The Fat Dragon: A Tale Of A Cook And A King

I’ve just published a children’s story in rhyme called The Fat Dragon, which began with an idea I had while prepping endless boxes of veg training as a chef.

The first few lines about a King and his love of lime kept spinning round my head for some reason. It was probably the tiredness and the sleep deprivation. I jotted them down that night after the pub, and in the morning had a couple more lines.

Over the months, as I moved from kitchen to kitchen, I kept a small notebook and a blunt pencil in my back pocket. And whenever an idea or new line came to me, I wrote it down. Or at least I tried to in between the orders, heat, and constant bollockings.

It took a long while, and kept going off in different directions. Then I burnt the notebook because it was all rubbish. I kept the stuff about the King and the limes. Oh, and the cook and the greedy dragon. And then I spotted a folk tale in one of my favourite books ‘Folklore, Myths and Legends of Britain’ - a tome-like work heavy enough to press a huge terrine.

There was a story from the Midlands, or thereabouts, about a potwash, a King growing old, and a dragon who plagues the land. I don’t know why it appealed so much, but there seemed to be a lesson in it somewhere. At least there was for me. So I padded out what I had, and wrote it up in rhyme.

Anyway, sorry for the shameless plug, but if you’ve got kids - or are a kid at heart - you might enjoy it. It’s available as an eBook on Amazon for the price of a bag of Monster Munch. CLICK HERE...

TV Chef Antony Worrall Thompson Caught Shoplifting From Tesco

Things have gone from bad to decidedly worse for recession-hit TV cook Antony Worrall Thompson, the man Gordon Ramsay famously dubbed a “squashed Bee Gee”.

The Ready Steady Crook’s star was definitely on the wane after his restaurant empire went into administration in 2009, owing angry creditors thousands of pounds, and making 60 staff redundant.

But it appears things are far tougher than people thought for the tubby celebrity chef because he’s now been reduced to stealing cheese and wine from Tesco.

And it wasn’t a one-off, of the Richard Madeley ‘sorry I didn’t realise there was a frozen chicken stuffed down my trousers’ school of shoplifting.

Worrall Thompson was arrested in front of shoppers at the supermarket (pic below) in Reading Road, Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire - after failing to pay for items at the self-service checkouts FIVE times in 16 days.

Some goods were scanned and paid for while others, including blocks of cheese from the deli and bottles of wine, were sneaked into bags without going through the till.

Suspicious staff are reported to have set up a hidden camera in the self-checkout area to catch the wily 60-year-old and prove he had not simply forgotten to pay.

Wozza - who has appeared on shows including the BBC's Ready, Steady, Cook and ITV's Daily Cooks Challenge, and is a fund-raiser for the Tories - was stopped by security guards as he tried to leave the shop on Friday.

He was arrested on suspicion of theft and questioned at a local police station.

In a statement, officers said: "Thames Valley Police arrested a 60-year-old man from High Wycombe following a report of shoplifting offences. The man has been issued with a formal caution for these offences."

The father-of-four had to admit to the shoplifting offences - which are believed to have taken place between December 22 and January 6 - in order to escape with a caution.

Tesco declined to comment describing it as a "police matter".

But it’s criminal that a man of AWT’s wealth (although he’s been forced to downsize from his £2m mansion in Henley for a home in far less salubrious High Wycombe, he still has a range of branded cookware, a country pub called The Greyhound, two grill restaurants in Kew and Windsor, and a delicatessen in Windsor) should be able to duck justice with just a caution while some single mothers struggling to feed their kids are given prison sentences for the same offence.

If it was just a one-off, a moment of madness, or a genuine mistake, you might understand police being lenient. But as he’s a fairly well-known celebrity, they should have made an example of him and at least prosecuted him in the courts to ensure he got a criminal record.

As Peter Cook once said, there’s one law for the rich...in fact there’s several laws for the rich, and very few for the poor.

UPDATE: Worrall Thompson has now apologised for his “stupid and irresponsible behaviour” and said he would get “clearly needed” treatment following the thefts.

In a statement, he said: “I am so sorry for all my recent stupid and irresponsible actions; I am of course devastated for my family and friends, whom I've let down and will seek the treatment that is clearly needed.

