Chips With That??

I was laid low for the latter half of last week with a severe cold, and spent a guilty couple of days indulging myself. Staying in my negligée all day long, eating runny omelettes, spending the afternoon in bed with Philip Pullman, watching daytime TV, it’s good practice for retirement. Aunty Marianne and Scouse Doris dropped by with the full omnibus edition of His Dark Materials and a witchy herbal remedy, before dashing off to a coven meeting. It’s at times like this when good girlfriends are worth their weight in chocolate.

One of the great guilty pleasures of being home on sick leave is listening to Desert Island Discs on Radio 4. With my intense interest in all things culinary, I was avid to hear Heston Blumenthal, the celebrity chef who has been awarded 3 Michelin stars and Best Restaurant in the World award of 2005 for his restaurant The Fat Duck in Bray, Berkshire. His culinary creations are said to be most original. I must say the thought of snail porridge makes me heave, I have seen what they do in the garden. Entirely self-taught, he turned down the offer of an apprenticeship with Raymond Blanc, and worked as a debt collector whilst teaching himself French cuisine in the evenings from cookery books, in his mum’s kitchen. I learnt some very useful tips from this interview, for example that the best chipping potatoes (look away now, Pat) sink in heavily salted water, whereas those that float should be used for mashing. When I am next visiting Vera Slapp and Cyril down in deepest Berkshire I might be persuaded to have a nibble on his triple-fried chips. He has a very scientific approach to cooking, apparently. He is also, like moiself, an amateur of world music, and his desert island discs were an eclectic mix of exotic airs, rock and opera.

I am a great lover of fine dining. Do not be fooled by the number of times I mention chips in this column, my reduced circumstances due to my precipitated departure from Africa and arrival in Brussels as a refugee will not last forever. I am saving up my luncheon vouchers and will soon be seen again dining at the best tables in Brussels. THE table to be seen at in this town is Comme Chez Soi, where I have not yet had the pleasure, although Vi Hornblower has. In Paris the best - and most exclusive - table I ever graced was the British Ambassador’s. His Excellency has a famously well-stocked wine cellar, and a noble collection of single malt Scotch Whiskies which are offered as a very British alternative to cognac. I was only a little disappointed that His Excellency didn’t offer me any Ferrero Rochers. Budget cuts, I expect.

If a suitor really wanted to impress me (pay attention, Bert) he would book a table for two at El Bulli near Barcelona, this year's Best Restaurant in the World. This restaurant is only open for six months a year, and all bookings for 2006 were already closed by mid-2005. The menu comprises 16 courses, all of them tiny but exquisite and experimental. If any readers have managed to get a table there I would be most interested to hear about it. Or any other outstanding estaminets you may have visited. My future as a restaurant reviewer depends on hot tips.

One person who won't be eating at El Bulli is Saddam Hussein. His shouting over the judge who was trying to read out his death sentence yesterday rather put me in mind of Catherine Tate's Lauren. I wonder what is the Arabic for "Am I bovvered? Am I? Bovvered? Me? Do I look bovvered? I'm not bovvered! I'm NOT BOVvered!"