Sitwell’s Restaurant: I’m taking on the petty tyrants trying to ruin my business
Sitwell’s Restaurant: I’m taking on the petty tyrants trying to ruin my business
William SitwellSat, August 8, 2026 at 5:00 AM UTC
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‘The list of stuff that’s not welcome in my restaurant is growing,’ says William Sitwell - Jim Wileman
The Aegean Breeze is a restaurant in Worcester, a purveyor of seafood and steak. And usually to the approval of regulars. But recently a group of diners decided, when the £400 bill arrived, that things had not in fact been up to scratch.
The lobster had been “earthy”, they said. The staff offered some money off to placate them. The party refused, deciding that nothing had been good and they stomped off without paying.
“Absolute Karens”, observed a member of staff. Which piqued my interest, firstly because of the use of the word Karen and then the monstrous escape.
One feels for decent Karens everywhere, that they should be maligned by this strange expression. If you didn’t know, calling someone a “Karen” is implying they exhibit grandiose tendencies, an air of self-importance, a righteousness, moral certainty nay performative authority – or arrogant twits, you might say.
Imagine if that happened in my place, I thought: the dropping of my name (“I will speak to William”) to force compliance, the threat of non-payment. Then it happened.
An email came from the professional account of someone who wields a certain legislative power over small businesses in Somerset. They had booked into my restaurant (the White Hart in Wiveliscombe, West Somerset), which dishes might I recommend?
I immediately replied selling the virtues of the likes of our anchovy starter, just a few of the little fishes, unadorned, served alongside thin strips of toasted local Longstraw sourdough and a roundel of smooth cultured, south-west butter, suggesting items from the magnificent Somerset Grill or chef Charlotte’s pistachio tiramisu. I told my general manager, Andrew, of the imminent VVIP. Take particular care of them, I said.
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I was away and the reports came a couple of days later. Firstly the informal one from the chef: “An absolute Karen tonight,” she said. And then the formal, moment-by-moment record of trusty Andrew. Which ended, true to Karen form, with the party brandishing my name and suggesting they would swerve the bill.
“We’ll sort it out with William, we know him,” they said. Andrew stood firm. A light deduction was made, the bill reluctantly paid. They stomped off. And I, and my team, are happy to let it be broadcast that we will not tolerate Karens. Or, as I’d put it, petty tyrants will never succeed in terrorising my restaurant. Their parochial, arrogant and ignorant grievances were almost too good to be true, the most sublime of which was their cry that “the anchovies were too salty”.
“I’ll pass your comments to the kitchen,” said George The Greek, working the floor that night and at his most charming. He’s a man whose Cypriot roots make him liable to unexpected explosions. Not that night – he calmly related their views to the chef along with the revelation that the Pope was Catholic. Salted anchovies are salty, that’s the joy. The only complaint possible being that they’re not salty enough.
On delivering two whole lemon soles George offered to take them off the bone, something he does with the sleight of hand of a magician – he’s also a trained fishmonger. No thanks, they said, we’ll have them whole. And then, sometime later, they complained to George that they were “too boney”. Again he bowed, vowing to pass on this message along with another about bears in woods.
On being presented with the bill, they then levelled a complaint that George had asked them where they were from. His usual: “Good evening, how are you, where are you from?” ooze of charm was taken as an assault of “How dare you enter this place?”
The individual then emailed me threatening a poor review and suggesting we speak, presumably to placate them and avoid their online admonishment. My review of them, I suggested, would be rather worse, their attempts to swerve the bill being theft, not to mention the reputation-destroying salty anchovy-gate. The VIP did not reply.
The list of stuff that’s not welcome in my restaurant thus grows: no badly behaved kids, no ordering merlot unless it’s Petrus, no well-done steaks, no wine-glass theft, no feedback, no décor comments scratched onto the wall loos – and no tyrants.
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Source: “AOL Money”
