Oh, Gordon. I wish you’d bat for my team
Oh Gordon, you big, sexy, sweaty hunk, you. You hulking Easter Island rockface, you domineering, sweaty man-beast, with legs as thick as a walnut tree, face as grooved as a walnut itself. You’re everything I could possibly want in my fantasy figure – you’d shout me into submission, call me a snivelling twat, throw a lumpy white roux all over me and storm out swearing at the cameras.
But you don’t make it easy for me to love you.
There’s that open letter you wrote to your mother in law. The constant gurning after the Beckhams. The dreadful Ramsay’s F word. And now…your book, Gordon Ramsay’s Great Escape. The cast list – including Mark Sargeant who wrote the recipes and Emily Quah the text – is longer than one of your Marathon training sessions. What did you actually do here, Gordo, (can I call you that?) other than hop around the Far East, playing cricket with the locals, posing for dreadful portraits like this one, above?
But then, what does it actually matter? You’ve long been merely a figurehead, off eating undressed spinach leaves with Eva Longoria, letting Stuart Gillies and the team at Gordon Ramsay Holdings quietly go about creating brilliant new restaurants like the awesome Bread Street Kitchen. Why should you, a cook, be expected to actually cook? You’re the heavily-lined face of this brand, not the workhorse who has to carry the load. Have another game of cricket, eh Gordy? Who needs to sweat above a stove?
And actually, the recipes were delicious in spite of your non-involvement – no wonder you were happy to take an expensable jolly around Mumbai in their honour. I don’t even like Indian food that much Mr Ramsay, sir, as I always find the smell of the spice comes out my hair follicles the next day. You probably know that feeling too, what with your lovely luscious locks. What shampoo do you use, by the way? Tell me you’re the secret softie we both know you are deep down. Tell me it’s Johnson’s No More Tears.
But I’m getting off the track, something your crashingly unsubtle charisma often causes me to do. Not only were your team’s recipes tasty, they were easy too. Not once did I have a meltdown at my boyfriend, which is customary in these proceedings, not once did I have to tell the guests to eat another cheese dorito as dinner wouldn’t be for another three hours. Not once did I have to curse your name, and everything you’ve ever put it to (even those awful pasta sauces) – this was simple Sunday cooking at its best.
Gordon’s (team’s) Spiced Tomato and Coconut soup
Yes, the soup was a little on the thin side, but the creaminess of the coconut milk cut through the chilli to perfection.
And my version. Not quite so inspiring without the styling, is it?
As for the butter chicken, I’ve never eaten such a delicate dish.
The Ramsay Holdings ideal of Butter Chicken
So perfectly smooth and subtle and mild, like your pillow talk probably is, when it’s just the two of us and you can drop your hard-man image.
You like my courgette, Gordie?
And you should remember to congratulate your team on this fruit salad, too – it was as easy to prepare as it looks:
Team Ramsay’s Fruit Salad with Spiced Syrup
One guest even favourably compared the spiced syrup to Red AfterShock – “in a good way” – which I could only take as a compliment.
Healthy AND delicious. A winning combo. Just like you and me, bbs.
Thanks Gordon my old friend, your team really turned out another blinder. Look me up next time you’re in town, you can swear at me any day. And give my love to Posh!xx
Cost of ingredients: £22.73 (not including those already in store cupboard)
First course: * * *
Main Course: * * * * *
Dessert: * * * *
Overall: 8/10 – gains points for easy recipes and raw animal sex appeal, loses them for cheesy portraits
Gordon Ramsay’s Great Escape (Harper Collins) Original Food Photography by Emma Lee, Reportage Photography by Jonathan Gregson.
carved from a walnut stone, hair fashioned from