“I am not the first, and I certainly won't be the last person to do something without rhyme or reason - what went through my head, only time will tell.

“Of course, I must also apologise sincerely to Tesco, with whom I'm had a long and genuine working relationship, and to all the staff at the Henley branch, many of whom I've got to know over the years.

“Once again, I am so sorry and hopefully in the future I can make amends.”

MORE: Antony Worrall Thompson puts dolphin on menu

My new book on training to be a chef, including stints at Rick Stein's and the Fat Duck, is available to buy on Amazon for Kindle, iPad, iPhone etc. CLICK HERE to buy for just £2.05, about the price of half a lager.

"It's a bargain and an easy read, I didn't want to put it down." @Mcmoop

"Should be required reading for anyone who has ever dreamed of leaving the monotony of the 9 to 5 rat race to open their own restaurant." Breil Bistro

"A great read and should be a set text if you're considering a change of career, or God forbid, applying to Masterchef." richard

How Long For That Risotto, Grandad?

I’ve had a great response to my blog question: “How old is too old to be a chef?” It appears to be a matter close to the heart of many foodies in the Twittersphere, especially those who went into - or are thinking of entering - the trade as late as me.

The advice was fantastic and on the whole deeply encouraging, whether from hard-bitten professionals or enthusiastic amateurs, and I thought I’d summarise it as best I can and share it with you, because there are some of you clearly going through the same ‘shall I do what I love however freaking crazy it maybe’ hell as me. And if it has helped me, hopefully it will help you.

In a nutshell, the consensus seems to be you are never too old – within reason. Obviously you might want to think again if you hope to bang out dishes in your 90s while leaning on a rusty Zimmer Frame, but it really depends on what your aspirations are. Or as food and drink journalist Douglas Blyde (@DouglasBlyde) succinctly puts it: “It depends on the venue, its scale and ambitions.”

If you desire fame and TV exposure then you’ve probably left it too late, likewise a hat-trick of Michelin stars (or as they’re known these days, stock cube adverts), but if your dream is to run your own kitchen then there has probably never been a better time to do it – what with the huge plunge in pub and restaurant prices. And really, if you are going to slave away in a cramped furnace in a trade as hard as cheffing, then you might as well work for yourself. And there are far less bollockings and threats on your life that way too.

There was some great advice from the cooks on the Staff Canteen forum via a 42-year-old foodie who’d run a pizza stall but now wanted to properly train as a chef. Was he too old and what was the best way to do it?

One chef questioned whether he would “HONESTLY be able to take a bollocking from a 25-year-old, or possibly someone younger?” It’s true. It was one of the hardest things I found about cooking during my first attempt to make it as a professional chef. The ability to bite your tongue when a teenager with a bum-fluff moustache and bad breath is screaming at you because you’ve forgotten the parsnip chips or something is a hard one to master.

For that reason alone, it is better to seek out a mature chef as a mentor. They’ll be less likely to be Pierre White or Ramsay clones, and it’s definitely easier being ripped to shreds by someone closer to your age. It also stops you studying their acne while dwelling on how late you left it before taking up the knives.

Private chef Grant Hawthorne (@granthawthorne) told how he had worked with a 42-year-old woman who’d packed in her high-paying job to retrain as chef. Her family and husband were against it, but eventually after years of hard work and a much-needed divorce, she continues to live her dream and runs her own business.

Hawthorne said he had recently met a lot of “senior students” who were retraining to work in “this wholly satisfying profession”. Like most of the chefs I have met, he recommends – if you can afford it – getting a long-term (probably unpaid) stagier position under a master in a decent kitchen rather than going to college.

Indeed, most experienced chefs agree that you’ll learn far more in a few weeks in a professional kitchen than you would doing years of qualifications in catering colleges. I remember one chef I worked with at Rick Stein’s who said he learned more in one month at the Seafood Restaurant than he had in six months at the expensive Leith’s Cookery School in London – something that in hindsight would have saved his parents thousands.

And when it comes to the CV, professional certificates and NVQs will be far less important than enthusiasm and passion for the job, head chefs say. After all, if you’re going into it in your 30s, 40s, or 50s then you’ve probably already demonstrated that in spadefuls.

