There was a moment somewhere in the blur of the Covid years when restrictions meant only a certain number of people per square metre. My restaurant, Lankan Filling Station in Sydney’s Darlinghurst, which had previously thrived as a casual, fast-paced and squashy eatery, had started taking bookings.

We were serving our banquet menu, a necessity when your turnover is down by about 60 per cent while still employing nearly the same number of staff. We got a complaint. This customer was upset, although she and her friends had eaten and seemed happy. She didn’t agree with being “forced” to have the banquet and she was cross about having to leave after the allotted time frame of two hours. (She was also 45 minutes late for her booking.)

In one of the first of too many emails, after I had tried to explain the reasons why, she replied with, “is Covid even a thing anymore?” That was more than two years ago and sadly, the fallout continues as we head into 2024.

Anyone who’s ever opened a restaurant usually has optimism, a certain amount of reckless abandon and a secret need for adrenaline. That’s why so many of us were able to deal with the pandemic. This industry trains you to be ready for last-minute disasters and with a knack for dealing with whatever comes your way. You become adaptable; I don’t know many restaurateurs who aren’t also a little bit handy with fixing a dishwasher, adept at thinking of new ideas super-fast and always ready to work just a bit longer and harder.

Then came the moment when restrictions were lifted and the customers came flooding back, eating and drinking with abandon like prisoners finally allowed out. It felt like the glory days were back. But the slow, horrible aftermath is where we are now, like a niggling hangover after a wild and strange party.

We are post-government monetary help – which was a boon in the early days – facing a world where everything keeps costing more and more. Wages, produce, and interest rates are all on the rise at a rate that we can’t justify on our menu prices. We’ve also had time to really look at our businesses and seen how unsustainable they are.

Staff are now much more concerned about their work-life balance, which I wholeheartedly agree with, but the flipside is passion and a willingness to work hard. That’s how you go from being just good to truly great. On top of this is the sad fact that there are simply fewer customers. People, understandably, can’t afford to go out as much and, when they do, can’t spend as much as they used to.

From my extensive research, which involves chatting to my mates, this has become a horrible cluster affecting all areas in the industry, from the farmers to the winemakers to the suppliers. Really, this is a ripple being felt by everyone all over the world. For us in the restaurant industry, though, the small margins we have always had to work with are just getting slimmer.

This doom and gloom is enough to give you sleepless nights, but if you are one of those restaurateurs lucky enough to still be standing, then you are probably still grasping on to some sort of optimism. And so we carry on cooking the food, making the drinks, trying new ideas, succumbing to third-party takeaway apps we had vowed to steer clear of and trying, any way we can, to keep reminding the customers we are still here.

What can we do but what we do best? Providing sanctuary and delivering a delightful evening for people that can become a magical experience. On those busy nights, with the restaurant buzzing and people laughing, you can still feel the joy in the air that makes it all worth it. It gives me certainty that the restaurant industry will somehow find a way to survive, again.