So as of last weekend the list of vaguely well-known people your correspondent has cooked for stands at: various Liverpool and Everton players of the early 00's, Rick Stein, Steve Davis and now former world middleweight champion Steve Collins. Heady heights indeed, stitch that Indoor Market Cafe.
The Source crew decamped to Burscough's prestigious Stanley club and proceeded to knock out (small boxing pun there, pun fans) a bunch of roast pork for a sportsman's dinner featuring the aforementioned Mr Collins, who, it should be stated, is a thoroughly pleasant chap, and not merely because he's capable of battering me senseless in the blink of an eye. A moderately entertaining time was had by all. Though it was an altogether odd moment standing there and looking at him and thinking that I remember staying up to watch his fight with Nigel Benn in the nineties, sat on a sofa in Cornwall, and now here I am cooking his tea in a working men's club in Lancashire nearly twenty years on. Had you told the young chap sat on said sofa that this was going to occur he'd have laughed you out of the room, he was going to be a journalist. Or a lawyer. Or a rock guitarist. But as it turns out he's sending out a decnt pot of grub from ime to time, and that's okay.
Caveat emptor: Rick Stein was a bowl of chips when I was a whippersnapper KP back at the Nap Inn in Boscastle, so it doesn't really count, but he did pop into the kitchen to say thanks, so top marks for that. Various footballers were uniformly fillet steak well done, so as far as I'm concerned that doesn't count as cooking either. Steve Davis? Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, the snooker player wins.
By the by, this organ is now ten, who'd have thought?
The Source crew decamped to Burscough's prestigious Stanley club and proceeded to knock out (small boxing pun there, pun fans) a bunch of roast pork for a sportsman's dinner featuring the aforementioned Mr Collins, who, it should be stated, is a thoroughly pleasant chap, and not merely because he's capable of battering me senseless in the blink of an eye. A moderately entertaining time was had by all. Though it was an altogether odd moment standing there and looking at him and thinking that I remember staying up to watch his fight with Nigel Benn in the nineties, sat on a sofa in Cornwall, and now here I am cooking his tea in a working men's club in Lancashire nearly twenty years on. Had you told the young chap sat on said sofa that this was going to occur he'd have laughed you out of the room, he was going to be a journalist. Or a lawyer. Or a rock guitarist. But as it turns out he's sending out a decnt pot of grub from ime to time, and that's okay.
Caveat emptor: Rick Stein was a bowl of chips when I was a whippersnapper KP back at the Nap Inn in Boscastle, so it doesn't really count, but he did pop into the kitchen to say thanks, so top marks for that. Various footballers were uniformly fillet steak well done, so as far as I'm concerned that doesn't count as cooking either. Steve Davis? Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, the snooker player wins.
By the by, this organ is now ten, who'd have thought?
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