Saturday, 26 November 2011
We are what we eat.
There are some things that even I won't admit to doing. Take watching celebrity chef cooking programs for example. Hugh Fearnley-Poshboy, Jamie, that one with the hair-gel, they are all the same to me. Blokes who are making a big fuss about something quite simple i.e. cooking the bleedin' dinner! Don't get me wrong, I enjoy cooking and have always had the greatest respect for ships cooks who are able to dish up excellent grub, sometimes in appalling conditions, when just being able to stand upright is an achievement. I learnt to cook as a teenager on the barges. It was usual to have to learn to cook before you were taught how to steer and this proved quite an incentive. For a long time my repertoire was limited to baked pork chops and savoury mince and these two dishes remain favourites of mine to this day. You can't beat good basic grub I reckon.
The truth is however that the other day, in a moment of weakness, I watched about ten minutes of Celebrity Master Chef. Do you remember that clown who booted his telly in so outraged was he at the Sex Pistols? That was almost me with the celebrity cooks. What a load of rubbish! Minuscule bits of daintily served meat, portions of vegetables so small that any self respecting hamster would have a moan , swirls of sauce, six chips in a lattice - and square plates. Don't get me fucking started about square plates!