Shark Attacks In British Waters

My new book Shark Attacks In British Waters is finally out. It's a bit of a departure from my usual food ramblings, but I fancied writing something different, and it was great fun researching it; I found some great stories along the way...

It came about from a drunken evening at a fishermen’s club in Hastings, East Sussex. A friend bet me £100 that there had never been a shark attack in British waters. I decided to take him up on the wager and this book is the result of that bet.

In the book, you’ll read about the mysterious death of a teacher who vanished while bathing off the Yorkshire coast. His inquest heard his left shoulder had almost been wrenched off by a “powerful animal” and there were other bite marks across his body. You’ll also meet the swimmer reportedly chased by a 12ft shark at Brighton beach. When they cut open the shark’s belly, they found a human head inside.

There were also three reported attacks on bathers in the chilly waters of Edinburgh. Not to mention the case of the man who lost a leg while swimming in Wales. The police constable who staggered on to the beach, bleeding from bite marks. The crab fisherman who brawled with a shark in waist-deep water in Norfolk. And the woman bitten in half in Belfast Harbour.

These are just some of the reported shark incidents I found while trawling through the British Library’s newspaper archives and other sources. Some happened centuries ago, some were a lot more recent.

There were also numerous sightings – and in a few cases alleged captures – of great white sharks in UK seas. Many were from Victorian times and earlier – which may throw light on some of the reported attacks on British bathers in those times. Some fishermen think there are still white sharks living in UK seas. The debate still rages. And not a summer goes by without a story of that most fabled of sharks off Cornwall.

Other species, including the basking shark and thresher shark, have reportedly attacked boats. The worst case was a triple drowning in the Firth of Clyde in southwest Scotland when a shark capsized a wooden sailing dinghy. Two men and a young boy died. Other attacks were reported and the “basking shark menace” was raised in Parliament.

Fishermen were afraid to go out on their boats and there were calls for the Navy to be brought in to blow up the sharks. Some claimed the attacks were the work of a rogue basking shark, said to be 40ft long. Others believed it was a species not found in Scottish waters. They gave it the name “Man-Eater”.

All the shark encounters took place as described in contemporary newspaper reports and other historic sources. To reconstruct the events that took place in each incident, I have interviewed marine biologists and ichthyologists, and quoted current scientific papers to get an understanding of the shark’s actions and what species of fish may have been involved.

The book is a history of reported British shark attacks, presented in chronological order from the late 1700s to the present day. It is worth adding that there were probably shark attacks in British seas before the 18^th century, but none have been recorded by history.

The book is available as an ebook on Kindle HERE - it is free to download today (11 June 2019) and tomorrow, so please tell anyone you think who might be interested.

Poems Written In Kitchens: Tintagel Castle

This is the first of a number of poems I wrote while working in restaurant kitchens in Cornwall, and hallucinating from sleep deprivation. They were scribbled down in a plastic-coated notebook filled with recipes and cooking notes. 

Head chefs always told me to never write down recipes unless I’d cooked them myself and knew they worked. I suppose the same should be said for poems, here it is anyway...

Tintagel Castle

See the jackdaws by the castle,

Like ancient chess knights in black,

Peering across the stones they have guarded,

Since the time of Camelot way back.

And if you are searching for King Arthur,

And think Excalibur’s just well hid,

Then have a look in the village gift shop,

Because there’s a plastic one for each kid.

And if it’s Avalon you’re really after,

And your quest is to find the Grail,

Then read all about it in the village gift shop,

But only the jackdaws know the tale.

Because they were here when the walls were scarlet,

With the blood of a thousand knights,

And gouged and gorged as the dead lay dying,

Scattered over the rocks after every fight.

So if you are searching for King Arthur,

And climb through ruins to Merlin’s Cave,

Then look a bit further from the ley lines,

And behold those birds as bold as day.

Because they no longer feast on the flesh of fighters,

Their carrion call is no death knell,

It’s the crumbs of the pasties they’re after,

Which is why they will never tell.

Padstow Chef Scores Surprise Bestseller

A friend on holiday in Cornwall spotted this billboard poster about my book outside a newsagent in Porthcothan Bay...

Story in the Cornish Guardian - original article HERE...

Alex's Fabulous Failure

A WRITER has told of his surprise after his book about his failure to make it as a chef stormed to the top of the Amazon Kindle pro-cooking best-seller chart.