So how old is too old? The discussion was sparked after Anthony Bourdain said that anyone thinking of becoming a chef over the age of 32 is already too ancient. He is, no doubt, once again carping on about the drug-fuelled, high octane, balls-on-the-table, waitress-banging, cooking-is-the-new-rock-and-roll cheffing myth he has done so well out of propagating. But whether you are cooking at gunpoint for gangsters or even running a fudge shop in a sleeping village in Devon, it certainly doesn’t seem to hold true for many of you.

In fact, try telling that to Shar, a former desk jockey from New Zealand, who is now training as a commis chef at one of the country's top restaurants. He's 50 in two weeks' time.

Jason Rowe (@lovesgreatfood), who runs Dine On The Row restaurant in Beverley, Yorkshire, got into the trade when he was 38, and believes you are never too old if cooking is your passion.

Blogger the Pub Landlady (@NorthernSnippet) runs a rural pub in northern England with her partner. They are in their 40s and still do 18-hour days, but they have their own business, and “wouldn’t do it for anyone else at this age”. And she adds: “There has never been a better time for an enthusiastic chef/owner to snap up and exploit one of many bargainous pubs on the market.”

(She’ right. Running a leasehold pub, especially with a tied lease, is a mug’s game, but there’s still a lot of cash to be salted away in a freehouse serving good food. And the price of freeholds has plummeted. There is a great pub in a rather dowdy town in Buckinghamshire that I’ve been following that went on sale two years ago for £495,000 plus VAT. The brewery still can’t shift it for £280,000.)

But I digress...

Swansea-based chef Jonathan Crooks (@stovemonster) was equally encouraging about the profession. “Go for it Len, it’s the best job in the world in whatever sphere of food production you choose. You have to find out if you have it,” he tweeted.

And Dhruv Baker, who decided to become a chef at the age of 34 after winning Masterchef 2010, improved my mood by saying he was still setting up plans for his restaurant. And when I asked him if he was cheffing, he replied: “No not at the moment but hoping to be in a couple of weeks.”

Maybe I wasn’t that lazy after all?

But my favorite piece of advice came from Dave Ahern (@CorkGourmetGuy), who is retraining as a chef at the age of 35: “Chin up and remember the saying, you need an old dog for the hard road.”

The hard road it is then...

Bullying In Kitchens

"It's not so much the assaults and hurled pans, it's the bullying I can't stand," a tearful chef once told me. And it's true - it happens a lot in professional kitchens. It's the continuing circle of revenge. Cooks get bullied, then they get their own back on those below them.

One commis was called in on his day off by an irate sous chef, travelled across London on a succession of buses and tubes, and when he got into the kitchen was bollocked for not cling-filming something in his fridge properly. They made him recover it and sent him home. All that way for something that would have taken them a few seconds to put right. He left when they set fire to his pony-tail.

It was the same at the Gull. Ironically, Jules' sister, who ran a bistro nearby, had sent Jim the potwash to our kitchen because she was worried he would get bullied anywhere else. But after a couple of months, the protection wore off, and the other chefs got irritated by his slowness...

Jules had given me a set of keys to the kitchen. He told me he was sick of seeing my veg supplies piled up outside the door, and it was my job to open up. That meant getting up half an hour earlier. Jim was usually already there. He’d be standing at the top of the stairs, sucking on a cigarette, and in no hurry to get out of his biker gear. He only drove a moped but from the bright yellow and black leathers he wore you’d think it was a Hornet.

“Hello there!” he would say each morning. He could never remember my name, but was always pleased to see me.

Jim lived with his sister a few miles up the road, and was probably the worst plongeur in Cornwall. If you asked him to peel some spuds, you'd be lucky to get 40 by lunchtime. I never said anything - I always felt sorry for him - but sometimes Graham would pick up a potato and mock him, and challenge him to a race. Graham could peel a spud in under four seconds.

Jim's pace didn't quicken during the heat and stress of service either. He'd lumber past like a zombie with outstretched pans, chanting his favourite catchphrase, “Coming through! Mind your arses!”

"Coming OUT, mind your arses, more like," someone would shout.

