A Plethora of Plaid and Palate

I am taking a moment to pen thought on one of the most abundant sources of entertainment. The TV Chef. Applaud the great titans of the art such as Heston and his Mad Hatters Nitrogen and Apricot Superiority Risotto and Nigella and her Cleavage and Lime Seduction Trifle. They are masters of turning food programming into a nonsensical cauldron of arousing fork and spoon experiments. In the TV land they entertain whilst orbiting the Commercial Culinary Colossus that is The Ramsay. The history of many peoples enjoyment of Gordon resembles this. Wow Gordon Ramsay. Good food Gordon. Oh my lord what a dirty mouth you have Gordon. Gordon your so mean. Curse at them Gordon. Isn't this a rehashed version of the last show Gordon. Your anger at that old lady was a little disconcerting Gordon. Piss off Gordon.

I need say little more about the first two Wonders of Sexual Stove Science or the Hells Kitchen Fennel Fascist round which they all reluctantly rotate.

If it were up to me, the televisual kitchen would look like this....everyday.



However, since my culinary opinion has all the importance of Sophie Dahl Pie making Special, I will move on to subject I came here to dicuss.

Moving away from the murky water of sex food and misplaced anger, I would like to express my less than impressed feelings on the practices of a unique individual. The One Man Country Cuisine Chutney Juggernaut. Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall. If you need your meat boiled, olive bread made or sleep deprivation cured, look no further.

If you can say one thing about a farmers market he can say ten.

Cooking is cooking. When you transform it into an hour long programme you have to inject other elements to make it a pleasurable experience. TV Chefs have their way of drawing you in. I mean I am not attracted to women but Nigella is very good at making me want to raid my fridge for leftovers at 1am.

Hugh will talk about beetroots like they are some kind of vegetable shaped Tate Exhibition. He and his checkered cohorts 'hmm' over them like they are dubbing soft porn and wander the fields of wherever, looking for cows to measure. The programmes 'arc material' includes a trip to the village pub where humorous and interesting conversation apparently come to die, and the Ladies in Aprons Social Bake Off where, apparently, all of Nigella's hard work comes to die.

They sit on wooden stools discussing beans, sit on derelict farm walls discussing broth and stand in kitchens discussing how the beans going into the broth would make excellent television while we all consider how many blows it would take to render them unconscious.

Hugh then signs off by re-iterating the allure of the countryside. The allure of vegetables and gardens and dirt and yeast.

After having absorbed an hour of his River Monotony House I am only more enamoured with the idea of listening to the radio.

Thank you Tv, you have done it again.