Alex Watts' book Down And Out In Padstow And London is a humorous account of the years he spent training to be a chef, including stints at Heston Blumenthal's famous Fat Duck restaurant and Rick Stein's kitchens in Padstow.

The eBook version was an overnight success, sparking dozens of good reviews on Twitter, and is in the Top 40 of the Kindle Store's food and drink bestseller chart, above the likes of Delia and Nigella.

It is also the best-selling eBook in Amazon's professional cooking chart. Alex, 41, a journalist and sometime cook from Burnham, Bucks, said: "I've been really pleased with the success, especially as it's self-published and I've just had to rely on word of mouth.

"But it is ironic that a book detailing my disastrous attempt to train as a professional chef is now top of the Kindle cooking chart. There's a section on my failed audition for Masterchef, which I think helped a lot because so many people watched the last show."

The paperback version came out on Amazon last month, but Alex hadn't even seen a copy until his father Brian, 73, flew out to Cambodia, where Alex is writing his second book based on a cook's tour of south east Asia.

The book describes what happens behind the scenes of Michelin-starred restaurants and lesser establishments – and the extraordinary characters who inhabit them. It begins with Alex's decision to give up his job as a journalist, and a fateful meeting with Cornwall's Rick Stein.

**************************

Story in the Maidenhead Advertiser - original story HERE...

Failed Chef's Book Tops The Charts

By Nicola Hine

A writer's account of his disastrous attempts to make it as a chef is proving to be a huge hit on Amazon's online book charts.

Journalist Alex Watts, of Lent Rise Road in Burnham, wrote Down And Out In Padstow And London as a humorous take on the years he spent training to be a professional cook.

Stints at Michelin-starred restaurants including Heston Blumenthal's Fat Duck in Bray followed before, unable to keep up with the younger chefs, he gave up the dream and returned to the office.

So it was all the more ironic when his tales stormed to the top of Amazon's Kindle books professional cooking chart, where he remains within the top five.

The 41-year-old said: "I've been really pleased with the success, especially as it's self-published and I've just had to rely on word of mouth."

The book describes Alex's various experiences in the world of cooking, from 16-hour shifts in a gastropub to a failed audition for Masterchef. Anecdotes from his Fat Duck days include the painstaking process of peeling grapefruit segments.

A former Slough and Windsor Express reporter, Alex quit his job at Sky News aged 36 and trained as a chef for two years after a fateful meeting with Rick Stein.

:: Down And Out In Padstow And London is available as a paperback and eBook on Amazon CLICK HERE

Down And Out In Padstow And London Becomes Cooking Best-Seller

Bit more press - story about my book in the Slough And Windsor Observer - original article HERE...(please note, there is a space between 'pen' and 'is' in the headline.)

Pen is mightier than the kitchen

A FORMER chef who gave up his frying pan to write about his cooking failure saw his first book rise to the top of a best-selling chart.

Alex Watts' book 'Down and Out in Padstow and London', an insight into the unsuccessful years he spent training to be a chef, hit the top of the Amazon Kindle professional cooking best-seller chart.

The 41-year-old, from Burnham, had stints at celebrity chef Heston Blumenthal's famous Fat Duck restaurant and Rick Stein's kitchens in Cornwall - but failed to make the grade.

"It's ironic that a book detailing my disastrous attempt to train as a professional chef is now top of the professional cooking chart!" Mr Watts said.

"There's a section on my failed audition for Masterchef, which I think helped a lot because so many people watched the last show.

"I've been really pleased with the success, especially as it's self-published and I've just had to rely on word of mouth."

The eBook version is also in the top 40 of the Kindle Store's food and drink best-seller chart - above the work of TV chefs Delia Smith and Nigella Lawson.

The paperback version of the book came out last month but Mr Watts didn't get his hands on a copy until father Brian, 73, flew out to Cambodia, where Mr Watts is penning his second book based on a cook's tour of South-East Asia.

He added: "When Dad arrived in Phnom Penh with a couple of copies, it was a very strange and proud moment to see it finally in print. I've been really pleased with the sales of the Kindle book, so hopefully the printed version may do as well.

"It's definitely a book aimed at armchair chefs and foodies who'd love to learn the trade first-hand from the professionals, braving the stress, 16-hour days, and low pay of kitchen life, but are far too sensible to do so."

