As you all know, I have more than a passing interest in cookery. I am, to take one example, a great fan of Jocelyn Dimbleby's seminal work on oriental cuisine, and have on many occasions given great oral satisfaction to my guests with such dishes as Peking Pork with Cashew Nuts. I am also famous (notorious?) for my Madras Chicken Curries, served with Brinjal and Lime Pickle and Pappadums, together with a slip of paper advising guests to put a toilet roll in the fridge before they go to bed.
I am not one for the TV gurus - you know, that grinning negro poofter, that lisping egomaniac, that limp-wristed hotel chef, etc. I don't like them mainly because I hate their use of the word "just" -
"just marinade it in yak's semen for ...." "just add the zest of 24 Armenian green lemons" "just blend till it achieves the consistency of Afyon goat's turds."
The only exception to my antipathy to these poseurs is illustrated above, though, to tell the truth, I am not sure my motives would bear close scrutiny.