Party animal: Robin Gill is relaunching his infamous supperclub in Bermondsey
(Picture: Natasha Pszenicki)Robin Gill, the Dublin-born chef and restaurateur, is gleefully giggling — more maniacally cackling, really — as he explains why his notorious supperclub Bloodshot was cancelled for the final time five years ago. “I thought my wife was gonna kill me or leave me,” he grins. “She used to move out of the f***ing country when she knew it was going on. I’m not kidding here — she’d go back to Dublin whenever it was coming up.”
It wasn’t the first time Gill had to call time on Bloodshot, either. “I’ve got no recollection of this but at one, someone had written ‘happy mother’s day’ on my arse. I went home at God knows what time, went to bed. I’m lying there face down, naked, and my wife sees [it],” Another naughty giggle. “So that was the last one for a while…”
If Gill’s stories seem out of the ordinary for a supperclub, it’s exactly because Bloodshot was out of the ordinary for a supperclub. It launched in 2014 as a place for restaurant staff to go once the week’s work wrapped up on a Saturday night. The rules were few and simple: things began at midnight with cocktails, a menu was served until about 4am, and tickets were limited to two per person “because I didn’t want it to become like staff parties for restaurants. I really wanted to encourage different places to come, front of house and back of house all mixing like a little community.”
A guest chef would take the reins for an evening, cooking for the “creme de la creme” of industry peers. Gill announced the first one on Twitter while “stuck at an airport. Within about two hours, I had planned the entire year of who was cooking.”
The nights were held on the last Saturday of every month. From the first one — when Gill’s then right-hand-man Dean Parker cooked to the theme of Reservoir Hogs, with his finale as pigs’ heads served to the table complete with collars and ties — “it was f***ing outrageous.” Gill likes the word f***; he makes Ramsay lookan amateur. In conversation, it’s best to brace for one in every sentence.
There was drink, there was dancing, there was debauchery, diners always saw the dawn. There were food fights and games of frisbee with an AA Rosette. Food featured, but it was more about bonhomie and bad behaviour. And now, after testing the waters with a blurry November night at his Bermondsey Larder, Gill is bringing Bloodshot back for good. Why?
“I think Covid brought it back, because we missed things. We missed live music, we missed entertainment, we missed socialising. We missed dancing. And that was it. I was just like: let’s just f***ing do it again, you know?” But, er, what about his wife? “Oh, the beauty of it is that Sarah started to miss them too, so it’s come full circle!”
Though the reborn Bloodshot will take much of its shape from the original, the pitch has been remoulded. Whereas those first years were mostly kept for the industry, with just a few seats reserved for the rest of us, the new Bloodshot is open to anyone willing to pay the £110 ticket price (which may vary), with 60 available each sitting, and held every other month “so we don’t burn out again”. And where before one chef braved their way through an evening, now each of the five or so courses will come from a different one.
The club never had any trouble persuading a name to do their thing — Claude Bosi’s been in, Nuno Mendes once did snacks impromptu, and two-star, Cambridge-based Daniel Clifford didn’t let his car going kaput stop him turning up at near 2am to cook (“what a superstar!” says Gill) — but the nights offered, and will offer, “a platform for the next generation of chefs as well.”
“Often you get these fantastic chefs cooking for named chefs, but they’re cooking somebody else’s food, and they’re dead hungry, chomping at the bit do their own thing. To be honest with you, you get better experiences because they go all-out.” Gill says menus are sent to him ahead of time “and I’ll challenge the chefs, tell ‘em ‘you need to mix it up’”
Other changes will be rather more obvious; Gill is a restless dreamer. “I see this almost the Secret Cinema of the f***ing late night restaurant world. That’s my goal — I want random f***ing things happening.” Such as? “I actually want people to rock up and not know what to expect. But, could be a contortionist coming out of nowhere. We had burlesque in November, that was good. I like the idea of people sitting beside someone that they don’t know is part of the experience and all of a sudden, that person might break into character. I want people to feel fully immersed in something.”
I see this as almost the Secret Cinema of the f***ing late night restaurant world... I want people fully immersed
Music will be integral. By the American Embassy, Gill runs Darby’s, which was his late father’s nickname. His parents have been an inspiration here, too. “My dad was a musician. I love music and I really felt for live musicians over Covid, it’s a tough gig as it is anyway. So now I’ve raised a bit of cash where we could support musicians. And you know what it is, I was brought up in theatres, my mum and dad used to put on shows and I used to bunk off school, sneak in the backstage door to watch them. I never got involved in music or theatre, even though it’s something I love, so I think this is my version of that.”
Besides the live music, a DJ will play till… well, till people go home. “I expect dancing — I demand it! And at the end, for people to party.”
While his Bermondsey Larder’s 24-hour licence is a gift, this time around the midnight feast is going on tour. Gill mentions he’s had interest from friends in Paris and Oslo, and is even considering going Stateside (“A mate in Nashville, he’s a crazy guy. Now he’d host a party…”). In return, those chefs will come to London.
Any advice, then, for would-be Bloodshot hosts or, indeed, guests? Gill’s trademark cackle comes out once more. “Anyone who wants to get involved needs to know: it’s going to get f***ing messy.”
