I, being obsessed by gambling, have different heroes – uglier and sweatier, bar Rick Stein anyway. But my gambling heroes have some things in common. They take the information available and scientifically evaluate it, critically reduce it, add a soupcon of intuition and suck it and see.
My task for today was to rustle up a ratatouille to go with some salmon steaks for a calorie-sufficient, taste-pleasing supper. This was not an onerous task, but notes and e-mails throughout the day suggested a certain lack of trust - what shall we say - a certain wifely fear.
“Nigel Slater roasts the aubergine separately” said her post-it note on the bathroom mirror; Jamie adds some chilli powder, bish, bash, bosh; Simon adds a little saffron to the cherry tomatoes before necking a couple of Negronis with his chums; Nigella runs the aubergines up and down her thighs until firm.
She road-tests all the recipes, puts the TV chefs through their paces, digests and cogitates and comes up with the best of the best. The bet of the day. And judging by her ratatouille she should be taken much more seriously than the preening John McCriricks of TV chefdom.