Ina’am mistakenly thought, being the owner’s wife, she’d have a somewhat luxurious life. A life of prancing around in designer clothes, eating when she was hungry and standing around greeting customers; “a way out of the kitchen,” she said. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Disaster struck, and, with no proper management in the kitchen, Ina’am had to roll up her sleeves and get stuck in. “It became a matter of sink or swim,” she says. Her husband insisted that everything was fine and she was told to mind her own business. Ina’am explains, “ego and male chauvinism are lethal traits in most Arab men’s characters;” thus, countless arguments followed. Nevertheless, Ina’am knew she had to find a way in.

Such a task was not going to be easy or straightforward. A Middle-Eastern wife entering into her husband’s business is challenging enough, let alone when it’s a business she describes as having ‘a mafia system.’ Ina’am knew she wouldn’t be welcomed in the male-dominated kitchen as the owner’s wife and would therefore not be able to learn who the ‘bad seeds’ were… so she decided to go in as a cleaner! She put on her jeans, marched on in and told the kitchen staff that the environmental health officer was coming and that the place had to be spotless. She observed everything that went on, trying to suss out “the good, the bad and the ugly,” as she put it. Within a week, she sacked three people in the kitchen, against her husband’s wishes.

Following this period, she tried to make some friends in the kitchen in order to gain some sort of control. She “played the game of acting like you’re not the boss.” She got rid of the head chef, who was initially brought over from Al-Hamra, another well-known Lebanese restaurant. The chef, says Ina’am, rather than do anything productive just gave orders in the kitchen like some sort of a manager or consultant. “These fat cats,” Ina’am explains, “are so common in our part of the world.” They are people who do nothing but act as mediums and expect to get paid for it. What was needed was a proper head chef, someone responsible for all the hot food and the running of the kitchen.

By the early 90’s, Ina’am was fully involved. Not only was she running the kitchen and preparing the food, she was making sure the whole place was perfect. She did everything from planting the flower pots outside to laying out the tables. She “organised parties for Christmas and New Year when no other Arabic restaurants were doing them.” She did all this because times were hard and they were putting their children through college. They needed the extra revenue.

Throughout this time, Ina’am was constantly battling with those around her. She told me anecdotes of how certain people in the kitchen tried to sabotage her dishes: tobacco in the cutlets, citric acid in the houmous and the like. No-one seemed to be on her side and, on the face of it, neither was her husband. She’d lock herself in the bathroom to cry when things got too much. I guess a woman with such a tough and proud exterior, and with so much responsibility, could never show anyone how human she in fact was.

On some level, Ina’am’s husband appreciated all that she was doing and backed her ideas, but without acknowledgement or conviction. She did, however, get a lot of credit from clients, and countless job offers to run restaurants throughout the Middle East. This surely must have contributed to any animosity between the couple. Dealing with or acknowledging the fact that your wife is the true core of your business would be hard for any man, let alone an Arab, known for their pride. Despite this, Ina’am does say that her and her husband were “in love and harmony.”

While Ina’am hit rock bottom, the restaurant was at its peak. Although she enjoyed the challenges and success it brought, everything else was weighing her down: her husband, the staff, and the hours. She describes this time “as a horrible dream recurring everyday.” In order to get through it, she “kept herself in a state of sedation, never really questioning anything,” just doing her job. This period of success and strain lasted around 10 years. During which time, she completed her book Simply Lebanese, acclaimed for its innovation and simplicity.

In 2001, they closed the restaurant on Motcomb St. and soon after re-opened on Old Bromptom Road, South Kensington. It is curious that she would agree to open another place if she was so tired and fed up. She says it was her husband’s idea and that most men “like to keep recurring in their lives.” She had to support him… he could never do it without her. And her three children, being the most important people in her life, convinced her to do so. They could see she was strong enough to take this on and that their father would be crushed if he could not fulfil his ambition. The official excuse was, of course, that the new landlords wanted the same management. There is much truth to the cliché that behind every man is a woman; and this woman was her husband’s pillar of strength.

From day one, Ina’am says, the place took off smoothly. With all the knowledge and experience she gained from Motcomb St, she runs the place with an air of confidence and “carelessness.” “Child’s play,” she calls it! She attributes the restaurants success to the fact that it “provides good food at the right price in a good, exposed location.” The main difference between it and its predecessor lies in the type of clientele it has. There were more Arabs in the first one and therefore, more schmoozing was required and more “freebies.” Here, the menu and the place itself are much simpler. Ina’am seems to prefer it this way. She calls it “feeding the masses” and “Lebanese with a British flavour.”

To my surprise, she describes the running of the restaurant as “boring.” She seems to have it down to a tee. But I refuse to accept this continuous disdain of an industry I hope to be a part of some day, and so take a chance and ask about a more positive aspect, the creative side: the food! To my disappointment, she explains that clients “don’t want creativity, they want continuity!”

We soon reach the subject of life after her husband’s untimely death. A subject I really didn’t know how to broach, especially being only a few weeks since his passing. He was diagnosed with cancer 18 months ago. And as I listen to Ina’am talk in her matter-of-fact way, I notice the tremors beneath her voice. It’s as if she’s saying ‘I can do this, just don’t push me too hard, I’m still human.’ She says she can’t think of doing anything else “but getting up in the morning, taking a shower and going to work.” It’s the only thing that allows her to function. Being such a productive person, she needs to keep herself busy to stay sane. She goes on to explain that, in this weakened state “you can do this job, it takes over,” especially with the help of the staff. “Changing your routine, your lifestyle or travelling would be much harder”.

