Orna Mulcahy on people we all know
When Julian was interviewed by a magazine about the contents of his fridge, he didn't have to tell atrocious lies about just having a bottle of champagne in there. Instead, he reeled off so many ingredients that the reporter had to ask him to slow down and spell things out. From the coffee beans in the freezer right down to the fresh wasabi, his great big Gaggenau is stuffed with goodies.
Julian, who can't abide Nigella or Jamie, is a purist about food. His home-made custard is legendary and he is quite prepared to go the whole hog with spinach, using Jane Grigson's recipe that takes three days and three pounds of butter to make. An Italian granny is responsible for his dark good looks and light touch with ravioli, which he makes from scratch. It's one of the many dishes with which he wows friends from the open plan kitchen in his loft apartment. It's surprisingly free of gadgets. There's nothing, he says, that you can't do with just three good knives.
If only it were always ravioli, his friends think, sitting down to yet another supper at his scrubbed oak plank table with its plain white bowls and toga-sized napkins. There's usually salad, but always with a twist. Breast of pigeon with black pudding, or coconut and quails' eggs. There might simply be a huge platter of prawns or lobster, which is terrifically generous of Julian, but how are you supposed to get at the things without squirting something all over your shirt? Or there might be a huge hunk of beef that has been flashed under a grill but is entirely raw inside. It might simply be some spectacularly smelly runny cheese that clings to the roof of the mouth. A finale of pure Arabica coffee and chunks of black chocolate guarantee insomnia, though this can be offset by a visit to the chipper on the way home.
Julian's friends are terrified to ask him back, as he has been known to look long and hard at his plate before eating, as though he can't quite believe that people are still serving up goats' cheese on toast as a starter and worse again, chicken breasts as a main course. Close friends will just put their hands up and let him get on with cooking. "Got any arborio rice?" he barks. He won't work with easi-cook anything, but he will do wonders with some spuds, a snip of rosemary and the rest of your best extra virgin olive oil, and if you have some finely shredded seaweed standing by, so much the better.
Best thing to do then, is let him sit beside another foodie and let them waffle on about purple sprouting broccoli, yellow beetroot and the best method of salting cod ... starting of course with a couple of kilos of rock salt from the Camargue.
While Julian can cook some amazing things, it's no good asking him for a recipe. Even when he writes it down for you, the dish won't quite work. You can't help wondering if he leaves out an essential ingredient or two so that your coq au vin will never be quite as fine as his.