CAPTION COMPETITION: Kylie (left) and Monique from the Tomato posse want your caption suggestions. Monsieur Truffe truffles for the winners.
I’ve a bloody awful headache but it went something like this:
Tomato: “My friend Neil wants to know why you didn’t just kick Marco Pierre White in the bollocks.”
Gordon Ramsay: “We scrapped a couple of times times…”
Tomato: “I read Marco’s book and it’s a bit crap. just settling scores and telling everybody how good he is.”
Gordon Ramsay: “Yeah, he brought it out as a spoiler because he heard I had mine coming out.”
Tomato: “the foodbloggers who’ve met you in Sydney are likening you to Mr Darcy. Helen from Sydney wants to know if you have you ever galloped really fast on a horse and dived into a lake and swum across it…”
Gordon Ramsay: ‘Who the fuck’s Mr Darcy?”
Tomato: “Why don’t you open up in Melbourne. We’re fed up with ponytails.”
Gordon Ramsay: “I’d love to but I don’t want to be a ring in…”
We were at Lamaro’s gastropub (courtesy of nab Private Bank) at an event knocked together in two weeks, as a favour for his mate chef Michael Lambie. Pam Lamaro was the consumate host and ensured that everybody got to meet the man. The place was rocking, especially in the bar later. Ramsay’s enjoying himself too. He tells me it is unlike The Age events, which he says are full and grannies and blue rinces.
In real life Ramsay is a real charmer, a good bloke even though he seems like a nightmare on the box. And the girls do love him.
Put away the fucking notebook.
Gordon Ramsay: ‘That John Laws. What a knob. What a fucking knob.”
At this moment he tells us – pointedly at me, in fact – that this is all off the record so I can’t tell you what exactly Kerri-Anne Kennelly needed through which particular orafice. Or which chefs and other media types are twats.
Meanwhile, Kylie (single) disappears. It turns out she was getting her book signed even though she doesn’t even cook and hates celebrity chefs. Ramsay recognises here from earlier: “Nice blouse. Are you coming into the bar from a drink later?”
So there we are in the bar Gordon on one side of the room – Mr Darcy, whoever the fuck he is – and on the other Elizabeth Bennet (Kylie), her bosom heaving.
But Ramsay’s whisked away by his publicist. I find that he’s staying in The Como, South Yarra. So Helen, there’s still time to get on down there beofre somebody else does. Tonight he’s taking his shchtick to The Botanical.
Oh, and the food? It was nice enough – creamy pumpkin risotto, perfectly cooked lamb – but it wasn’t really about that.
And Matt, I’m sorry I failed to cut a lock of his hair so you are going to have to survive without being embued with his superhuman fucking cooking abilities.
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