To celebrate the launch of our new Club Sandwich, we sit down with Jeremy King, legendary restaurateur and champion of the triple decker classic.
If there was ever a sandwich with glamour, it would have to be the club. Most often enjoyed away from home – as bar food, by the pool or in a hotel bedroom – it’s a dish that evokes a relaxed kind of luxury, a sense of adventure and hint of old-school romance.
When we decided to create a new sandwich, and elevate our lunchtime menu, we were immediately drawn to the club. But we wanted to explore its place in dining culture more deeply, as well as the wider art of lunchtime eating. For this, we felt there was no better guide than Jeremy King. Over the past 45 years, Jeremy has changed the way London eats, creating some of the city’s most iconic dining rooms and restoring others to their former glory.
From Le Caprice in the 80s to The Ivy in the 90s (giving the restaurant its golden years) and later The Wolseley and Brasserie Zédel, Jeremy’s career spans multiple eras. Today, his portfolio includes The Park, Arlington and Simpson’s in the Strand.
Throughout this time, Jeremy has also perfected lunch as a cultural act. His dining rooms have taught hurried Londoners how to pause, linger and enjoy a more convivial midday meal.
Within this philosophy, Jeremy has long understood that when it comes to great lunch dishes, sandwiches take the throne. From half a reuben and chicken soup, to grilled cheese and tomato soup, to a club sandwich and fries, he has mastered the sandwich-based lunch dish.
He was exactly the man to speak to about our new sandwich. What makes a great club in his mind? And have we lost touch with the magic of the long lunch? Over a club sandwich at The Park, we talk to Jeremy about the appeal of the dish, the art of a good lunch, and his new book, Without Reservation, which reflects on life lessons from a career in restaurants.
There are various theories about the origin of the club sandwich, with many dating back to the late 19th century. Why do you think it's had such enduring appeal?
Food is often more enjoyable, and certainly more convivial, if you get your elbows out. At a dinner party, people pass food around – their elbows are out and taking things. That's why club sandwiches are so wonderful.
And when you have ingredients that include bread, chicken, bacon and egg, with French fries on the side, how can you go wrong? However, it is very easy to do a bad club sandwich. It might be ubiquitous, but the standards aren't always maintained.
On that note – what are the key features of a club sandwich made well?
I've long had a theory that when things are sublime, they don't shout for attention. Great design should not shout to be seen, but should bear scrutiny. And it's the same with the club sandwich.
You need great chicken that's marinated and grilled on a Josper grill so you get that little bit of smoke. There should be enough contrast between the crispiness of the bacon and the succulence of the chicken. With our club sandwich at The Park, you'll find that there’s sufficient mayonnaise, with the addition of a little Mary Rose sauce.
But there are more opportunities to ruin things than with almost any other food. There's nothing more disappointing than biting into chicken that's dry, rubbery or badly bought. Or if the bread is the wrong bread – too crusty or starts to curl when lightly toasted. Many people are trying to do four slice club sandwiches and I'm afraid it doesn't work. The whole sandwich needs to hold together so you can eat it elegantly.
The dream scenario is that somebody finishes a club sandwich and says, ‘why was that so good?’ That, for me, is the real beauty of it.
The humble lunch can sometimes be overlooked. It's not the most important meal of the day, like breakfast, and it lacks the romance of dinner. Do you think a weekday lunch is a dying art form?
I've long thought this. For many years, I didn't have clocks in my restaurants, because I didn't want people to be reminded about time. I like long lunches.
The best restaurants are the ones where I can walk through the door, the maître d'hôtel happens to know my name, and I feel as though I'm scooped up by the atmosphere. As they take me to the table, I see people I know, people I'd like to know, people who shouldn’t be together, famous people. There’s a hubbub which is already lifting me.
As I sit down, maybe I'm the sixth of six to arrive, nobody's looking at their phone, nobody's taking photographs. They're just talking. It’s very special how uplifted you feel by a group of people talking together.
And halfway through this meal, you're thinking, gosh, I wish it wouldn't end. Then somebody stops, knife and fork in hand, looks down at the plate and says, ‘this is rather good’. And then somebody else says, ‘and it's very reasonably priced’. Everybody agrees, and they carry on. That for me is about lunch.
Unfortunately, in the last 10 to 20 years, whether it's lunch or dinner, it's become about performance. I go to restaurants, and I'm exasperated because people are coming in, having booked two months in advance. They order the absolute minimum and spend the whole time taking photographs. It's a great sadness that it's not about enjoying it –it's about ‘being there’. They've missed the inherent experience of eating in a restaurant.
So it’s as much about the people for you as the food – which brings us on to your new book, Without Reservation. Why are restaurants such fertile environments for life's greatest lessons?
Restaurants are a microcosm for life. When we interact properly and look into each other's eyes, we grow in stature and confidence. The alchemy that happens when people are working closely together in a pressured environment is extraordinary.
There were various things which I'm fascinated by in the arts that I felt I wasn't capable of. I was very tempted to be an architect. Then, as time went on and I'd fallen into restaurants, I realised I could derive all my pleasure from it. There are countless lessons I've learned, and I was persuaded to record them in the book.
What – or who – persuaded you?
My beloved friend and agent Caroline Michel said, ‘you love posterity, but people will change your buildings. A book lasts forever’.
I was always incredibly jealous of writers. I remember, back in the '90s, seeing William Boyd come in with his wife after the opera, and he was absolutely beaming. He said he’d just finished his book that afternoon. I'd never seen such palpable pleasure on someone’s face, and I was very envious. It was always in the back of my mind to have that experience.
What do you think your current restaurants – Arlington, The Park and Simpson’s in the Strand – might have left to teach you?
I work on the basis that I have something to learn every day, and if I'm not striving to, then I will fail. If the ambition in life is purely to maintain standards, then, actually, they will drop. Meanwhile, people who’ve been admiring you will be improving. So you constantly have to be improving.
To say ‘I have no regrets’ is a very male thing to say. I have regrets every day, and I'm learning every day. My particular joy is the fact that I'm now learning from my staff and from my children.
What's the future of restaurant culture?
Probably every major movement, whether in the arts or politics, started in a restaurant. We are a fundamental part of culture. So I have no fears it won’t continue, despite the assaults of Ozempic or virtual experiences. I think restaurants are the last bastion of human interaction.
How they manifest, of course, will change a great deal. I often find myself quoting a line from Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa’s book The Leopard: ‘For things to remain the same, everything has to change.’ I fully believe that. You don't change the ethos, culture, or integrity. You just change how it manifests. And yes, we're under a lot of pressure because of people not eating or drinking so much. But we will find a way. Our ability to adapt is massive.
And do you think the club sandwich will remain as popular?
I think it's sacrosanct. It may start to come back more in restaurants.
Let's hope so, starting with GAIL’s.
Starting with GAIL’s.
Try our new Smoked Chicken Caesar Club – a triple-decker layered with free-range smoked chicken slices, cabbage slaw in Caesar dressing, rashers of crispy bacon and fresh tomatoes and rocket, all sandwiched between three slices of our soft Challah bread. Available across our bakeries now.