Jim wore the same T-shirt every day - with 'It’s not a bald patch – it’s a solar sex panel' emblazoned across it. He couldn't read or write, and had no idea what it said. We even had to fill in his timesheets for him.

He joined on the same day I did, and after a few weeks had come out of his shell, and that’s when the bullying started. It seemed fairly mild to start with, nothing like I was getting anyway, but I felt sorry for him all the same, and guilty about not doing more to stop it. I still feel guilty about it now; sometimes I lie in bed and think about it, and wish I'd made a stand.

It was Jim's job to make the tea, but he never remembered, and this was a favourite for those dreadful fuckers Graham and Jules.

“Jim,” Jules would begin. “Jim! Jim!”

Eventually he’d look round, blinking through steamed-up glasses. “Hello there,” he’d say, drying a plate in slow motion.

“Do you play golf, Jim?”

“I have done, yeah.”

“You know when you start a game, Jim, what are those plastic things you use?”

He thought for a minute and dried half a plate. Then Graham would join in. “You know those plastic things you stick in the ground at the start of each hole.”

“Haven’t got a clue. Do you know Jules?”

Stewie would wander over and whisper something in his ear, and he'd shout “tee!” and then there'd be a chorus of “thanks very much Jim, I’ll have two sugars!”

Most times, Graham would start it off.

“What rhymes with toffee, Jim?”

“Don’t know…”

At some stage, a plastic yellow duck appeared in the kitchen. It squeaked when you squeezed it, which terrified Jim for some reason. When no-one was looking, he’d throw it in the bins at the top of the car park, but the duck always found its way back. Some days it hung from the hose by his sink, and he’d have to spend the day with its angry, cartoon face boring into his bottle-end glasses.

One morning, Jim was reaching for the huge tub of Nescafe above the sink when he shrieked. A yellow face was peering out of the coffee powder.

“That fucking duck,” he squealed. “He gets everywhere!”

It returned a few days later, frozen in a bucket of water that Jim was asked to retrieve from the freezer in the haunted dry store across the road. Its angry eyes looked up at him through the ice...

Graham switched the lights off and locked the door. He made terrible quacking noises, and threatened to throw him in the pond, and Jim wept like a child. His sister had to come and get him. I know the hairy-arsed pros among you will think this fairly mild compared to some of the stories you hear in kitchens, but I'll never forget the sound of that noise Jim made. It was the sound of a pig in a barn fire.

:: This blog eventually became a bestselling book, called Down And Out In Padstow And London by Alex Watts, about my disastrous attempt to train as a chef, including stints at Heston Blumenthal's Fat Duck and Rick Stein's kitchens in Padstow. You might like it if you're a foodie or have ever entertained the ridiculous idea of entering the padded asylum of professional cooking. It's here on Amazon as a paperback or Kindle book if you want a read...

Chef Fights Off Robber In Gorilla Suit

A chef has told how he fought off a man in a gorilla suit trying to rob his restaurant.

Scott Sanders was taking a bag of rubbish out to the skip at the back of Jimmy's Japanese Hibachi, South Carolina, when he was punched in the face by the costumed crook.

The two exchanged blows before Sanders, 21, managed to break free and run back into the restaurant.

The man in the gorilla suit chased after him and forced his way into the kitchen where he got a nasty surprise.

“I tried to shut the door, but he pulled it open. We wrestled and I fell to the ground where I have my little knife set with my cleaver on top,” Sanders told WMBF News.

“He runs up towards the cash register, so I grab the cleaver, run right up behind him and get him right in the arm.”

The man then fled empty-handed with the meat cleaver still stuck in his arm.

“The only thing I was thinking was I’ve got to get away from this freak,” said Sanders. “This is the craziest thing that’s ever happened in my life. I’m glad it was me rather than anybody else – and I’m glad that he wasn’t armed.

The chef is now back at work, nursing a very impressive black eye. Watch his video here...

Now I don’t want to make light of his ordeal, and I would never, of course, accuse a TV reporter of exaggerating a story, or a restaurant for that matter – in fact, I'd be the last person - but in the split second that the camera zooms in on his black eye, can’t you see the faintest tinge of mascara?