I never believed in Santa Claus as a child. I still don’t. I could never understand how this jolly plump bugger with a fetish for all things red could travel around the world in a flying reindeer-led cart giving out products to customers and never generate a profit. Face it, from an economical point of view, it’s a disaster.

He may be able to fund his factories by making Mrs Claus sell cookies throughout the year, but that’s a hell of a lot of cookies to just break even. He would  probably have troubles with the Union as well for making Rudolph work extra time by giving children rides around the Estate, and he’s already pissed off at me for pinching his nose non-stop for years.

So let’s sit down and have a think. How can we help Santa make money? There are too many people around the world posing as him, exploiting his image to make a few euro by sitting around posing for photographs.

Ok I know. We can sell books.

A list of all the good little boys and girls around the world that are worth a special visit. We will make them famous. People will flock to see them, to experience how good they really are and everyone will want to be like them. We will go visit every child there is, and rate their behaviour from zero to hero.  If they are good for a year, we will give them a gift, a bright shiny star. If they misbehave the next, we’ll take it away and make them cry. If they are exceptionally good, we give them three. Eventually they become hooked on their own egos, and will rate each other’s behaviour by the number of stars they have obtained. And every year, in January, we will publish the list and make a killing. Sometimes literally. Did you ever hear of Bernard Loiseau? Then read The Perfectionist.

On Restaurant Earth, Santa Claus takes the form of Bibendum, the morbidly obese tyre man. You know who he is. He’s the symbol of the Michelin tyre company and a marketing genius. What Michelin did is create the Red Book, a list of all the restaurants in the world (or rather, in the world where books sell in their huge thousands) that are worth mentioning. It started out as being a complementary leaflet to motorists looking for a recommendable diner whilst travelling distances into unknown territories. Once commercialised, it became oh-so-political.

Stars mean everything to a restaurant. It is every young chef’s dream of achieving at least one star in their career. Which is fine. The danger lies here. Once you get it, you will never want to let go. And once you lose it, it is considered the ultimate loss of faith in yourself. You are just not good enough. Now, imagine you have three, and you lose one. Jumping off from a 10-storey building creates much more of a scene than jumping off from the top of your scooter.

Every year, restaurants fall under the ruthless scrutiny of the Michelin Inspector. The inspector always comes during what we call the hunting season, from end of summer up till mid December. He’s always undercover, and usually there is no telling what he or she looks like. I have met countless inspectors during my career and they come in all shapes and sizes, ranging from haggard old men to young, sharp looking diplomat types. They all have one thing in common, a meticulous eye for detail.

They start off by ordering a spicy tomato or a fresh orange juice (to determine freshness and correct level of spicing) and take note of everything that happens within the restaurant, from the moment they call to make a booking, till they moment they catch a taxi. They take mental notes, and can recite every one word by word, so precise that I am sure they are also equipped with hidden microphones. I myself have been quoted word for word on numerous occasions.

Of course, my staff is all prepared for such encounters. We prepare by strict training, disciplined movement around the room, food and wine knowledge, courtesy and elegance. Anyone mentioned in a negative manner in rare, ‘unclassified’ reports is always made redundant. I have seen waiters fired for claiming a Stilton is from France, sommeliers axed for suggesting wines that did not do justice to the dishes served, and an assistant manager was once disgraced for losing his cool with a customer who happened to be undercover. Food wise, every dish is tested to check for balance, and a generous portion of ooh la la. Every item on the menu is scrutinised, and to do this, different agents are sent to assess different categories. It is very difficult to assess what all these qualities are, so we just need to be perfect.

So now, at present, The Restaurant feels tense. The team is getting tighter and tighter, and the Chef has decided to keep his current menu until the end of the season. This is no time for experimentation.

Restaurants thereby can only fire back by taking every precaution necessary. Besides training, receptionists dutifully check guest names from previous lists that are known to be inspectors, cross-checking with telephone numbers, and sometimes if we are lucky enough to have a few secret photographic cameras about, they can certainly be put to good use. If you are well respected within the trade, you might get a red signal call from other restaurants, hurriedly declaring the presence of ‘Bibendum’. In a world where communication and friendships are vital, I can safely say I have more contacts than Specsavers.

Being awarded three stars is the coveted pinnacle in the restaurant industry. It ensures a healthy business for the rest of your life. Any restaurant with the three stars has its name written in the history books and it becomes blessed with obtaining the very best of staff and the Chef responsible shoots to culinary stardom. The business and commercial opportunities thereby become countless. Lose it, however, and risk destroying your own livelihood. I for one already know that if a star is lost whilst I’m in command means that I can start packing my bags, and leave the country. My own credibility will fly out the window.

Around Christmas time, children try to be on their best behaviour. When Christmas day comes, they cautiously open up their presents, hoping they won’t find coal. In our case, we might get to keep the stars. If we don’t, we will not find coal. It will be us who would be the firewood.