Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Pukka Love

While at the uni, only three events made us drop everything we were doing in favour of some TV time:

1) The wedding of Sophie and Edward (and God knows why);
2) George Michael talking about the incident in LA to Parky (and the reason is self-evident);
3) Anything with Jamie Oliver in.

It is thus that I vaguely recall the beginnings of my fondness for Pukka Oliver, as we loooooved to call him at the time (and as, if truth be told, I still call him). The then shaggy hair and crash boom bang attitude around the kitchen had us, and another few millions, captivated. It was only years later that it was brought to my attention that Jamie is a polarising figure, as some people love everything he does and others detest his perennially over-salivating plump mouth and southern accent. I must admit that I had not noticed the over-salivating plump part until it was pointed out to me by one of Jamie’s detractors but of course in my eyes it only denotes juiciness, not greasiness. There you go, the glass is half-full here.

Regardless, Jamie has managed to irk many people, namely the lowest substrata of the underclass, thanks to his school dinners crusade first and then thanks to that debacle about Rotherham later (which I think is a royal dump, but then if I were to choose between Rotherham and Stockport... well... I’d be hard-pressed to pick the shitter of the two, I am telling you). Anyway, no matter. Sometimes I am perplexed by Jamie’s attempts at justifying the whole killing thing. It seems to me like he does not want to offend militant vegetarians and so pussyfoots around the slaughtering. And you know Jamie, you cannot pussyfoot around the slaughtering and you cannot convince me that Halal slaughtering is really not that distressing, as is implied in your latest Jamie’s America. I understand that you want everyone to like you but that’s just impossible love.

Well, I am a vegetarian and I love Jamie. Love, love, love him. I love his excellent work across the board, his commitment to younger people, his attempt at making the nation understand that rubbish is only fit for the wastebasket and not our stomachs, and his incredible passion for learning and good food. Jamie is an artist and a national treasure and so tonight I spent some amazing time in bed, enjoying his latest literary/culinary effort. But do you know something? Reading such books in bed is really bad for you. I suppose that’s what midnight snacks were invented for.
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