Foreword by Anna Søgaard

Shaun came barrelling into the Manchester food scene last year, fresh out of London where he’d made his mark as head chef at the acclaimed hot spot Manteca—a ‘beast of a restaurant’ as he describes it. My first encounter with him was on one of his visits to Manchester with his wife Natalie. They came in to eat at erst, where I was sous chef at the time, after he had been told to visit by a mutual friend. Shaun’s boisterous and cheerful energy immediately draws you in. Everything about his larger than life persona reads ‘chef’. However, he’s unlike most male chefs I’ve come across in my career. 

After meeting him and discovering that he was planning to move to Manchester, I knew that this guy was going to make himself known there. And that he did. His menus were an instant hit. Everything about his food represents who he is as a person: bold, likeable and thoughtful. 

But what makes Shaun stand out to someone like me, a woman very much working in a man’s world, is his recognition of his own privilege as a white male at the top of an industry built on patriarchal hierarchy, and his constant desire to talk about it. He is not one to shy away from hard questions about the imbalance in our industry and what it’s like to be a woman in it. 

After conversations about feminism and inclusivity (usually over several Old Fashioneds or perhaps one too many glasses of wine), it became completely apparent to me that he acknowledges this power imbalance and takes ownership of the responsibility of men to make a difference—a refreshing stance to come across as a woman exhausted from preaching about men’s shortcomings in making space for their female counterparts in hospitality. Shaun is not only thoughtful in his approach to cooking and the sourcing of the produce he works with, but also in his personal ethos: challenging the status quo and speaking up for people who don’t share his privilege. 

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‘I fucking love it. It’s great. There’s so much good about it. There’s so much you can change.’ 

A good conversation, like all the best things in life, leaves you energised, motivated, hopeful. Which is exactly how I felt after spending just over an hour with Shaun Moffat. He’s one of the few people I’ve met who speaks with unreserved optimism about hospitality and cheffing. Whilst the current examination of toxic behaviour in the industry is ongoing and very much needed, it’s so nice to talk to someone brimming with an infectious enthusiasm for ‘the best job in the world’. 

This big-hearted energy—alongside, of course, an impressive CV that lists Berber and Q, The Conduit, Nest and most recently Manteca—has undoubtedly helped make an impression on the city since he moved to Manchester late last summer. In the intervening months, he’s not only turned The Edinburgh Castle into a destination for elevated pub fare, but has cemented himself as one of a growing number of chefs shifting the industry forwards. Yes, the technique, heavy focus on food provenance and support for local, independent suppliers are all there. But he’s also a great example of how you can run a successful kitchen and be a Nice Guy.

This is no small compliment. Shaun entered the industry when it was coming out the back of its ‘enfant terrible’ era, that euphemistic phrase for the period in the 80s and 90s that saw the glamorisation of a sort of libertarian white male aggression, with problematic behaviour presented as simply unorthodox, avant-garde and even anti-establishment. The idea that ‘genius’ is a free pass for outrageous behaviour is nothing new, and indeed is so culturally entrenched that it’s been difficult to see possibilities outside of the troubled artist narrative. But as Shaun says: ‘they’re kind of just arseholes. It’s like, who wants to work for these people? New chefs stopped coming into the industry because of them’. 

Born in South Africa, Shaun moved to London with his family when he was 13, and got into cheffing, like so many, through KP-ing at the local pub. The clichéd ‘bald-headed men that would scream and shout and f and blind and throw stuff at you’ was very much a reality when he moved into the kitchen in his later teens. But this was also the cusp of a new wave of chefs, with a noticeable shift towards a more accessible and personable type, or as Shaun puts it, ‘not being a wanker’. He recalls, as a 14-year-old, having friends over for dinner on a Friday night. They’d cook, get stoned and watch Anthony Bourdain and Jamie Oliver, thinking ‘this is sick’.

‘The amount of chefs my age who were basically in their teens when Naked Chef came out in ‘99, and thought it was cool as fuck. This little 20-year-old lad from Essex being a chef in a kitchen… You speak to the majority of chefs my age, they’ll say the same thing.’

