'The blissful cloud of summer-indolence
Benumb'd my eyes; my pulse grew less and less
Pain had no sting, and pleasure's wreath no flower
Oh why did ye not melt, and leave my sense
Unhaunted quite of all but-nothingness'
- John Keats (1795-1821) - Ode On Indolence
Simon You'll search in vain for John Keats in the recipes of Jamie Oliver. James is a sweet, slack-mouthed boy. But he simply hasn't lived. He doesn't yet know that food is about pain and poetry more than 'Pukka Jamiroquai'. (I have no idea what that is but I certainly won't be cooking it.)
When 22-year old Jose Luis Hernandez was killed in a motorbike accident, swerving to avoid a dog, I was devastated. I'd lost more than a tennis coach. I'd lost a friend.
As a child, it was to Nanny's puds and pies and crumbles that I turned for comfort. When tearful, I'd wolf down her Toad In The Hole, then bury my head in her big Irish bosom and marvel at its gravy smell.
