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https://www.irishnews.com/life/food-drink/it-costs-85000-a-week-just-to-break-even-michael-deane-on-the-truth-behind-running-a-restaurant-in-belfast-WG6IMNNRUVBUTN76NSZIOI6LOQ/

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Michael Deane once spent a year sleeping in his own restaurant in a bid to earn his first Michelin star.

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At the time, the Belfast restaurateur was running Deanes in the Square in Helen’s Bay.

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“I didn’t leave the restaurant for a year,” he tells me as we sit down at a table in Mr Deanes, the latest incarnation of his now iconic eponymous brand.

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“I slept in it. I went to the toilet in it. I washed in it. I did everything in it. And we got the star the next year.”

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It’s the sort of obsession most diners never see. Instead, they see carefully plated food, polished service and bustling dining rooms. But, as Deane explains, there are sacrifices, risks and relentless pressures involved in keeping a restaurant alive.

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Unlike many chefs, he wasn’t inspired by childhood memories of cooking alongside his mother. His first introduction to professional kitchens came while working in the Imperial Hotel in Donaghadee.

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At the time, he admits, he had a rather simplistic view of what being a chef involved.

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“I thought that opening those boxes of plaice fillets with the orange breadcrumbs on them and lifting Black Forest gateaux out of the box was the sort of thing chefs did - I thought it was that easy,” he laughs.

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“But then I started to read about culinary greats like Albert Roux and Anton Mosimann and I started to see the great boys in the hotels in London and the sort of stuff they were doing.

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“And I thought, I’ve got to get out of here.”

The move to London proved transformational.

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After leaving Northern Ireland, Deane worked in some of the capital’s toughest kitchens, including Claridge’s and The Dorchester, where he says he regularly encountered anti-Irish prejudice.

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“People would’ve said to me, ‘Are all the Irish stupid? Are all the Paddies stupid?’ It was relentless.”

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Living in a bedsit in Finsbury Park, he remembers being stopped and searched because he was Irish and facing jibes whenever violence linked to Northern Ireland made headlines.

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“It was difficult being an Irishman in London. If anything ever happened and you were Irish and you were in the kitchen the next day, it was terrible."

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“One of the chefs would say, ‘I had to look underneath my car this morning when I came to work, Paddy.’ I just ended up being dead sarcastic. That was the only way to deal with it.”

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Rather than breaking him, the experience hardened his resolve.

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“It toughens you up and that’s something that’s stayed with me. I’m still tough. I’m a tough man in the kitchen. I’m tough in business and that’s why I’m still here.”

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Those experiences also helped shape a work ethic that would define much of his career.

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“If the shift started at seven, I would leave about four to get in for six. I would always get in early and I would probably be first in and last out to try to make myself better and better and better.”

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Returning home, Deane set about building what would become one of Belfast’s best-known restaurant groups.

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“People thought we were bonkers,” he laughs.

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“When I opened Deanes in Howard Street in 1997, the army were still on the streets and the barricades were still up.

“But people like to look in. People like to have revolution in the air.”

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The Troubles also brought journalists from around the world to Belfast, many of whom became regular customers.

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"There were journalists from CNN, German television, Austrian television, everybody was here. You’d come in on a Monday night and the journalists and cameramen would fill the place. Hard times, but good times.”

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Nearly three decades later, however, Deane says the challenges facing the industry are very different.

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While many people associate restaurant success with packed dining rooms and celebrity chefs, he says the reality is far less glamorous.

Food costs have soared. Energy bills have risen sharply. National Insurance and wage costs continue to increase.

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“We’re probably going from say a 25% profit, which we had a reasonable living out of, to probably about three and a half or four percent. The line is that tight.”

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He believes many customers underestimate just how difficult it has become to make the numbers add up.

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“People can sit in here and every table can be filled and they’re saying, ‘Deanes is doing very well, aren’t they?’ But they don’t see the reality.”

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The restaurant, he says, must generate £85,000 a week just to break even.

Yet, despite the pressures, Deane refuses to cut corners.

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“People are watering down alcohol. People are taking shortcuts to try to make a margin and it’s not the way to do it.”

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Part of the challenge, he says, is that food is only one element of the experience customers are paying for.

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“I used to think the food was the most important part of running a restaurant. But I’ve changed my mind and I think it’s the atmosphere.”

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Everything matters, he insists.

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“You’ve got to get the glassware right, you’ve got to get the cutlery right, you’ve got to get the floor clean, you’ve got to make sure the wine’s right, make sure the temperature of the wine’s right.”

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He gestures around the restaurant.

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“The chairs in here are £500 each and this couch we’re sitting on was £7,000. You have to keep investing in your restaurant so other people will as well.”

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That investment extends beyond furniture and fittings.

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“Running a restaurant is also about people,” he explains.

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“People are going through divorce, going through death, going through birth, going through pain. And I think time in a good restaurant can provide a bit of respite from everything else going on so I try to spend time just asking people how they are.”

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It is also why the recent wave of restaurant closures has hit so hard.

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“The industry here is full of brilliant, really good, really talented chefs and restaurateurs – but we are still on the back foot. People are hanging on by their fingernails and our friends on the hill don’t seem to be doing anything about it, which is the difficult thing.”

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Yet despite the financial pressures and the growing number of closures, retirement holds little appeal.

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Over the years, Deane has watched people predict the end of his business more than once.

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“People have thought we were goners a lot. People thought after COVID. People thought after this and that. And still, here we are. We’ve managed it,” he smiles.

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“Some people have said we should call the restaurant Houdini instead of Mr Deanes.”

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Asked why he continues to do it after decades in the industry, the answer comes quickly.

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“What would I do? I’d be alright for six months and then I’d get a chopping board out.”

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For all the spreadsheets, VAT bills, rising costs and endless pressures, Deane admits he still cannot imagine doing anything else.

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“I love the service. I like to be surrounded by people and food and people in hospitality. What else is there? A table, a glass of champagne, a glass of wine, a plate of food, a nice dessert, a plate of cheese. That’s the life.”