Why we all love the Food Network channel

In my family we are huge fans of Yotam Ottolenghi, an Israel-born chef whose recipes – when you try them – are the indulgent kind that make your eyes widen with delight.

Chopped is a modern-day version of gladiators. From our Coliseum sofa, we root for one of four chefs who have to turn a mystery basket of ingredients into a dish in a race against time

Therefore, it was a given that when in England over the Christmas holidays we dropped by his restaurant – Nopi – in Soho (I was frustratingly sick with fever, but that goes to show what dedicated fans we are).

While waiting to be shown our table, my six-year-old tucked at my jeans urgently. “Mamà, there’s Ina sitting over there!”

I was busy taking in the décor and the dishes making their way to the tables, so absent-mindedly I muttered: “That’s nice, ħanini”, thinking she was referring to one of her school friends.

“For real, mamà! She’s right there!” She was all excited, pointing at a table on the side of the restaurant, where I could spot no child in sight.

“Ina? Who’s Ina?” I said, dragging my eyes away from a tray floating swiftly past, bearing a golden beetroot salad with ricotta and sprouting broccoli.

“Mamà!” she whisper-chided. “It’s the Barefoot Contessa!”

Oh. I see.

There she was. Straight off the Food Network channel, in her trademark black outfit, dining with… “Her husband Jeffrey” my star-struck daughter informed me. “He’s the one who tastes her recipes at the end!” (Apologies for all these exclamation marks – but they are true to the moment).

You will have figured by now that we are big fans of the Food Network television channel. Apart from Ina, we have a soft spot for Andy Bates and his delish pies. We thrill ourselves watching the show where amateur bakers have to make five-foot-tall cakes, and the suspense kills us: will they or won’t they carry the wobbly tower from the kitchen area to the judging table?

But Chopped, which is essentially a modern-day version of gladiators, is our ultimate favourite. From our Coliseum sofa, we root for one of four chefs who have to turn a mystery basket of ingredients into a dish in a race against time.

I just stopped typing now to ask my daughter which one she’d choose to watch if she had to choose between Angelina Ballerina and Chopped. She ditched the mouse drama queen and opted for the kitchen drama: chefs cutting their fingers, chefs berated for bad food, chefs panicking. I often overhear my daughter chatting to my mother and comparing notes about the chefs. “I really wanted Chef Chris to win. It’s not fair the judges chopped her just because she chopped off her finger.”

I was very happy to learn last week that we are not alone in this obsession. Last Sunday, as I was reading Ariadne Massa’s article ‘A day in the leaders’ life’ slumped on the sofa, I let out a whoop of delight: even the Prime Minister’s got a thing for Food Network.

Of course, it’s not just us and the Gonzis. Most of my friends – even those who work assiduously in the TV industry – at home have it on all the time.

These days, to escape from electoral campaign programmes, the addiction seems to have become more virulent.

“There’s something about these food shows,” said a friend the other day. “I get swept up by the excitement, ‘Oh I’ll try that, Oh that looks easy’. But sure enough, once the show’s over, I shuffle to the kitchen and prepare… pasta with olive oil and some chopped tomatoes.”

He believes that part of the attraction is that subconsciously we are trying to recreate a Mulino Bianco kitchen warmth: family and friends cooking and sipping wine and amiably chatting and laughing. “And by the way, please note – never a stray onion sliver on the floor, or spilt wine,” he said.

Another friend agreed: “I don’t need to do any comfort eating these days – I can just comfort watch.”

Then there is the friend who is a big fan of Food Network’s star chef Bobby Flay. He’s the kind of chef whose ego can fill 50 walk-in freezers. When in the US, he bee-lined for his restaurant.

“How was it?” I asked. His eyes were still glazed: “Ah. His sauces. Divine. His bread basket? To die for.” And his Flayed steak? “Erm, it was overcooked. But it doesn’t matter – he’s Bobby Flay.”

Deep down, I think we are all restaurant-owner wannabes. We all have, over lunch and wine, dissected the perfect location, found the ideal chef and planned the menu in detail. If only we won the lottery.

In the meantime, we just have to keep on living off the home-spun charm and enjoy the airwaves being suddenly filled with virtual aromas.

Ultimately, cooking is a constant reminder of home and being with the people close to our heart, and that’s why we all love watching food television.

krischetcuti@gmail.com