Everyone’s talking about Steve McQueen’s new film ’12 Years a Slave’, the historical drama adapted from the 1853 memoir of the same name by Solomon Northup. What about me? What about the 12 years I was forced to work as maître d’ at ‘Chez Solomon’s’, my uncle’s kosher restaurant in central London? Now that was bloody slavery! I might not have been forced to pick cotton or chop wood, but I had to put up with some of the rudest, most awkward people I’ve ever met, and the tips were shite! “Excuse me young man, but exactly how old is the beef, cause I’m road testing a new set of teeth?” And that was the Israeli Ambassador! I replied, “Madam, how old do you want the beef to be?” And then there was the diner who had the cheek to complain the potatoes were too smooth! “But sir,” I said, “You ordered creamed potatoes!” Then I got, “But when my wife makes it, it’s got lumps in it!” What about the female diner who complained the fish didn’t smell right. “What exactly do you mean,” I said. “Well young man, whenever I buy fish there is always a distinct smell about it. This fish doesn’t smell of anything!” I had to remind the valued customer that fresh fish shouldn’t have an odour. Later that evening her husband had the cheek to sent back an £80:00 bottle of Rothschild Haut Medoc complaining it was corked! Never, never work front-of-house in a kosher restaurant, it’s f**king mayhem!