Zeren Wilson on the thrill of opening John Dory against all the odds

A few friends and I have just opened a wine shop and bar by the seaside. It’s been a whirlwind six weeks slinging wine for the good people of Sandgate village, a swift ten-minute cycle along the south coast from Folkestone.

It’s the first time I’ve been properly involved with a hospitality business as a co-owner. It’s something I could never have contemplated without the assistance and experience of my business partners. With Louisa Walls and the owners of Space Bar and Kitchen in Folkestone, there is a combined a set of skills, and I have new-found confidence. Until now, I’d always dismissed the idea of opening a wine bar: I know how hard it is, and I felt safer consulting and assisting from the side-lines with minimal risk.

In a post-Covid, post-Brexit climate, with doom-laden headlines spouting ‘cost of living crisis’, ‘energy crisis’, ‘plunging pound’, ‘interest-rate hike’, ‘mortgage scramble’, and ‘mini-budget gaff’, you may consider that opening a new hospitality venture at this time is something approaching bananas. But here we are, and we’re up for it.

Within the first couple of weeks, what we’ve experienced is a sense of relief and appreciation from emerging regulars and locals. ‘Thank goodness you’ve opened’, one customer said. ‘We’ve been waiting for something like this’, another told me.

It’s warming to have had such a positive reaction. After all, this is what we’re here for, right? Restaurants, pubs and bars will always be a constant and will always be necessary, no matter how hard the constraints and tribulations of an economy in turmoil. We need to go out, we need distraction, we need to gather, we need a drink and a chat. Preferably we do those things over a slice of Comté and some plump gordal olives, a thick wedge of pork terrine glistening with back fat and humming with the savoury honk of liver, a glass of dry German Riesling, and another of joyous frothing Lambrusco with ‘beaded bubbles winking at the brim’ (cheers, John Keats). Oh and a wedge of Parmigiano made by Giorgio Ravero in Bra, Piemonte. These are the things that sustain and delight us, and this is a snapshot of what we’ve been striving to offer at John Dory – happy moments, pouring the good stuff, some beautifully made produce to accompany.

Experiencing the many spinning plates that need to be attended to while running a business has been an eye-widening education for this former consultant for hire and would have overwhelmed me without the experience and back-up of the John Dory team. Choosing a list of wonderful wines and sourcing great charcuterie, tinned fish and cheese is a breeze compared to the nitty gritty of the machinery in the background that keeps the place ticking over. Everything from staffing to landlord discussions, budgets and profit margins, stock-holding and available funds, glass washer malfunctions and flooding after a thunderstorm – all of this and more would have slapped me into submission without the group.

So, I’m back on the rota, back on the floor, and loving it. It’s proven to be a sharp reminder of the physical strains of a double-shift: taking in wine deliveries, wine box cardboard disposal – so much cardboard! – those pumping, breathless Friday nights with cheese platters flying out, and the realisation that, yes, we really did need an extra person that night, but we powered through, living on the high-octane thrill of hearing the thrum of a buzzing, happy room. That first drink post-service is always the sweetest, sweetest of moments.

Most of all, I relish the fun: tasting with Mons Cheese and selecting Beaufort, gruyère and Crottin de Chavignol; taking in delivery of canned smoked rainbow trout and south coast cuttlefish from Sea Sisters; plating out the gorgeous fat slabs of sushi-grade smoked salmon, and silky cured ‘Lonza’ pork loin from London Smoke and Cure; tasting the new batch of chef Harry’s pâté de Campagne, dropped off to us each week; opening a pack of Bret’s fromage de Jura crisps from Brittany, made with powdered, melted Comté; receiving a box of new Californian wine gems from importer Nekter; converting another regular to the glories of dry German Riesling, in this case a razor sharp number from The Winery in Little Venice, where I worked for three years. These are the moments; this is the fun stuff that has me bouncing out of the house each day.

Fancy opening a wine shop and bar, mate? Yes, actually, I think I do.

I have a hunch I may like it – we have a team, you see, and for that reason, I’m in.

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