This newsletter is brought to you by Mangal 2 Restaurant - the one with the 4.1 Google rating. No, that’s not a typo. Four point one. On a scale of 1 to 5, the average “customer” would grade us a meagre 4.1. In our dizzying heyday a few years back it was a triumphant 4.3 – a gloriously underwhelming score at least 0.1 below our then local kebab house competitors. I’d be so wrapped up in our Google rating back then that I’d personally respond to every 1* review as if it were an attack. I genuinely had sleepless nights angered and stressing over what ‘moonypig02’ wrote online because the food wait times were not up to her expectancy. Each bad rating was like a crass “RIP Grandad x” tattoo on my neck, for the world to judge and laugh at. A blemish on my record. A relegation. A breakup. An embarrassing public fart. A small dagger in my heart.
I’d beg and borrow friends’ and familiar customers’ goodwill to lure them into leaving us a 5* every time we received a 1* to redress a balance and right some wrongs, to restore the cosmic ying yang of the Googleverse and keep our average intact. One thing I never resorted to do was pay for positive reviews – principally, and perhaps more out of pride, I just couldn’t venture down that indignant path, though begging my then good-for-nothing friends who’d wine and dine for free to do the bare minimum and leave a positive online stamp was degrading enough.
So, there we were, 4.3 layers into the depths of online hell when we restored the restaurant during the pandemic and relaunched with the changes which gradually evolved into the Mangal 2 you see today. Anticipating a steady climb back up the table to a respectable 4.5, 4.6 if I was feeling a bit frisky, with all these exciting changes and natural wines and exposure and good press and hospo industry approval and whatnot, what transpired has been a plunge down the canyon, freefalling to our current crashlanding of 4.1.
Now, a little introspection is key here. Why, oh why, when we were labelled the 35th best restaurant in the UK as recently as last year, were reviews online slipping away under us. It seems the more acclaim and hype we received, the stronger the backlash online and ferocity of disgruntlement customers were willing to express to counter that. Our customer profile for the most part changed, too. Gone were many of the locals and regulars. In were food tourists, creatives, big celeb names, ITK food people and, essentially, ‘the cool crowd’. Now, if I know anything, it's that anyone who falls under the category above does not bother writing Google reviews. If they like/love something, they’ll either a) story/post about it online and crucially b) tell their mates. It’s why we’re busy every night and full to the brim, and why when I ask customers how their experience went, I receive overwhelmingly positive feedback.
Truth be told, I don’t have a single friend or even acquaintance who reviews places on Google, or god forbid, Trip Advisor (the latter would see them cancelled, in my eyes). For me, and I am certainly biased, I often find those most likely to review a place are reactionary types, who are prone to a sense of injustice. A common theme to our negative reviews are the following reasons which we cannot help or change too greatly:
“It’s not Turkish enough” – Buddy, well perhaps that’s because we (Sertac and I) are not Turkish enough. We were born and raised in London. We do not advertise being a traditional Turkish restaurant. We are Turkish-leaning, Dirik family home cooking influenced. There’s a big difference.
“The prices are too expensive” – Have you done a grocery shop lately? Do you know how much local, organic, seasonal produce costs? Do you understand the concept of charging things at a profit to ensure sustainability and at the bare minimum, survival? Or are you plain stupid? Also, back to that word again, ‘Google’. Did you not Google the menu before arriving? What did you expect?
“The portions were too small” – This one, I emphasise with. It’s not your fault. Every Turkish and Turkish-influenced restaurant is ploughing on the portions and sending freebies left, right and centre. The culture is one of abundance or overfilling. So, unfairly I would add, certain customers arrive with the prejudice that there will be mountains of food served here. That won’t happen. We could put more things on a plate for the sake of it, but it would take away the sincerity of what we do and what we believe in. Also, if we were defined as a Modern European restaurant, we wouldn’t be beaten with this portion-sized stick all the time. It’s all about perceptions and historic Turkish generosity. No one is to blame, but it’s time to shift this tedious narrative.
“Service was poor” – Ok, this is on us. It happens from time to time and I am just as culpable of being the offending party as any of my Front of House team. We all have off days when we’re distracted by life outside of work, or feeling a bit sick, or plainly just not down to clown and pretend we’re ok to put up with serving impatient people. I’m sorry. It’s not professional and it should never be ok. But we’re humans, at the end of the day. We move.
“Food arrived late” – This just happens. Things don’t always move like clockwork. Trains are delayed. Flights are cancelled. Your Cull Yaw Loin took 10 minutes later to cook because there was a backlog of orders and there’s only so much you can cook on an ocakbasi grill in one go. Relax, sip some wine, and try and have a conversation with the person sat across you in the meanwhile.
“We couldn’t get a table” – BOOK ONLINE. You are not entitled to one just because you stumbled upon our restaurant whilst visiting Dalston.
I can take it all, all the difficulties, if there’s a level playing field and restaurants are also allowed to review customers. Imagine, the next time you Google someone’s name, a rating instantly pops up. It’s very Black Mirror, but if you can dish it out, you better be able to take it. You review us, we review your conduct as a guest. If you’re a nice, normal, respectful person, surely there isn’t a thing to worry about here… Ok, so no, I jest. Reviewing people is my idea of hell. But there should be a platform so restaurants can vet customers through booking platforms, so if someone books through, say Resy, we can see their customer profile and see how they treated restaurant staff and what their vibe was. It can be private and kept in-house for restaurants who have access to these booking platforms. It would also deter people from behaving like dicks in restaurants.
Anyway, long story short: If you’ve dined here, enjoyed it, and are too cool to leave us a nice review, maybe just once break out of that mindset and say something nice about us online. Or don’t. Who fucking cares? I probably wouldn’t, if I were you. I’d just tell all my mates and come back again and again, and champion you through my private Instagram account of close friends. 4.3. 4.1. Maybe 3.9 this time next year. Whatever. You bite that sourdough pide with kaymak, have a sip of incredible wine, in a relaxed atmosphere with friendly service and a good energy about the place, and you tell me we’re average. And I’ll tell you you’re deluded.