A fancy new restaurant in London, staffed by the recently homeless

London: It’s been three weeks since the restaurant, Home Kitchen, opened its doors and Mimi Mohamed is pretty sure she knows the lemon tart recipe by heart. But just in case, a small notebook where she has carefully written out the ingredients is propped up at the back of the steel counter: 18 lemons; 420 grams of butter; 900 grams of sugar; 24 eggs.

The recipe is from Adam Simmonds, a celebrated Michelin star-winning chef. Novices like Mohamed are not usually found in his kitchens, but this new, upscale dining venture is not usual. Almost every member of the 19-person team has been homeless.

“The crew downstairs in the kitchen, they make so many mistakes, but that’s OK,” Simmonds said with a laugh. “We accept that and we learn from it.”

He is sitting upstairs in the front dining room. A large window overlooks the main commercial street in Primrose Hill, a neighborhood in north London that oozes British charm.

The idea was hatched four years ago by Alex Brown, director of Soup Kitchen London, where Simmonds took a turn cooking at the start of the pandemic. The most common question from those who lined up for food was “Do you know of any jobs?”

In cities across Britain and the world, homelessness and joblessness feed upon each other. Most employers won’t hire someone who does not have a stable address, which means the homeless can’t earn the money to afford a place to live.

Home Kitchen aims to break that cycle by training people for a career in the restaurant industry. Before opening day, recruits took a three-week culinary crash course and then spent two weeks in a kitchen at the Megaro, the five-star hotel where Simmonds was recently appointed chef patron.

They are on full-time contracts earning London’s living wage — 13.15 pounds ($17.58) an hour — plus a travel allowance for their commute. Meals are provided during a shift.

This day, dinner was toad-in-the-hole, a traditional British dish of sausages in Yorkshire pudding batter, macaroni and cheese and gorgeously crisped roast potatoes. It was prepared by the head chef, one of four professionals who oversee operations.

If workers pass a 90-day probationary period, they are eligible for a fully paid, yearlong certification course in culinary skills from Westminster Kingsway College.

The founders were able to crowd fund 350,000 pounds (about $468,000) in cash and in-kind donations. Another 210,000 pounds was borrowed from a philanthropic social-impact fund. They also partnered with several other charities and organizations to help support the staff. The aim is to become self-sustaining, not to make a profit.

The kitchen has little resemblance to the grueling, high-pressure atmosphere depicted in fictional series like “The Bear” or “Boiling Point,” where the head chef collapsed from a heart attack.

“We need to build their confidence,” Simmonds said. “We need to allow them to make mistakes” — like handing him dill when he asked for chervil. The veteran managers have to have empathy, he said, to “understand and teach and nurture.”

Simmonds repeatedly revised the menu before opening to ensure dishes could be successfully executed by inexperienced workers. A goat cheese mousse with figs, for instance, was dropped. He realized that the techniques, including poaching a fig and artfully placing its leaf, were too complicated.

Now, there is a single prix fixe 35-pound ($47) menu for lunch and dinner with a choice of three appetizers and entrees. Most of the preparation can be done in advance. The lamb and chicken are cooked with a sous vide machine, which is precise and consistent. A 65-pound tasting menu is also offered.

Everyone is figuring things out as they go along.

Paul Brown, who was putting fish and chicken in vacuum-sealed bags, had never heard of menu items like celeriac or brill. (The first is a turnip-like root; the second, a fish from the turbot family.)

Mohamed had to learn how to test whether the lemon tart mixture was heated to the right consistency. (Dip the spatula in the filling and swipe a finger down the middle to check if it cleanly separates.)

Illia Kovalenko, a 20-year-old Ukrainian refugee, needed lessons in cocktail making.

At the moment, Simmonds’ hours are long. Between here and the Megaro, where he is launching a second restaurant, he is putting in 17-hour days. “I can’t continue to do that,” he acknowledged.

But problems pop up. Last week, the temporary housing for two staff members fell through and they spent a few nights on the street. The team helped find a hostel placement and they are continuing to work.

Simmonds knows how easy it is to teeter into homelessness. A recovering cocaine addict, the star chef remembers when he couldn’t pay his rent. His family took him in.

People wind up on the streets for all kinds of reasons, he said. “We’re giving them that second opportunity.”

Simmonds, who has struggled with relapses, has had a few second chances himself. “I’m 30-something days clean and sober,” he said, sipping a glass of sparkling water.

Roughly the same amount of time that Home Kitchen has been open.