From Britannia to Pizza – My Australian Culinary Adventure

Landing in Brisbane – The 1988 World Expo We arrived in Brisbane in the second week of April 1988, just as the World Expo opened. The Expo was set to run until October, and it was the perfect opportunity to find employment. With my roots in the UK, I applied to work at the English stand and was instantly hired as a chef at the Britannia Inn—a replica of a traditional English pub. The shifts were long and incredibly busy, but it was a lot of fun. The atmosphere was entirely different from anything I had experienced before. Visitors came for enjoyment, and those of us working in the country stands weren’t just serving food—we were representing our nations and enhancing their experience. Life at the Britannia Inn At the Expo, the Britannia Inn had both an Executive Chef and a Head Chef, each trying to outdo the other with increasingly tall chef hats—a hilarious spectacle for everyone on site. Ironically, neither of them worked in the kitchen with me and the team. By the end of the first week at the newly opened Britannia in Brisbane, both were gone—the Executive Chef was sacked, and the Head Chef managed to chop off his thumb while demonstrating how to cut a chicken to apprentice chefs! Soon after, I was offered the Head Chef position, which I gladly accepted. Later, a Spanish Executive Chef joined, overseeing the restaurant, while I focused on Italian, French, and English cuisine. An Oriental section was added to the kitchen, staffed by a Thai chef—a world I didn’t yet know—but I carried on with my expertise and enthusiasm. Exploring Business Opportunities Even while working at the Britannia, I was thinking ahead. One business that caught my attention was Silvio’s Pizzas, a franchise operated by an Italian family with stores throughout Brisbane. I did my due diligence, reviewing financial records with an accountant who assured me, “Everything seems fine.” Confident, I struck a deal with the family to acquire a franchise store. Running the Stone's Corner Store The store I acquired was in Stone's Corner, a busy suburb near Brisbane’s city centre. To maintain consistency, I kept the previous manager on staff and employed several students as delivery drivers. At first, everything seemed great—the store was busy, especially during dinner time, and appeared profitable. But within a few months, I noticed cracks in the system. The Silvio’s franchise model was flawed:

We proposed solutions—discounting ingredients for promotional nights or suspending the free pizza offer during storms—but Silvio’s refused. Every franchise meeting became a battle. Eventually, they locked both me and another franchisee out of our stores. Lessons Learned, didn’t fight it. To be honest, I was relieved to walk away. My original deal allowed me to place a small deposit and pay the rest after selling my New Zealand business, so my financial exposure was minimal. Meanwhile, Silvio’s model eventually failed, and the company acquired Domino’s Pizza, rebranding its stores. Ironically, one of the young store managers from the Silvio’s days eventually bought out the company and became the CEO of Domino’s Queensland.
The day I walked away from Silvio’s, the Brisbane sky was heavy with rain. Fitting, I thought. Storms had plagued our delivery routes for weeks, and now they seemed to mark the end of my franchise experiment. But unlike the weather, I felt clear. Calm. Relieved.

I hadn’t lost everything. Thanks to the structure of my deal—just a small deposit upfront with the balance tied to the sale of my New Zealand business—my financial exposure was minimal. It was a clean break. No lawsuits. No lingering debts. Just lessons.
And there were plenty.

I learned that enthusiasm alone doesn’t make a business work. That a flawed model, no matter how popular the brand, will eventually collapse under its weight. I learned that franchise meetings can feel more like war rooms than strategy sessions. And I learned that sometimes, the best move is to walk away before the damage becomes permanent.

But I also learned something deeper—about myself.

I had taken a risk. I had stepped out of the kitchen and into the boardroom. Not only that, but I had hired, managed, negotiated, and fought for what, I believed, was fair. That mattered. Even if the outcome wasn’t what I’d hoped, the experience had sharpened me. I wasn’t just a chef anymore. I was a businessperson. A strategist. A survivor.

In the weeks that followed, I spent time reflecting. Brisbane was still buzzing from the Expo, but I felt like I was standing at the edge of something new. I wasn’t sure what came next, but I knew I wanted to build something of my own—something with my name on it. No more franchises. No more middlemen. Just me, my vision, and the courage to try again.

I started sketching ideas. Concepts for restaurants, menus, branding. I revisited my roots—English cuisine, Mediterranean flavours, the fusion of cultures I’d seen at the Expo. I thought about the kind of place I’d want to walk into as a customer. Warm. Welcoming. Honest.

That seed of an idea would eventually grow into my next venture. But at the time, it was just a whisper. A possibility. A quiet promise to myself that failure wasn’t the end—it was the beginning of something better.

Robin’s Nest – A New Venture

After the Silvio’s episode, I found a small restaurant for sale in Yeronga, a quiet suburb near the Brisbane River. The area had an interesting history—many of the streets and roads were named after P&O shipping line vessels. In the late 1800s, P&O’s ships, both steam and sail, would travel up the river to this very location.

The business was originally a Danish cuisine restaurant, but it wasn’t doing well and was being sold cheaply. I decided to turn it into a proper restaurant and named it Robin’s Nest. We were among the first establishments to obtain an outdoor table service license, which set us apart at the time.

We hired a talented chef, and Carolyn and I managed the front of house. Once everything was set up and ready for service, Sheila came to see what we had done. However, she seemed slightly disappointed—she had expected me to open another El Greco.

At this point, we were renting an apartment in Indooroopilly, which meant driving to the restaurant every day. This arrangement gave me the opportunity to get back into jogging and regain some fitness. Since moving to Australia, I had been going to the gym sporadically, but never consistently. I had done a little exercise during my time at Silvio’s, where I encouraged the younger store and delivery staff to participate in a fun run. They wore Silvio’s shirts, effectively advertising their pizzas while we ran. It was a fantastic day—10 kilometres followed by a barbecue to celebrate. I even got a great massage afterward at Cleveland Point, right by the seaside.

Thereafter, I let Carolyn drive the car home while I jogged back, which took about an hour. That’s when my real training started. I set a goal for myself: to run the Gold Coast Marathon.

The marathon itself was gruelling, but finishing it gave me an immense sense of accomplishment. I was hooked. From then on, jogging became a regular part of my life. Brisbane was perfect for running, with plenty of safe and scenic routes to explore.

Moving On

Back at Robin’s Nest, I gradually lost interest in running the place. When Easter approached, I made a sudden decision—I closed the restaurant for the holidays, posting a sign on the door:

“Closed for family reasons. Will reopen after Easter.”
We learnt that Cliff & Zoe were living in Noosa where they have been for over a year it would be god to go visit them Instead of reopening, we headed up to Noosa to visit Cliff and Zoe. Before leaving, I placed a short four- or five-line ad in the newspaper to sell the restaurant.

When we returned, to my surprise, there was already a couple waiting outside Robin’s Nest, eager to buy it. They had never owned a restaurant before but had experience running a football club. Who was I to argue?

We agreed on a price, shook hands, and just like that—another chapter closed.