MORE: Failed Chef's Book Becomes Kitchen Best-Seller

:: Down And Out In Padstow And London is available as a paperback and eBook on Amazon CLICK HERE
To buy the paperback from Amazon seller Wattzbooks at a discounted price, CLICK HERE

Being Wined And Steined In Padstow

Guest post by Dom Bailey

Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever that means. I wouldn't know how to cook one either. But it's that birthday time of year again, and with the kids safely in the hands of in-laws, I was whisked away to Cornwall (well, I had to drive five hours before I was told exactly where we were staying.)

I think Lennie may have mentioned Padstein once or twice and has a few tales to tell about a stage in Stein’s Seafood Restaurant kitchen. But this birthday treat meant I had the chance to sample Rick Stein’s kingdom from the other side of the pass.

The expense came courtesy of a now deceased maiden aunt who enjoyed the good things in life and was a regular at Thornbury Castle. A fitting way to spend the money she'd left my wife (my wife thought) and what's a birthday present if you can't share it?

The £435 winter getaway package included two nights at St Edmunds House - sea view, four poster bed, attic bathroom, free standing bath and Molten Brown shampoo (we are easily impressed) and some good eating to boot.

The deal was a three-course meal at St Petroc's Bistro, breakfast (twice) at the flagship Seafood Restaurant, with a three course meal there in between. Buy your own drinks. Now when something is "all included" or "anything you like" I am suspicious. We looked at the menus - and again - and wondered if it really was anything from the menu.

Could we have a starter and then share the chateaubriand for two at £45? I saw the lunchtime meal deal of three courses for £19, that must be it. "You’re a mini-break booker, sir? This way please wa ha ha haar..."

But no. Just as the Seafood Restaurant does what it says on the tin (33 seafood dishes, only three non-fish options, and only one is a main - it's fish, ok?) the three course option was anything you like. Kids in a sweet shop. But do you go for the most expensive dish just because you can?

"I'm having steak," said my wife. "It's £25." Apparently you do. I realised it had all been worked out and the restaurant knew what the maximum damage would be, but sometimes you can't help feeling a little greedy, over extravagant maybe.

A little taster to start - bruschetta of mackerel escabeche. Fresh, lightly pickled fish with crunchy onion and carrot on a piece of fried bread. A taste of fast receding memories of a Cornish summer.

Starters: my good wife had scallops. Chivey topping and on a bed of seaweed (for decoration only, she discovered.) I went for the wood pigeon salad (pic below). The tender pigeon, on watercress, was nicely peppered - which did remind me of Kampot pepper and the fact that Rick Stein has "done" Cambodia on his travels.

On to the steaks. For a little variety (yes we lean over to taste each other’s food - unless it's scallops, then I get a sharp fork on the knuckles) my wife had sirloin and I had bavette. I'm not really a steak man. Beef, like chicken, is usually the last option from the meat counter, farm shop or menu, unless you're talking koo dut (pic below). There are so many more meats, especially wild ones, to choose from. Textures and tastes from venison and boar for example I believe outrank beef.

But here was a cut I hadn't tried, and beef – 28 day dry-aged Aberdeen Angus - was the only meat from the grill. Bavette, the waitress informed me, is "like the skirt you have in stews". You could only have it medium rare or rare. I like those kinds of instructions on a menu. I admit I was tempted to ask for it well done - just to see what happened. But I behaved.

The bavette bordelaise was served with pommes coq d'or (thin slices of potato cooked in chicken stock with garlic), baby gem lettuce, shallots and a rich, well-seasoned cabernet sauvignon vinegar sauce. The meat wasn't melt in your mouth tender but was full of flavour, and went down a little better with crispy chips sneaked from my wife's 14oz sirloin and chive butter dish than the soft pommes.

Desserts. Spanish cheese cake. No contest. There is no base and it is slightly thicker and drier than you might expect, but a great cross somewhere between cake, creaminess and cheese with a baked brown edge of goodness. And that’s before you taste it with the poached pear slices lightly spiced with vanilla. My wife had a sundae - chocolate and vanilla ice-cream with clotted cream that would have seen her well into Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday if we didn't have a booking at the Seafood Restaurant...

We'd done the turf, now the surf was up. On a Monday as well. Sorry Anthony Bourdain. There is almost too much to choose from on the menu. Still three courses to choose, but what to go for? Something expensive, unusual, familiar?

Dover sole, sea bass, fish pie, monkfish vindaloo, crab, the list went on. Bouillabaisse, turbot, brill, fish and chips...or duck. My wife did break from tradition and forgo the scallops, and had crab with Russian salad followed by a rich lobster thermidor (pic above). I just fancied lobster, straight up, no fuss. So steamed lobster it was for me (pic below). "Small or medium lobster sir?" Let me think for a second, yes definitely medium please.

