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Born in Kuwait to a French-Italian father and English mother, Dabbous spent his youth between school in Guildford and holiday breaks to the Middle East. Aged 15 he joined his waiter uncle at a trattoria in Florence for a summer in the kitchen. At 20, he spent four years with Raymond Blanc at Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons, before work experience at Kensington Place and Guy Savoy in Paris. He also did month-long stints at The Fat Duck, L’Astrance, Noma, Mugaritz and WD-50. He was chef de partie at Hibiscus, before his first head chef role at Texture. He opened Dabbous in 2012.

Ollie Dabbous came into the restaurant industry through the tradesman’s entrance. He didn’t win any scholarships or competitions; he didn’t attend catering college. He didn’t laud himself around London and announce himself until he felt he was ready. He quietly garnered experience in the world’s best kitchens, developing a style of cooking that was a decade ahead of its time. You’d argue that now, the time is nigh.

‘Cooking has always felt vocational to me,’ he begins. ‘Neither of my parents are into food, but they are into art. My mother is a fashion designer and my father, an architect. I feel like I’ve got some of that artistry in me. I’d never subject anyone to listen to me sing but cooking came naturally and it’s a medium to express myself. ‘There was an explosion in quality restaurants in the Nineties; the likes of The River Café and Kensington Place.

They spurred my curiosity about a style of food that appealed to me,’ he says.

While his privately educated peers were planning summers in South East Asia, aged 15, Dabbous chose to spend his break working at Trattoria Cammillo in Florence.

‘It’s that kind of back-street restaurant that you dream of finding on holiday but never do until your last night. It doesn’t have a website but it’s packed all the time – why they let me in the kitchen, I’ll never know,’ he laughs. ‘I could barely chop, but I loved it. The produce they introduced me to was insane: bright-yellow corn-fed chickens, rose veal, porcini.’ Those six weeks in Florence did more to whet his appetite as a cook and help him find himself than any Full Moon Party ever could.

On leaving school, he had the bit between his teeth. ‘I decided against college and started with Raymond Blanc at Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons,’ he says with a wide grin. ‘I felt out of my depth, but in a good way. To be out of your depth means that you’re challenged and being challenged makes you empowered. I’d done a lot of reading so I knew theory but, most importantly, I was happy to start at the bottom.’

There are two ways to look at Dabbous’s disinclination for catering school. On one hand, you could argue that he isn’t hamstrung by the process that school instils. On the other, you could say that he was going into one of the UK’s best restaurants undercooked.

‘The way I look at it, I did four years’ work, but gained about eight years’ experience,’ he argues. ‘You have to pay to go to catering college, but I was learning from a chef that I respected and being paid for it.’ He makes a good point. ‘What you learn on the job is, by definition, relevant. However, I certainly wouldn’t denigrate catering college at all. It’s just the path that worked for me

‘You’ve got to attack when you’re young – when you’ve got the hunger. I subjugated myself to becoming a chef. Anyone can get up at 5am for a week, a month, but can you do it for four years? It erodes you. Everyone has their limits and I certainly found mine.’

HITTING HIS STRIDE

On leaving Blanc’s Le Manoir, Dabbous began a blitz of placements – month-long stints at The Fat Duck (three stars), Copenhagen’s Noma (two stars), San Sebastián’s Mugaritz (two stars), New York’s WD-50 (one star) and Paris’s Pierre Gagnaire (three stars), before a year at Claude Bosi’s Hibiscus and his first head chef’s role at Aggi Sverrisson’s Texture in Mayfair. ‘The main thing for me was to try as many different styles of cooking as I could.’ Having completed his education, he was ready to strike on his own.

‘Fine dining felt so bourgeois and flabby. I must have emailed every restaurant investor in London with my CV and sample menu,’ he says with a sigh. ‘They all said my ideas were “too heavy with grains, nuts, fruit and veg”. I so wish I’d kept those rejection letters.’ When you look at the menu landscape of successful restaurants today, you can imagine there’s a few fat cats kicking themselves for what could have been.

After the recession, Dabbous found funding. He opened his eponymous restaurant in Fitzrovia for under £500,000 – a snip by London standards – in 2012 with his co-partner Oskar Kinberg, who ran the bar. ‘We opened on a shoestring. There was no walk-in fridge; the kitchen was tiny. But I got exactly what I’d been begging for. I worked hard. Bloody hard.’

And the critics appreciated it. All the big names came in and filed five-star reviews. They were aghast they hadn’t heard of Dabbous and everyone wanted to know how this well-spoken Home Counties chef had slunk in under the radar with such a zeitgeist-defying style of food.

With the positive reviews followed a fit-to-burst dining room and his first Michelin star. London fell for his fresh look at fine dining. ‘Eating healthily became natural. It stopped being seen as hippy or progressive. It’s the way modern diners want to eat.’

Dabbous outgrew his debut restaurant. He opened Barnyard, a simplified spin-off with 50 covers. It did well. Then a chance meeting with Russian telecoms tycoon Yevgeny Chichvarkin changed everything. Chichvarkin asked Dabbous to head up Hide, a vast three-storey site opposite The Ritz and one of the most extravagant restaurants London has seen. He couldn’t say no.

‘As soon as I saw the site with its view over Green Park, all my eggs went into this basket. I could’ve kept the others open, but I’d rather be fully focused, so I closed them,’ he says. ‘Some people want an empire. I realised quite quickly that I do not.’

NOWHERE TO HIDE

There’s no creeping in unannounced anymore. Hide serves 400 covers with a breakfast, afternoon tea, lunch and dinner service. Tasting-menu-only Above is a restaurant that’s eyeing more than one Michelin star, while street-level Ground serves Dabbous-style classics. Cocktail bar Below is a dark wood, clandestine space, where I sit now with Dabbous four weeks after opening. He looks surprisingly relaxed.

‘It’s very different to being an unknown, but it’s a great start,’ he says with a deep breath.‘I’m not thinking about the bottom line; rather focusing on quality and the rest will look after itself. We’ve got amazing facilities and a top staff.’

He’s not wrong. The team he’s assembled are Galacticos of the restaurant world. Running the kitchens are Roux Scholar Luke Selby and Josh Angus, ex Dabbous. GM Matthew Mawtus is the GQ Front of House Personality of the Year and sommelier Piotr Petras is tipped to become one of the best in the game.

With his first restaurant, Dabbous was vocal about crafting a menu that offered fair prices. How does this ideology fit in here? ‘You can be great value at any price,’ he responds so quickly, I reckon he’s been anticipating the question. ‘Even though we’re in Mayfair, our prices compare favourably. Our entry-level glass of wine costs a fiver. If you come in for some charcuterie, you’ll leave with change from £20.’

And would a Dabbous diner recognise the dishes? ‘I’ve tried to make it feel like a progression rather than derivative. I’ve brought what I think are complete – to change them would only be to their detriment.’ And as the UK has come round to his way of cooking, we’re inclined to take his word for it.