Nigel Slater’s Simple Suppers

That’s it! I’ve had it up to here! I can’t stand it anymore! I’m going to kill a TV chef and fry their flesh with some mass-produced rosemary in protest! I will boil their bones to make a stock and then squirt it in the faces of everyone who works in TV until this stops.

You cannot move for f**king cookery shows.

Last night, I watched Nigel Slater’s Simple Suppers (BBC Two) which, in itself, was a nice enough programme. Nige’ cooks up simple looking stuff and enthuses all over it, just like you’d expect a food writer to. Fine.

However, the show landed in a week that has left me reeling from the sheer amount of people parping on about food. If food was the new rock ‘n’ roll, then we’re slap bang in the middle of the prog phase.

This week alone I’ve seen three different chefs talking about mackerel. As such, I have vowed never to eat mackerel again. This is the first time I’ve got sick of a food without actually eating it. The trend suggests that mackerel is to become The New Scallops, with every two bit idiots fizzing about how simply divine it all is.

There’s simply too much cookery f**kery going on at the moment. Think about it. In the last year we’ve had Valentine Warner pissing about in hedges, Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall spitting petrol in the sea, repeats of various Gordon Ramsay shows, Saturday Kitchen, Simon Rimmer on Something for the Weekend, Jamie Oliver lisping his way around America, Come Dine With Me, Rick Stein jerking off eels, rave-tastic Masterchef, Economy Gastronomy, Caribbean Food Made Easy, Hairy Bikers, The Great British Menu, Heston Blumenthal’s various projects, that Irish Rachel woman, that Australian bloke who looks like a clean-living Jason Donovan and on and on and on it goes.

Now, it’s redundant whether a cookery show is any good or not because I’ve got overkill. It’s a good job that these shows have pretty much zero impact on the way we cook (more on that here) because if it were so, we would witness hundreds of people tearing around the countryside raping the hedges and looting the sea, leaving our animal pals offering themselves onto our plates because they’re starving in the wild.

Poachers have been suffering job cuts because birds and game have become suicidal and started throwing themselves head first into our ovens to stop the hideousness of it all.

As such, I propose a new show. A show where I’m given a belt of golden bullets and a woodland full of TV chefs. The ones I catch and kill will be offered as a lovely roast sacrifice to the animal kingdom by way of apology. It’ll be called ‘Chefnic Cleansing with Mof Gimmers’ and I’ll be held aloft like a champion when the rest of TV has to think of something to air that doesn’t involve some tit mewing about local produce.

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