Great Restaurant Disasters: Maze by Gordon Ramsay

There is, for some reason, much schadenfreude associated with the restaurant industry. It’s an endeavour that often attracts the passionate and the volatile, those afflicted with Napoleon and tall poppy syndrome alike. This past week, Dave Chang’s momofuku restaurant group announced the closure of more of its New York restaurants. Where once there was barely a borough or avenue without a Chang-aligned venue, now only three remain in NYC. Once the darling of the tweaserheads, Chang’s repositioning of his group to focus on retail products and consolidate its venues was greeted with as much celebration as it was woe. It is often said you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, and those who have had their shells cracked during Chang’s tyrannical rise to prominence were out in force at this news.

From every corner of America came horror stories of emotional abuse, humiliation, inhumane working conditions, and pay disputes. Indeed, Chang’s downfall (if it is indeed one) has been a “cause célèbre” for many. When a notable figure in the restaurant industry closes a restaurant, those closest to the fire are compelled to speak out against supposed “celebrity chefs”; there are often more than a few skeletons in the closet. Well, I am one of those skeletons.

Today is the first edition of what I hope will be an ongoing series: “Great Restaurant Disasters”. In this series, I’ll be looking at some of the most noteworthy and disastrous venues in recent Australian history. Think those that flew too close to the sun, whether it be a bizarre concept or diabolical financial practices, and flamed out quickly and spectacularly. I inherently love restaurants, ask anyone; barely a dollar I’ve ever earnt hasn’t been tipped back into the coffers of one of them. So when one of them closes, no matter how high profile, I’m saddened for the good people associated who are affected and lose their jobs. However, that doesn’t mean that there can’t be something at least slightly mirthful about grandiose and ill-considered temples to ego being so flatly rejected by the public, or in the case of today’s topic, so spectacularly mismanaged as to eat itself from within almost instantly. So, without much further adieu, we turn our magnifying glass to the legendary balls up that was “maze (sic) by Gordon Ramsay”, the legendary chef’s (to date) only Australian venture, and one where I proudly worked for about 5 minutes.

First, let’s get this out of the way: I love Gordon Ramsay. The man is a force of nature, imbued with the irrepressible energy of caffeinated 14 year old, equal parts testosterone, ADHD and intermittent explosive disorder. To only be acquainted with the modern reality TV version of Ramsay is to miss half the story; a genuine phenomenon of the cooking world, Ramsay ascended with a whirlwind of hype and precision that few have to this date. Achieving the mythical three Michelin star status in 2001 at the age of only 35, Ramsay was heralded as the logical successor to his mentor Marco Pierre White’s throne as Britain’s best chef, and established himself with the bonafides and credentials that serve him to this day (his eponymous restaurant on Royal Hospital Road, London has held this accolade ever since). Ramsay was a genuine savant, his legendary prowess in the kitchen fueled by an elite athlete’s mindset. However, it was his profiling in the  hard-hitting documentary Boiling Point, showcasing Ramsay’s fiery temper, obsession with excellence and frequently hilarious poison tongue, that catapulted the chef into mainstream superstardom. 

From there, a seemingly ceaseless appetite for expansion saw Ramsay open restaurants at a rate never before seen in the fine dining world. Three more in London, then Glasgow, Dubai, Tokyo, New York, LA, County Wicklow, Montreal and many more, latterly expanding into more entry level pizza, burger and pub-adjacent chains in the US. At one point Ramsay held 17 Michelin stars, and while his celebrity has definitely swayed into the realm of the absurd in modern times, it’s important to remember that under the veneer of the reality TV phenomenon is a hardened and brilliant restaurateur. Unfortunately, no such praise can be heaped upon Ramsay’s ill-fated Australian venture.

“Maze by Gordon Ramsay” first opened in London’s Grosvenor Square in 2005. Helmed by Ramsay deputy and heir-apparent Jason Atherton, Maze set itself apart from the Michelin-baiting luxury of Restaurant Gordon Ramsay and the classic French indulgence of Petrus by adopting a more modern-Spanish small plates concept. Designed to be highly interactive, Maze’s intricate and finessed tapas-style dishes took London by storm, the glamorous Mayfair address and air of chic making it a celebrity hotspot. It was hardly surprising when, tasked with finding a flagship eatery for their long gestating hotel expansion, Crown Casino reached out to Ramsay about bringing the Maze brand to Australia.

Here’s where I enter the picture. The year is 2010. Somewhat adrift and aimless, dreading the drudgery of university and fantasising about the glamour and excitement of the fine dining scene, I hear the news that my guy Gordon is heading down under. On an ill-fated Euro jaunt the previous year, I had furiously burnt through my meagre savings on a trip of such indulgence and hedonism that Caligula would have blushed. I had dined at Maze, or more specifically, the slightly cheaper Maze Grill next door, periodically poking my head through the curtain into the main restaurant hoping to catch a glimpse of Posh & Becks, or maybe even the foul-mouthed messiah himself. So when Maze Melbourne was announced, I sprung into action, penning an emotive and heartfelt letter about my love for Gordon and affinity for the Maze brand. I was underqualified, but my passion sung through, and soon enough I was nervously sweating through my one collared shirt in a Crown bathroom, hyperventilating before my job interview.

