AS usual I listened to the news over breakfast. Latest news was of someone important dying. They didn't say who immediately. I thought of all sorts of celebrities who might have died to deserve the accolades being showered around.
Last night, during our conversation over a bottle of wine, the Fox & I had discussed the relative impact of the deaths of John Lennon & Dusty Springfield (we were listening to her singing at the time) on our lives. Whoever this was it sounded as though they should have as great, if not greater impact. It turned out to be Keith Floyd, the chef.
I'm forced to admit I have never understood the attraction for this man. He was always too florid for me. He flourished alcohol with abandon both in his meals & down his throat. I heard how he was described as an artist with words inspiring us all to great culinary heights. He never inspired me. For great culinary prose I would rather turn to Elizabeth David any day. Maybe part of the problem was the expert explaining Floyd's great culinary contribution(?) was Marco Pierre White, another man I have little time for, though at least some of his food does look appetising. I have tried cooking a Floyd recipe - very faffy & very unexciting to eat.
I feel rather mean in saying all this. I am sorry he has died, inasmuch as I am sorry that anyone has died. I just don't see what all this hyperbole is about. It must be a slow news day, that's all I can conclude.
If anyone reading this feels differently, please comment to enlighten me on where I missed out. I just don't understand.
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