. It’s not like in Europe or the States, where they’ll find you a space. If there’s no space, you are not eating.

Try Sobadokoro Raikuchi or Ryunabe, which looks like a dump. You’ll get there and go,

“My God, this Jason Atherton is off his head”. But eat the hot pot, and it will blow your mind. – The Washington Post

Picture: Social Company In building his global restaurant empire, the Michelin-starred chef knows how to avoid tourist traps and makes the most out of any hotel stay.