![]() Deliveroo’s much-hyped stock market flotation last month dominated headlines, as did the rapid tumble in its share price after major institutional investors opted to steer clear. If you live in one of the 150 British towns and cities now served by Deliveroo, the firm’s turquoise logo probably feels ubiquitous these days: plastered on stickers inside takeaway windows, bobbing on the backs of cyclists and motorbike riders, flashing across television sets during the evening news. “What do you think is going on in there?” he asked fellow restaurateurs. Word was that Deliveroo had started building its own kitchens on a piece of wasteland up the road, just the other side of Hornsey railway line the newly installed units had no windows, people said, and a security guard was posted on the door. That was when strange rumours first began swirling around the local restaurant scene. “It just felt like Deliveroo were taking in money and information from every angle, while other people – us at the restaurant, the drivers who came to pick up the orders – did all the work,” he says. And, as time went by, Deliveroo was learning more and more about his clientele, while his customers grew ever more remote from him. ![]() When things went awry, such as a delivery driver not turning up or someone complaining about a missing item, he could be hit with a financial penalty, and it was almost impossible to reach a human being at Deliveroo to resolve it. The more Kurt thought about it, the more he wondered what his restaurant was supposed to be gaining from this arrangement. That went down badly with previously loyal customers who were presented with a vast number of often heavily discounted competitors when using the app. It meant anyone buying his huge adana kofte or mixed shish kebabs through the Deliveroo app was in effect paying three surcharges for the convenience, as Deliveroo was also charging them a delivery and service fee. Kurt, a gregarious, bearded man in his early 40s, who left his central Anatolian home town in 1995 and used his love of food to build a new life in the UK, ran the numbers: with Deliveroo’s commission amounting to 35% plus VAT on every order, he was forced to increase his prices to avoid losing money on each sale. The sense that something was wrong dawned gradually. I didn’t think there was a downside.” Within a few days of signing a contract with the company, a shiny new tablet computer arrived on which orders placed via Deliveroo appeared out of the ether with a satisfying ping. “We wanted more customers and money coming in and Deliveroo seemed to offer that. ![]() “Life as a small, independent restaurant is hard and the profit margins are slim,” says Hüseyin Kurt, Shukran’s owner. S hukran Best Kebab – the finest Turkish restaurant in the Seven Sisters area of north London, according to some people (although it is surrounded by fierce rivals to the throne) – joined Deliveroo two years ago, and back then it seemed like a no-brainer.
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