The restaurant, however, is a constant reminder of her dead husband. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Ina’am had to deal with ill treatment and disrespect by some of her staff. It seems working solely for a woman is something many of them are uncomfortable with. But on his deathbed, her husband asked her not to sell it, at least for a while. He knew it would be her sanity… her salvation.

Once again, I strive to get some positive words from Ina’am about the industry and I ask if there’s anything she likes about the business. Her answer is a resounding “No!” She describes it as “draining” and “scandalous”: A career that she “wouldn’t wish on anyone, full of unexpected dramas each day.”

[We are briefly interrupted by a kind-looking older, Arab gentleman who comes in from outside. Ina’am knows him, chats to him briefly and then tells him to go downstairs for a sandwich, which he does and leaves. Presuming him to be a sort of upmarket vagabond. She tells me a bit about him. He comes in from time to time, tells them about the weather or something menial and she gives him something to eat. I’m so moved by her humanitarianism: she wouldn’t refuse someone food because they couldn’t pay. “Hunger,” she says, “is a good reason.”]

The tables turn and Ina’am asks me what I think of various Arabic restaurants in London… I explain that I rarely eat Arabic food out of the house. Being Lebanese and spoilt over the years by my mother’s fantastic home cooking, I never saw the point. Having said that, I told her how just two weeks before our meeting, and by some quirky coincidence, I happened to come to Al-Bustan with my future business partner (also Lebanese) who fancied a quick Arabic bite. I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the food and the relaxed environment. Ina’am tells me that there are certain dishes, like “a really good shawarma,” that cannot be achieved at home.

We go on talking about our favourite dishes and ingredients: a subject I could waffle on about for hours on end! Ina’am’s obsession with hygiene, her love of quality ingredients and desire for perfection are three of her most obvious and wonderful traits as a top chef. “No job is too small” she says again and again. She is most definitely a perfectionist and her suppliers know it. She treats them well and they respect her. She is a role model for me and all others looking to work in this industry.

Even though she fell into the business by chance, and isn’t a fan to say the least, Ina’am excels at her role as chef and restaurant-owner. There are not many other women, particularly Middle-Eastern, achieving what she does professionally, still managing to raise a family and having a book published. She describes the struggles she faced when trying to get the book out. It took 5 years to get it under way, “knocking at the doors of 20 publishers to be taken seriously by one or two”. They kept telling her there was no place for it in the ‘English market.’ She never blamed them for thinking that because she sees how “Arab traders in London do not have the impact needed to be acknowledged.” “We don’t have a union representing us.” she says.

Unlike most Arabs, Ina’am has no interest in her competition. She does what she has to do and she does it very well. How does she do it? It’s all about “attention to detail, innovation, and design and finish.” But all these aspects have to come naturally. “Being a natural chef,” Ina’am explains, “is when you wake up in the morning and you’re too dead to get out of bed, but the minute you get into that restaurant, you’re energy just flows…” Or “when you see your supplier in the morning and you smile even though you can’t manage a smile for your kids.” How that happens, she’s not exactly sure, but it happens to her every morning. “You forget yourself completely and lose yourself in the process.” Ina’am is a natural and was clearly born to do what she does.

What does the future hold for Ina’am? If she ever left the restaurant, would she teach classes at home or do some consultancy work perhaps? We exchange ideas for possible ventures and she comes up with one I’m particularly fond of: a Lebanese-style Wagamama! Healthy, fast, cheap and tasty: sounds good to me. Ina’am stops to exclaim that she has to “recover first” and needs a lot of time to get over her grief. She seems so strong that I see her recovery as inevitable, but she’s not so convinced. “It’s getting worse,” she tells me. And all I can think of to say in response is that “it has to get worse before it gets better” and that “at least she has her children.” She explains that as much as she adores her children, they are no substitute for her husband.

Ina’am describes her husband as a “great father and a great husband at home.” Of course at work, it had to be different. She was the ‘umbrella’ that encompassed all the aspects of the day-to-day running of the restaurant. He took care of everything else. But he “needed to be needed.” Now she has to take care of everything and be there at all hours of every single day, seven days a week. How does she cope with such a gruelling schedule? “You get used to it” she says, “but you have to have your health, peace of mind and good food.” Sounds like a good recipe for anyone.

There is an obvious irony in that professional kitchens are such male-dominated arenas when, traditionally, women were always the ones in the kitchen cooking for and feeding their families. Ina’am attributes this to the fact that women have always had to do it all: cook, clean, feed, nurture and generally run the household all at once. Thus, a woman’s ability to multi-task makes her ideal in this industry. “She won’t just cook the food and then sit down to read the paper!” She’ll always be busy, always doing something efficient and productive.

At the end of our meeting, Ina’am asks if she’s put me off working in the industry. I also answer with a resounding “No!” If anything, the opposite. She reaffirmed my faith that there are people in her profession that care about what they do and how they do it. And, despite the kitchen being both her haven and her hell… Ina’am loves it. Her facial expression is so much more relaxed now than at the start, and her eyes, though sad and dark, are full of promise!