Crediting Jamie Oliver as an early inspiration is refreshingly honest. With his family-friendly TV personality and the recent demise of his chain of Jamie’s Italians, it’s easy to forget what a novelty he was when he first appeared on the scene, all youthful exuberance and nerdiness, bouncing around in surfing shirts knocking up ‘bacon sarnies’. But his impact on the food scene is not to be dismissed, not least in showing an impressionable Shaun and his peers that ‘it’s good to be a nice person’. 

Not only is it nice to be nice, it’s essential. Shaun believes the toxic personalities widely circulated on TV have had a hugely detrimental effect on staffing levels, because ‘everyone still has this belief that chefs are these horrible human beings, screaming and shouting’. Combine that with Covid, the cost of living crisis and Brexit, and the industry is ‘at a buckling point. People don’t want to be chefs’. 

That a supportive, collaborative environment is conducive to staff happiness and retention is something he learnt from various mentors, but most notably Matt Fanthorpe, his head chef at Jamie’s Italian (a real full circle moment. Shaun insists it wasn’t a never meet your heroes scenario and that Jamie is ‘sound, not a bad bone in his body. Just swears a lot’). 

‘Matt was just this beaming light. He was always really respectful. He was the first chef I'd worked for who actively wanted to know what was going on with people. It wasn’t just “chef”. He learnt everyone’s names, he learnt your girlfriend’s name, your dog’s name… if you had a day off he knew what you were doing. He’d ask questions and check in with you. Just asking “how are you?” is a big thing.’

It says a lot that learning your employee’s names felt radical. But these small gestures hint at a softer masculinity that was hitherto missing from kitchens. Having worked under Pierre Koffmann, Fanthorpe was highly skilled and trained in classic French techniques, and yet managed to also be a ‘real open, warm, almost father figure’. He’d make cassoulet at home and bring it in for the staff, and was generous with sharing his knowledge at a time when ‘chefs were so closed off’ and unwilling to share their ‘USP’. Shaun describes working with him as a hugely pivotal point in his career, having finally met a role model that spoke to the kind of person, and boss, he wanted to be. 

‘He was the first guy I met in the kitchen who wasn’t a shouty, cave-man knuckle-dragger. I’ve never been the kind of person to scream and shout.

There’s no machismo. I fucking hate it. I hate the “men for the sake of men” kind of thing. It was nice to just have this different example of what a person can be in the kitchen. That stuck with me for a very long time.’

It’s an approach Shaun’s taken with him into his role as exec chef for the Cottonopolis group (Cottonopolis, The Edinburgh Castle and The Libertine). He makes a conscious effort to ask his team about things other than work, because ‘life’s not that black and white. Your job’s not who you are. You can be passionate about a job but it’s not the be all and end all.’ This is a bold statement for an industry that’s been built—and sustained—on the narrative that burnout is an inevitable consequence of dedication and passion. It’s seen not so much as a job but a vocation; a personality, even. Shaun’s pushback and admission that whilst he loves his job he ‘doesn’t want to be working all the time’ is no doubt in part to do with where he’s at in life, with a wife and young son that also require his time and attention. But he also sees it as a way to encourage more young talent back into the industry.

‘The world’s burning right? So try to make it better while you can. Pay a fair wage, buy good produce, treat your staff well. It’s hopefully prompting younger people to come into the industry because it’s seen as more of a fulfilling job, as opposed to 70-80 hour weeks being screamed and shouted at.’

At The Edinburgh Castle, all the staff are on 4/3s. The days are still 12 hours long, but they’re trying to cut that down. Staff are referred to by their name, rather than the customary ‘chef’, because ‘chef’s the job. You don’t refer to anyone else by their job role’. That collaborative spirit he enjoyed under Fanthorpe is there too, with ego left at the door. Whilst he has the final say on dishes, he prefers to encourage open dialogue about new ideas, because ‘everyone knows something you don’t’. 

‘It’s good to support people, it really is. People thrive when you support them. People who get left alone just become angry and closed.’

