Cookery matters
Posted on Thursday, June 22, 2006Somebody asked me if I was going to christen the new kitchen, and I said, yes, I was going to call it “Dermot”.
I think this has great possibilities, and perhaps even has the making of a children’s book: The Adventures of Dermot the Kitchen. What do you think? Maybe they’ll make a movie of it, and probably even a PS2 game. Follow Dermot the Kitchen on his travels around the world. Thrill to his incredible escapes from danger. Break your sides laughing at the hilarious scrapes he gets into.
This is a picture of Dermot, my own flesh and blood: half dog, half kitchen. 
I hope Hyperzenchef will approve. He phoned me last night at about 9:30, or at least it was 9:30 for me, but it was half past five in the morning for him, which is either quite late or quite early, depending on the direction you approach it from. I’m guessing that he was approaching it on the run, but I could be wrong. He’s been sending me these emails lately, and I suppose when he got no reply he had to take direct action.
What’s the chef’s beef? Well, basically, it boils down to this: he wants me to kill Ryan Tubridy. But I have other fish to fry at the moment, so I’m going to let him stew for a while before responding. It isn’t that I’m chicken, you understand, though my pulse does race a little at the thought. No, when the chips are down, if he offers me enough bread, I’ll toast the motherfucker. And if there’s a danger of being grilled by the cops, I’ll act innocent, as if butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. I’ll curry favour with the big cheese if I have to. But for now, I’m going to put it on the back burner.
I can completely understand his view on Tubridy. What a twat! How did this gobshite ever get near a microphone? Oh! Of course - how else, in Ireland? Method one: you live near an RTE person and go to school with their children. Method two: you’re related to somebody influential. Well, I think Tubs used both methods, thereby avoiding the need to have any aptitude whatever, though absence of talent was never an obstacle to getting a job there.
Question for you. Instead of charging us enormous licence fees, what would be wrong with RTE selling its incredibly valuable land in Donnybrook and setting up a new headquarters in, for example, Ballymun, or Finglas, or Mullingar, or - God forbid - Limerick? Why does RTE have to be based in South Dublin? Is there a good operational reason for this?
Personally, as you know, I think RTE is a disgraceful example of feather-bedding at the nation’s expense, so I’ll say no more on the subject, except the following. They’d all better watch out for a Japanese chef, at five thirty in the morning, stoned drunk, stark naked, covered in melted butter and wielding a cleaver.
Now, I’m off. I want to see Stargate. Missed the Sopranos again tonight because I was out with Jimbo walking Satan’s dogs. Shit!
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Previously: Changing Mind ; Dem Bones Dem Bones
Stumble it!