I was surprised I got the job, however, given what I would come to learn about the preparedness and administrative prowess of the restaurant, I shouldn’t have been. Upon attending a staff induction session, I was taken aback by the scale and grandeur of the space. The cavernous and grand dining room lifted above street level by a soaring staircase. Giant grey sheer curtains, billowing like great ghosts, enveloping the tall windows overlooking South Melbourne. I had never seen such an immaculate and beautiful kitchen, every aspect considered, sparkling and magnificent, a hive of nervous tension as untold chefs busily zoomed from task to task. While the venue was dazzling, it quickly became clear that all was not well beneath the surface. There appeared to be 8 front of house different managers, all under some pretence that they were in charge, seemingly battling it out in a war of wills to see who would be the ultimate survivor. None of the staff really appeared to know who they were reporting to, or who to see on what matters, but the excitement was undeniable. We'd just figure it out as we go. After all, Gordon was coming for the big opening extravaganza.

Josh Emmett, the statuesque and handsome chef who had overseen Ramsay’s Michelin-Starred New York restaurant, was chosen to oversee the kitchen. The gravitas and calm-Kiwi composure Emmett emitted were palpable, at once inviting and intimidating. His deputy, the intense rising star John Lawson, had worked for Daniel Bouloud, Raymond Blanc, and the Sultan of Oman. Former Good Food Guide Young Chef Of The Year Justin Wise led the line. These were heavy hitters, and just as impressive as the investment by Crown in the restaurant’s multi-million dollar fitout was the spend on an Avengers-esque kitchen team. What could possibly go wrong?

I remember the night Gordon came to town as clearly as any day in my life. There we all stood, straight backed and immaculately manicured, a brigade of young front of house aspirants comprehensively shitting ourselves at the prospect of opening night. Gordon arrived, ushered by a fleet of minders into a secret room, some 15 minutes before guests were set to arrive. With the grace and speed of a jaguar, he changed into a perfectly ironed chef’s jacket, and strode into the dining room, where we stood anxiously. From there, a transformation overtook him like none I have seen. With the ferocious concentration and charisma of Bill Clinton on cocaine, Ramsay earnestly and intensely greeted every staff member, asking their name and sharing a brief chat. It was a masterclass in interpersonal communication, far from the foul mouthed tyrant of Kitchen Nightmares, this was the sort of display that body language coaches would uphold as the very definition of “empowering”. I don’t even remember what I said, the intensity of his gaze and attention sending me into some other worldly realm. All I knew for sure was that after that handshake, no matter how disorganised the FOH management were, I was ready to die for the glory of Maze. I was imbued by the glorious purpose of the chosen one, and I would make it my life’s work to see his legacy succeed. This, of course, wore off pretty quickly. And Gordon was never seen at Maze Melbourne again.

It is not an exaggeration to say that on almost every shift I worked at Maze, I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. To say it was disorganised would be an understatement, each service the equivalent of Fyre Festival 2017. Yet somehow, on sheer adrenalin and overstaffing, we got it done. It didn’t hurt that the food, for all its finickiness, was sublime, almost universally praised for its quality in those opening weeks. How could it not be? Three world class chefs leading a brilliant brigade, and more FOH staff than any restaurant could possibly need, frightenedly ferrying the food to the guests. Gradually though, the veneer began to slip. I would regularly turn up to a shift to find out that my roster was wrong, and that I wasn’t required. Hilariously, I would often still be paid for this, and at other times, not paid at all. On one occasion, after a particularly chaotic night, finding myself rostered on for a shift with no real role, I just walked out the back and went home. No one noticed.

Aside from the chaos of surplus staffing, one of the early indicators that Maze was not long for this world was its bizarre menu. Featuring two tasting menus of varying length, each menu item was also available as an individually priced a la carte option. While many used this opportunity to customise their experience and curate their own degustation, many (notably hotel guests or older patrons unfamiliar with the deg format) instead ordered only one or two items. Thinking they would receive entree or main course sized plates of food, they instead received small, elegantly plated tapas style dishes intended to be part of a 10 course meal. The dissatisfaction this caused, along with the catastrophically low spend per head it resulted in, meant that many customers left Maze unsatisfied. Perhaps owing to the chaos in management, nothing was done about this, many staff preferring to just leave rather than try to be heard. It was also becoming increasingly clear that Ramsay’s involvement with the business was in name only, and that he would in all likelihood not return to the restaurant.

Still, the idea that the business was insolvent or anything less than hugely successful never really occurred to the staff. Almost every service was full, often brimming with notable Australian food identities. I’ll never forget the night I looked after Stephanie Alexander and Gary Mehigan in the same sitting, or the lurid come-hithers of a sauced Kerry-Anne Kennerly at the Logies afterparty. They were heady times, a blur if I’m honest. It’s not uncommon now for me to meet someone who worked there at the same time I did and have no recollection of them being there. It was that sort of place.