It’s an approach that’s working. Shaun describes his team as ‘just really calm and nice. Some of the nicest people I’ve ever worked with.’ They’re also creating some knock-out dishes. Their steak tartare chip butty became something of a viral hit last year. Other dishes with mass appeal include bar snacks such as cheese doughnuts and a pie that feels nicely redolent of tater ash—but obviously everything is elevated with the best local produce from suppliers such as Pollen, The Crafty Cheese Man, Organic North, Cinderwood and Swaledale Butchers. Sausages and roasts sit alongside dishes such as pumpkin with pearl barley, mussels with pig skin and grilled fish with pickled rhubarb, on a menu that manages to be both gutsy and refined, classy yet unpretentious.

We have a lot of great old-school boozers in Manchester, but we haven’t yet quite cracked the good food pub that London does so well (at least in the city). The kind of pub where you can while away a Sunday enjoying restaurant-quality food that doesn’t challenge you, but embraces you; where you can go hungover and be reassured that all will be well again; where you could take anyone you know and they’d be happy, well-fed and comfortable.

The Edinburgh Castle is, under Shaun’s leadership, such a place. It’s not a stretch to say his approach to people is reflected in the food, which marries quality and professionalism with a kind of warm, open-hearted accessibility. An incredible amount of time and technique goes into every dish here. But when I comment that the guests starting to fill up the room ahead of lunch service have no idea, they say that’s exactly how they want it. No one needs to know what’s behind the dish. They just want people to enjoy eating it. 

‘I want people to eat here and love it and want to come back. We’re not reinventing anything, we’re not going crazy. We’re a pub. We’re affordable, we’re approachable. We’re not isolating anyone. We’re not 17 different elements on a plate, doing garums and misos… we’re doing modern techniques behind the scenes, but still having this real nice affable plate of food in front of you.’

Actually, they are working on a miso… to say nothing of the deliciously malty fermented squash seed oil they’ve created and have been ‘putting on everything’. But all this is there to surreptitiously add complexity to the food—it’s not their identity and they don’t feel the need to shout about it. Shaun maintains he’s simply cooking the kind of food he wants to eat, in a neighbourhood setting that welcomes all. 

He’s correctly read the room in keeping dishes hearty and at a reasonable price point. But the fact that Shaun’s moved up from London and has so perfectly nailed this gap in the market without alienating people shows more than just business acumen, and is a success that should not be glossed over. I’ve heard from countless people over the years, including very successful restaurants, that Manchester is a difficult city to crack. That the people are hard to please, that they don’t understand food etc etc. This isn’t the place to delve too deeply into the complexities of the North/South divide, but what I will say is that ‘conscious people trying to do good things’, as Shaun puts it, are very much needed and appreciated. 

And Shaun’s doing a lot of good things, beyond the remit of creating great food and not being an arsehole about it. Maybe it’s because his wife is from here, but he talks as if he’s already emotionally invested in the city. He bigs up others, such as the teams at erst, Higher Ground and Another Hand, as well as local bars who’ve recently gained recognition in the 50 Best Bar Awards (Schofield’s, Speak in Code and Blinker). He enthuses about reviewers visiting Northern cities more frequently in the last few years. He’s vociferously supportive of local independent suppliers. He’s even doing a voluntary charity dinner for Eat Well MCR in a couple of weeks. The respectful, nurturing approach he has with his team can also be clearly seen on a broader, community-wide scale. In this context I’m gladdened, though not surprised, to hear that he’s found ‘everyone here supportive as hell’. Yes, the food at The Edinburgh Castle is fantastic. But more valuable still, Shaun brings a positive energy capable of empowering and galvanising the local food scene, and that can only be welcomed.

As Anna so rightly points out in her foreword, cheffing is, still, a man’s world (and a white hetero man’s world at that). Problematic individuals, and attitudes, do of course persist. But this image of the chef that continues to permeate popular culture—male, egotistical, emotionally unstable—is unhelpful and self-perpetuating. It’s obscuring the reality of the hugely diverse and overwhelmingly positive contributions so many chefs are making, not only to their industry but within society as a whole.

With typical humility, Shaun says he ‘doesn’t really need bells and whistles and profiles’. I couldn’t disagree more. If it’s true what he says of the industry, that ‘there are a lot more people doing good things now [...] it’s so much nicer than it was’, then it’s because of people like him, working to uplift, engage, inspire. And I don’t think we can shout about that enough.