Franco Manca Will Close 16 Uk Restaurants Affecting 225 Jobs

Well, grab your sourdough starter and hold onto your olive oil cruet, because the pizza gods have thrown a curveball. Franco Manca, the chain that made us all believe a £7 slice of burnt, wobbly dough was the pinnacle of Italian cuisine, is closing 16 of its UK restaurants. That’s right—225 employees are suddenly checking their non-stick spatulas for retirement plans.

It’s a tragic tale, really, unless you’ve ever waited 45 minutes for a pizza that arrived looking like a deflated balloon. Then it’s a slightly amusing tragedy. The company blames “rising costs” and “changing customer habits,” which is code for “people finally realized they can buy a frozen pizza, microwave it, and save themselves a tenner.”

The Great Sourdough Slump

Let’s be honest: Franco Manca’s sourdough was the celebrity of the pizza world—famous, but you’re not entirely sure why. It was chewy, sometimes raw in the middle, and always left you wondering if you just ate a bread-based science experiment. Now, 16 of their 50-plus UK locations are closing, affecting 225 jobs—a number roughly equal to the amount of people who actually enjoy anchovies on their pizza.

You have to appreciate the irony. In a world where we can have pizza delivered to our doorstep by a robot, a hand-tossed sourdough base suddenly doesn’t seem worth the 25-minute wait. One restaurant worker told me, “I’ve handed out more free olive oil packets than actual cheers today.” I made that up, but I bet it’s close.

Where Did It All Go Wrong?

The official statement says they’re “restructuring to focus on stronger locations.” Translation: they’re pulling up the drawbridge on 16 failing outposts while trying to look cool about it. It’s like telling your friends you’re moving to a smaller apartment because you’re “downsizing your carbon footprint.” Buddy, we know the rent is too high.

Surprising fact number one: Franco Manca was actually born from a market stall in Brixton. It started as a tiny, grumpy little pizza joint with a wood-fired oven that looked like a dragon’s lair. Fast-forward fifteen years, and that dragon is now breathing its last on the high street. Surprising fact number two: The chain is owned by the same parent company as Byron Hamburgers—yes, the burger chain that’s been on life support longer than a reality TV star’s career. Birds of a feather, apparently, flock to bankruptcy together.

So, 225 people are losing their jobs. That’s a real bummer—unless you’re one of those people who thinks a pizza should come with a knife and fork and a side of existential dread. The employees will likely find new work, probably at a burrito place that also claims to be “authentic.” Or they’ll start a YouTube channel called “I Survived the Sourdough Apocalypse.” I’d watch that.

Let’s not forget the real victims here: us. The customers. What will we do without a chain that charges £12 for a margherita and then acts like we’re the crazy ones for asking for a side of chilli oil? We’ll have to go back to Dominos, where the dough is pre-made, the cheese is plastic, and you can get a heart attack with free garlic dip. Progress.

The Hard Truth About Sourdough

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.

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.