But I hate cauliflower cheese. And I was in charge of the pass. Would Gordon “roar my gonads off” stand for this shit? No. No he would not. So, at the last minute, in the full heat of a fevered kitchen service, I went off-piste, showed some flair, a soupçon of élan. I grabbed a tin of the Jolly Green Giant, that safest of understudies, picked when ripe, tinned when sweet, plumptious, golden-yellow nuggets of sun, soon to be slathered in the melting butter of joy. Except, as I poured them into the pan, it turned out they were actually something called Palm Hearts. What are they? I honestly don't know. Why are they in the front of our cupboard? Why are they in a Green Giant tin? What the fuck?
Service...