For my starter, I was tempted by the fruits de mer - razor clams, oyster, crab, lobster - a little rock pool on ice. In fact I was tempted by a lot. But oysters are my favourite. So are spicy sausages. And here they were in the same dish.

A bite of creamy fresh oyster, a chunk of sausage - a bit of chilli but not too much paprika - and a slurp of cold white wine. It was a beautiful starter. The lobster was as simple as you can get but what could be better? Steamed, rich meat from the body, lighter, sweet meat from the claws and flecks of red roe. It came with mayonnaise, which I prefer a bit lemonier and left most of it, but the lobster was enough on its own.

For the desserts, the filling lobster certainly ruled out cheeses. But before I had got to the bottom of the list, my wife suggested: "Why don't you have the tarte, then I can have the crème brûlée?" Too stuffed to argue, I had the drum roll pear tarte tatin with scrumpy ice cream. Gooey, syrupy...and my turn to wrap knuckles. The crème brûlée was delicious, apparently. I can only confirm the pistachio biscotti was good.

The restaurant was fairly busy for a Monday. It's a large room with a massive bar whacked in the middle covered in bathroomy tiles - maybe a job lot left over from all the Stein luxury accommodation dotted around town? I thought I'd overdone the pre-meal drinks as the ceiling above the bar seemed to glow neon pink, then green. But no, it was intentional apparently, if a little odd.

Mind you, we were sitting below a painting of a pig in a nurse’s outfit. Looking around the room, it was like some mad curator had thrown up a gallery's leftovers. A huge painting that seemed to show the inside of an Arabian tent with tagines and cushions had a copy of Rick Stein's Mediterranean Escapes peeping out. Another subtle reminder, in case you needed one, of whose gaff it is.

The waiting staff were all friendly and not too overbearing. They must get sick of the "where's Rick?" question, but I'm sure I heard it asked twice. So two nights and four meals later, we had been truly wined and Steined. I don't think our steak and lobster choices would have hit the profits too hard, and I think Aunt Grace would have approved.

:: Dom Bailey is a writer and singer-songwriter. His songs are here at domssongs.blogspot.com.

Rockpools & Epiphany Moments In Cooking

Guest post by Dom Bailey

It's a proud moment. The biggest prawn-like creatures we've caught rockpooling, and my five year old son wants to eat them. We spent hours rockpooling. Hours. There probably isn't a wriggling, skulking, pinching piece of marine life along the north coast of Cornwall that hasn't been traumatised by the poke, net, and bucket experience that results from us visiting a beach.

But so far, we we’re only doing it for fun - for the 'look what we found' or the 'do captive crabs fight?' factor or the 'I wonder what a marine biologist would earn in 20 years time - and how long do they have to study for?' (the adult role in rockpooling is generally life guard, crab grabber and stone turner, so there is a lot of time for reflection).

But eating our catch had never been part of the equation. Even the Spanish wouldn't go for the tiddlers we scooped out.

Until the day of the prawn.

There are lots of prawny, shrimp-like things in the rockpools, but the biggest we'd seen had been not much more than two or three centimetres long - too small to bother cooking and peeling.

Prawns always seemed to be more exotic - "responsibly farmed in Thailand" or suchlike, not "caught near St Merryn with a £1 net from an RNLI charity shop".

But at the end of a long day of exploring and stone turning we sat on a rock half-heartedly dipping the net into "definitely the last pool or mummy is going to be really annoyed" as the tide started to ease its way back in.

I saw something of reasonable size, for a rockpool, dart under the overhanging seaweed. Being dad allows for commandeering of the net in the event of a potentially large catch. That's just how it is, it's the rules, ask your mother.

Anyway, a deft dip, scoop and twist motion (there is a technique...) and I see two things flapping in the net. Flapping. Not flitting or twitching as the little shrimplets had earlier in the day. Flapping. Two definitely-not-shrimp-sized prawns, a thumb in length.

I'm not sure who was more excited. "Wow let me have a go!"

‘Not likely’ thoughts give way to "of course, here you go." Grit teeth, scan seabed.

Frustration gets me the net back in no time, and I find that scooping along the gravelly bottom returns a few more finger-size prawns.

The incoming tide seems to have brought a bigger bounty. We'd found the rockpool equivalent of a kids’ playground after dark where teenagers hang out trying to look cool on roundabouts and bouncy tortoises.

