Franco Manca Will Close 16 Uk Restaurants Affecting 225 Jobs

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Here’s the kicker: sourdough is a living organism. It needs constant care, like a pet—but without the cute face. Franco Manca probably spent a fortune keeping their starters alive, only to realize that most of us don’t care if the dough has been proofed for 36 hours. We just want a pizza that doesn’t taste like a mouthful of regret.

And let’s talk about those toppings. The menu was a masterclass in minimalism: tomato, cheese, maybe a mushroom if you were feeling wild. It was like ordering pizza from a monk who got lost in a bakery. “Would you like your pizza with one basil leaf, or the extra basil leaf for 50p extra?” Oh, get outta here.

Franco Manca to close 16 UK restaurants (including 9 in London)

But here’s the silver lining: only 16 stores are closing out of over 50. That means 34 are still alive, kicking, and overcharging for a slice of bread that looks like topographical map of the Alps. Plus, Franco Manca says they’re “committed to saving as many jobs as possible,” which is corporate speak for “we’ll try not to burn the place down on the way out.”

What to Expect Post-Closure

If you’re one of the 225 affected employees, you’re probably polishing your CV right now. My advice: lean into the chaos. Put “Sourdough Survivor” under “special skills.” List “ability to fold an undercooked pizza into a wallet” under achievements. You’ll be fine—there’s a huge demand for people who can handle floppy, unpredictable food. Ever tried a kebab in Brighton?

For the rest of us, this is a gentle reminder that the restaurant industry is a brutal, greasy rollercoaster. One minute you’re the darling of food bloggers; the next, you’re a cautionary tale about the price of organic flour. So, go mourn your shuttered local Franco Manca—or don’t. There’s always a Nando’s around the corner. And at least their chicken isn’t made of science experiments.

In summary: 16 restaurants gone, 225 jobs affected, and a sourdough starter is weeping somewhere in an alley. It’s the end of an era—a weird, slightly sour, kind of overpriced era. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to buy a frozen pizza and pretend the crust is “artisan.” * Cheers. *
—Your friendly neighbourhood pizza critic who also can’t cook.