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A whinge: Celebrity Chef my backside

by Jimmy Rhatigan

EVEN THOUGH I have never chosen a bonnet as my preferred headgear, I have, for some strange reason always had a bee in my imaginary hat that has been fancied by thousands since the Middle Ages.

The bumbler in my metaphorical cap irritates me so much so that I tremble turning on the telly.

Reason is because yet another chef, or more than likely, Celebrity Chef may just be togged out, ready, willing and able to tell us how the cookie crumbles.

Let me put the record straight.

I have no problem with chefs.

But so-called Celebrity Chefs give me a pain in my proverbial.

Whoever invented the Celebrity Chef should be shot with a ball of his or her own sourdough.

It may sound as if I am making a mountain out of a molehill by moaning about any kind of chef but trust me the words Celebrity Chef do get under my skin.

Celebrity Chefs, in my view, would give an Aspro a headache.

It is a not merely a ridiculous handle. 

It is a title that adds a pinch of arrogance and perhaps big headedness to what after all is for the most part a noble profession.

The only positives that Celebrity Chefs achieve for me is that they make me think and ask myself what I would term relative questions.

Why oh why do chefs, any chefs, have the title Celebrity Chef bequeathed on them?


Fair play, they lash a few rashers and puddings on to a pan and come up with a Super Irish Breakfast.

My good mother, God rest her, did that for years and helped to ease many a hangover but she was never given, nor did she ask for a title for her selfless deeds.

Running the risk of usurping my good friend’s well-earned nickname of The Whinge,  I have to query why there are no such beings as a Celebrity Plumber, Celebrity Binman or Celebrity  Potato Picker.

Clever names or sexy slogans in the big, bad world of business, do tickle my fancy.

I spotted a few good ones lately.

For instance there is a van in our city regularly which reminds us that The Brush Brothers, Painting Contractors are being kept busy.

Spotted a fuel truck in a line of traffic that carried the slogan Let our coal warm your hole.

Witty and wonderful, I would suggest, but some just might find my latter offering a bit crude.

The heat is on.

So, let’s cool it.

I have a few more gems I would like to include.

But I will spare readers and offer up my restraint as a mark of my annoyance for those who show poor taste and seem to wallow in the title of Celebrity Chef. 

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