Then came the "can we eat them?"

Every parent wants the best for their child. The best toys, the best schools, the best holidays. Inspiring the best memories is no mean feat.

And every foodie knows that chefs and food lovers everywhere have their own tale of a gastronomic epiphany. For Anthony Bourdain, it is raw oysters from the gnarled hands of a French fisherman on a family holiday. For a food blogger close to our hearts there is the story of his five year old self finding a scallop shell on a beach in France and asking a local family to cook it for him.

I'm not sure I've got one. There's the reassuring smell of a Sunday roast cooking as the pressure cooker whistles to Pick Of The Pops on the radio. Or the spag bol hurled up the wall by a frustrated parent after my sister and I wouldn't stop bickering. Or just my gran's lemon curd tarts.

What if this was my son's food moment? Having recognised the life changing potential, I was almost duty bound to forego the usual, 'let's put them back now' before tipping sun-boiled marine life back into pools where they would probably prefer to be snapped up by the last crab in Cornwall rather than scooped up by the covetous family of rockpoolers lingering close behind.

"Are you sure you will eat them? Otherwise, it's cruel. Yes?"
Good boy.

Potential recipes instantly come to mind. Fried with garlic. Was that sea beet back near the car park? Clarified butter a la Morecombe potted shrimp variety.

But you can get carried away, apparently, and the water was getting a little too deep between us and the shore.

So, seven in the bucket, and we headed back in.

There is a tendency for fishermen, even rockpoolers, to exaggerate. But the contents of our bucket did attract some admiring and envious comments - from all ages - as we were packing up for home.

I was most reassured by the "bit of garlic and they'll be lovely" - even before I'd revealed our murderous intent.

Parents among them were no doubt thinking "I've put in the same hours and had no more than a morsel".

Homeward bound and I wasn’t too keen on the idea of a bucket of salty water sloshing around the back seat along Cornish country lanes. Or the prospect of finding an escapee in a few months time rotting down the side of the child car seat.

Top tip: prawns slot nicely into a small bottle of Buxton’s water (fresh water replaced by the bucket sea water.)

Back at the caravan it's shower and PJs time before tea (not for me, obviously).

I've given the prawns a quick anaesthetic dip in the fridge freezer compartment just in case - this is a first for both of us remember. I’ve cooked live lobster and river-poached crayfish before but still wasn’t sure whether these English prawn shrimp-like things were going to squeal, jump or just explode and spoil the moment.

Keeping it simple, bit of butter in a pan then in with the dozed prawns.

"What colour do you think they'll go?"

"Pink. Are they dead?" No-one likes a smart ass son.

For the faint-hearted there was a little wriggle by one, but that soon stopped and they settled down to the business of turning a tasty crispy pink colour. Flip over for a few more seconds and, they're done.

I popped one straight into my mouth (distraction is a key parental skill, as is being liberal with the truth - "yes, we only caught six"), crunch and chew, and it was the freshest prawn I'd tasted. A meaty, crunchy morsel, with a splash of the sea bursting out.

Being a responsible parent, I peeled my son's first home caught and cooked prawn and handed it to him.

"What do you think?"

I stood back.

My notebook was in reach, just waiting for the flash of inspiration - the ‘out of the mouths of babes’ universal truth that would lodge itself in our family folklore, that he'd Google in years to come, and chuckle as he recalled how that prawn had set him on course for three Michelin stars.

He chewed and swallowed.

"Well?"

"It's like a prawn. Can we eat the eyes?"

It's a start I suppose...

:: Dom Bailey is a writer and musician. His songs are here on domssongs.blogspot.com.

The Seafood Restaurant

Rick Stein’s PA phoned the next day, and I drove down the M4 for a week's work experience at his Seafood Restaurant in Padstow. I rented a room within walking distance of the restaurant, and went on a tour of the local pubs to get a flavour of the place. I was nervous and thought a few beers would help.

Most of the locals rolled their eyes when I brought up the TV chef’s name. I could see why they called it Padstein; he had four restaurants, 40 rooms, a deli, patisserie, gift shop and a cookery school - all in a fishing village with a population of less than 4,000. You could hardly look in a shop window without seeing his face beaming back at you. There were Rick Stein tea towels, oven gloves, mugs and grab bags, marmalade, chutneys, fudge, pickled onions, olive oil and spices.