Most commonly, my role was as a back waiter. Each course was served on large, ornate silver trays, every dish with a separate sauce. It was mandated that we hold these trays high to our chests, shoulder blades aching like suspension on an overloaded ute, the brutal weight of the trays compressing vertebrae like garlic cloves under a chef’s knife. Beaming, proud smiles on our face, we would deliver the trays to various stations, to be expertly presented by the senior waiters, the task repeated seemingly endlessly. The smell of white vinegar still haunts me from the hours of relentless, monotonous plate polishing. Blood soaked socks from burst blisters inside cruelly decreed dress shoes. Many nights I’d stumble up the stairs to my home and collapse onto my bed, fully dressed, barely able to move. For a time, the pain was worth the thrill, but after while, the excitement wore off, and all I was left with was chaos and inconsistent payslips. 

Eventually, I just stopped turning up. To my surprise, someone actually noticed, a manager contacting me to apologise for my experience. At the time, I was heartbroken. I thought this job would be the beginning of an extraordinary rise to international superstar restaurateur, sitting side by side with Gordon as we travelled the globe opening restaurants and drinking champagne. In truth, I was a nearly useless cog in an extremely dysfunctional machine, but I had learnt a few valuable lessons. It’s okay to ask questions. It’s never okay to feel ignored at work. And just because a restaurant is busy, doesn’t mean it’s making money.

When rumours of Maze’s financial ruin started to filter out a few months later, I was surprised. How could that be? After the hellish hours spent hauling tray after tray of expensive food and pouring glass after glass of heavily marked up wines? Looking back, and knowing what I now know, it should have been obvious. The restaurant’s monumental setup fee, rumoured to be over $20 Million AUD, meant that Maze faced a monumental uphill battle to become profitable. Maze’s concept, a challenging melding of a la carte and degustation, required an inordinate amount of staff to execute, the confusing nature of the menu often resulting in less than ideal minimum spends per head. And finally, the star attraction, the man whose name sat above the doorway, never actually appeared behind the pass again after opening night. The participation of the actual celebrity chef in the celebrity chef restaurant is not strictly mandatory, but Ramsay’s fame is not one that engenders warmth or enthusiasm in most people. If he’s not there to pose for selfies, the appeal is limited.

However, few could have predicted the sheer scale of the woes that ultimately befell Maze. Soon after Maze Melbourne’s opening, Ramsay’s personal life fell into disarray. Allegations of extramarital affairs surfaced, the globetrotting Ramsay seemingly bedding as many mistresses as he had opened restaurants. At the same time, the CEO of Gordon Ramsay Holdings, Chris Hutcheson, was removed from his position after allegations of improper behaviour. Complicating matters further: Hutcheson was Ramsay’s father in law. Evidently, Hutcheson had not only been stealing from the company, but had been illegally accessing Ramsay’s personal information in an attempt to blackmail the chef over a legal dispute. Despite constant denials and a very public war of words, Hutcheson was ultimately found guilty, eventually serving six months jail time. 

The implosion of Ramsay’s personal life and restructuring of Gordon Ramsay Holdings ultimately necessitated a realignment of the business. The Maze brand and its inherent drawbacks were deemed superfluous to requirements, branches in Prague and Cape Town (yes, he really did have far too many restaurants) making way before the decision to scrap Melbourne. Crown, of course, were furious. Despite Maze turning over an estimated $14 Million in revenue in its only year of trade, once Ramsay’s involvement ceased in the venue, Crown’s considerable investment could never be recouped.

By then, key staff had read the tea leaves and bailed. Emmett returned to New Zealand, opening his own restaurant and eventually becoming a judge on MasterChef NZ. John Lawson was left holding the reins at Maze, hastily renamed Mr Hive, the restaurant never regaining any semblance of relevance again. There it remains, to this day, the world’s most expensive buffet breakfast room, lonely and forgotten beyond the bowling alley at the quiet end of Crown. Lawson would briefly helm the excellent No. 8 By John Lawson at the site later filled by David Thompson’s sadly departed Long Chim, and currently occupied by the passable Ging Thai. Lawson would sadly leave the industry after being diagnosed with a brain tumour, but has made a full recovery and is back in the UK running his own restaurant.  In 2019, the original Maze in Mayfair closed, to be replaced by “exciting Asian eating house” Lucky Cat By Gordon Ramsay, a restaurant name so bad that it almost distracts from the appallingly lazy cultural appropriation at its core.

Thus, it appears that the Maze brand is truly dead, a relic of a simpler (or, in this case, more complicated) time. Ramsay’s star remains bright, his reconfigured company now boasting as many if not more restaurants than ever before, though with significantly less focus on fine dining. Crown, rather hilariously, learnt almost nothing from this mess, falling into a near identical situation with Heston Blumenthal a mere 5 years later, but that’s a story for another time. As for me, I retain a strange sense of pride that I was there, first hand, to see one of the great restaurant disasters unfold in real time. I’ve got the scars to prove it.

For Aaron, with whom I shared the meal of a lifetime on Royal Hospital Road.

Here’s to many more.