Prat in the Kitchen?
Someone’s lost their temper:
You’re a fucking dickhead.
Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares is a stunning programme. Not for the culinary delights. Not even for the colourful language. But because it never ceases to amaze me how many people get caught in a cycle of stupidity and stubbornness. Neither is a particularly desirable character trait; put them together and you’ve got dynamite. And great TV.
How these people end up running their own restaurants is quite staggering. They are a different class of idiot, in an environment that doesn’t suit them.
My career has led me into (and out of) the crazy world of restaurant kitchens. They’re quite incredible places: drenched in grease, tension, and good humour. Somedays you’d do so little, it’d barely be worth turning up for work. We’d do the ’salad olympics’, with tomatoes and obstacle courses made from crockery and chopping boards, or just bodypop on flattened chip boxes. There’d always be one day that made up for all those easy days, though; you’d work ten hours without looking at a clock. You would, in the words of Ramsay, be fucked.
Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares takes me back to those days - without the long hours and shit pay. I’ve got respect for Ramsay. He’s worked for what he’s got - bloody hard too. And he’s mastered his craft; perfected his skill. Sure, he’s got a filthy mouth, but you need one - it’s the only way you can get your point across in some kitchens.
Don’t knock him until you’ve tried it.