I have always had severe apprehensions about their cooking, perhaps due scaring from four teenage summers spent as a kitchen hand (in fact, they weren’t all teenage, I may have been 20 by the last). Their recent exclamation to aspire to a particular cockney male left me slightly bewildered at the potential idols for up-and-coming chefs who are not to be stereotyped. The options; Rude, Cockney, Bumbling, Humorous - (all male), or; Lusty, Motherly – (female). Perhaps Nigella needs some feminist inclination backing her, perhaps it is there – but what about something between the two? Occasionally, hangovers spew me to Saturday Morning Kitchen where the delivery remains calm, concise and of essence, and yes – played by a female without any need to sell anything for increased viewing. (On a side, I’m sure its been asked years ago, but back in the day when a common-blooded man would suggest a female’s place is in the vicinity of a stove, how come one can think of more male celebrity chefs?).
Snip tangent. Their recent culinary successes (returning here to my flatmate, occasional lover – I’m sure they won’t mind me slotting that in – all round generally good co-habitué, devotion included) include a rather splendid risotto, overly-minty-though-very-much-to-my-taste-lamb burgers, and a scallop that even a mild reminiscing on results in vast salivation. Ok, give me a correction, get out into reality (provided one doesn’t victimise one who is victim to some harsh cross-breed of anxiety and agoraphobia) and make your way, I believe in queer cooking. The monopoly and mainstream are disinterested – relatively good/bad for us though surprising on their part. I guess they can’t find a joke in it. I guess they’d know we’d take them down.
I know a girl who interned at The Times. However she got from her past job to the one following such an internship is probably lost in the mystery of her nationality. I’d like to think there is a story in this.
