Jamie ‘F’ Oliver

“Pukka tucker mate”, “Scrummy” “Lovely jubbly” and other Oliverisms have been being used wantonly in my flat since the arrival of a Christmas parcel bearing a copy of a Jamie Oliver cookbook. Despite my best efforts at avoiding some of the more annoying Oliverisms (and most fall into that category) I have begun to talk like a lad from Essex and have found myself adopting the more annoying ones all the more. I suppose it’s because I am actually quite excited by the prospect of trying out some of Mr. Oliver’s recipes. After nearly exhausting my culinary ‘repertoire’ I think that I was in need of some inspiration. And it has been Oliver’s inspiration that has either avoided me, or been avoided by me, for several years.

Why a copy of a Jamie Oliver cookbook was to land in my mailbox this year and not a previous one is beyond me. The guy has been something of a phenomenon for at least four years now in the UK, but my parents obviously felt as though this was the year that I truly needed his guidance. Perhaps one too many mentions of an imminent take-away had prompted the present, as it was not something I would have asked for myself, despite being quite chuffed with it now. I have held back from purchasing anything of Jamie’s because I have always responded with sensitivity towards my mate Greg’s implacable hostility to the man he calls “Jamie Fucking Oliver”. He suffered a terrible trauma a few years back at the hands of “Fucking Oliver” after he had failed to purchase for his mother his much desired cookbook. He had waywardly opted for the slightly cheaper Gary Rhodes cookbook (a poor substitute in culinary as much as fiscal terms) and been forced to watch his mother reject it out of hand. To make matters worse for my competitive friend his elder sister had proceeded to purchase and deliver the desired edition. His anger at the rejection and his epithet “Jamie Fucking Oliver” had stuck with both of us ever since. Since that day I had thought of Jamie in the light that Greg had so kindly shined upon him, but there was little reason to hold anything against the guy. That was until I realised the ingredients I would need to make Pan-roasted Guinea Fowl with Pomegranates and Spinach.

The problem with a lot of Jamie’s recipes is that they can be heavy on the imagination and light on the reality, especially when it comes to hitting your local C Market. I know that you can probably substitute a lot of the ingredients in the recipes, but it’s not quite the same when Monkfish becomes fish fingers and Cannellini Beans pasulj. So I have been flicking my way through the book working out what is possible at C Market, Maxis and Mercator and which recipes fall into the not-a-hope-in-hell-in-Serbia category. Unfortunately, a number fall into the last category but with a bit of intuitive substitution I reckon that I might just have most of the do-able recipes worked out by the New Year. The only thing is that I am still a little in the dark about what some of the ingredients are in Serbian. I suppose that I should BabelFish them or something, but where’s the fun in that?

The first of these unknown ingredients is Fennel. I kept on coming across this bloody herb Fennel again and again in Jamie’s cookbook and I couldn’t for the life of me describe it. “Something like Rosemary” was the best I could muster. Then there was the Sage, Thyme and other assorted ingredients and herbs which I would scarcely be able to identify let alone translate, most of which ended up being described by me as having Rosemary-like qualities. Perhaps I should have bought a Serbian version but then I would be buggered on the translation in the other direction. I also have this sneaking suspicion that some of the very herbs that are giving me such problems identifying are going to be falling into that final category I mentioned earlier. I suppose that I will have to make my way down to my local supermarket and see. Any suggestions on Jamie’s choice in Belgrade would however be appreciated.

So I should be spending the New Year merrily cooking up some new creations, mixing in a sprinkling of alcohol and Oliverisms.

One of the best parts of the present however is going to be the next time someone asks me how relieved I am to get away from English food/cooking. I’ll ask them if they know that the most famous chef in the world is from England. Oh the irony…

Anyway I’m off to C Market to try to recreate some pukka tucker…