There didn’t seem to be a thing he hadn’t turned his hand to. He was even selling jars of salt for £3 each. His Cornish pasties alone had irked the locals, who were appalled at him using puff pastry, let alone smoked haddock or crab. “It’s bloody Scaarwtch mist he’s selling in them jars,” one old boy said. The way they saw it, it was as obnoxious an insult to their treasured Celtic heritage as Ginsters. Bleach in the brooks, destroying the mystical vibes of Cornwall.

Stein, apparently, hated the name Padstein, and liked to say “I’ve just got a few modest businesses – it’s not like I own the whole town.” They blamed him for driving up property prices – forcing their children to move somewhere cheaper, where they might stand a chance of buying a home.

But there was no way you could doubt that the TV chef and his rough-haired Jack Russell Chalky had put the place on the map. And I wasn’t sure how much those old fishermen had grumbled when hordes of grockles and emmets descended, blocking up the narrow lanes, and handing over 250,000 notes for tiny ‘ideal weekend retreat’ cottages. I bet they couldn’t stop rubbing their hands.

Some remembered him in the early days – and how despite his overwhelming passion for food, he hadn’t always harboured ambitions of being a chef. The Seafood Restaurant had started out as a nightclub, and he’d gone into cooking when it failed.

There were tales of his legendary tempers in the kitchen, most of which I can’t publish. Even his old friends described him as “very volatile in the early days” and “pretty fiery and stressed out”. Stein, himself, admits he was “hot and bothered and fucking angry a lot of the time”.

It was hard to reconcile those fervid eruptions with the quiet, unassuming man I’d met in London. But then, by his own admittance, he’d mellowed significantly over the years. The books, TV deals, vineyard and house in Australia, meant he rarely ventured into the kitchen. As with Gordon Ramsay and Heston Blumenthal, he’d trained up staff so he could leave behind the heat and exhaustion for the cosy media world, while still trading off his own name. It was strange to think I was doing it in reverse. I was clearly insane, but then, apparently, you had to be mad to be a good chef.

An old waitress, who’d been there in the early days, said deep down Stein was a shy man. It reminded me of his words in a documentary: “I always seem to be quite lively and enjoying myself, but actually I’m taking pleasure in my food and the fact people are enjoying it. I’m not making a big fuss about it. I think that’s the core of what being a restaurateur is all about – actually taking pleasure in other people’s happiness.”

I admired him for that, and his philosophy that "nothing is more joyful or exhilarating than fresh fish simply cooked". It was what thrilled me about cooking too; it was that sort of cheffing I wanted to learn. Brilliant ingredients cooked in a simple manner. There is nothing worse than our scourge of chic hotels and gastro pubs blindly trying to imitate far more skilled, boundary-stretching chefs. Menus littered with pretentious monstrosities like elderberry candyfloss, anchovy popcorn, almond fluid gels, and lavender jus. What is wrong with steak and kidney pudding? It also means they think they can charge £28 for a badly-cooked fillet of sea bass.

The waitress told me when Stein opened the restaurant in 1975, the dishes were really simple: sea bass and samphire with beurre blanc, mackerel with dill and new potatoes, clam marsala, clam chowder with razor clams from the Camel estuary, moules marinieres, skate with black butter, and that hallmark of all fish restaurants – Provencal fish soup.

He won awards, but he didn’t hit the big time until Keith Floyd became a regular visitor, and convinced his director David Pritchard to include Stein in one of the ‘Floyd on Fish’ programmes. After that the phone didn’t stop ringing. Floyd showed him how to make a good bouillabaisse, and now I was going to learn those skills myself. I went to bed proud and extremely nervous.

The next morning, I walked down the hill and looked out at the fishing boats in the harbour, and the green sea beyond. It was worth going to work just for the view. The briny air was filled with the ‘kee-ow’ screams of gulls. Out in the bay, a fishing vessel was heading home, surrounded by what looked like tiny scraps of white tissue. For some reason, I thought of Eric Cantona’s famous footballing quote: “When the seagulls follow the trawler, it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.”

I had a last cigarette, and walked round the harbour to the restaurant, past the spot where they’d filmed Stein eating roast bass on a trawler with Floyd as they went off to sea. Dinner jackets, a starched linen tablecloth, and silverware knives and forks. It was the spirit of adventure in Floyd’s programmes that had attracted Stein to the TV world. I wondered what fish I hoped to get by following Stein’s trawler. But then, I thought, as I walked up to the door – the sea hath fish for every man.


:: 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...