An Extraordinary Week

As a result of an article calling for volunteers in Dulwich OnView a month or two ago, I recently found myself a contestant on Channel 4’s programme “Come Dine with Me”.

The programme takes four strangers and each cooks for the other three on four successive nights. Marks are awarded for cooking and general hosting abilities and there is a £1000 prize for the winner.

That sounds benign, even anodyne, but the producers take care to choose contestants from different walks of life, and as often as not differences (exacerbated by fierce editing) emerge embarrassingly on screen. I had never seen the show when I volunteered and a couple of viewings gave me seriously cold feet, but in a spirit of adventure I decided to give it a try. At worst I would make a complete idiot of myself and what would be so bad (or new) in that.

The first hurdle was to be selected. I had three long telephone conversations with Hayley (researcher) and Jon (director), followed by a 60 minute interview on camera in our house. This was distilled into one minute to present to the producers to make the selection.

Surviving this process (Hayley spoke to 300 people on the phone; most conversations must have been very short!) is decided much more by their search for difference and incompatibility than any other quality.

The week started with an introductory interview (they use the interviews to announce the next night’s menu) at Berry Brothers in St James Street as they had picked up on my interest in wine; it was not too intimidating but doubtless I made some unguarded remarks which will be the ones they will use..

On Tuesday evening we had the first dinner. I was picked up at home by taxi with no idea where we were going or who I would meet and knowing that every minute would be filmed, a seriously scary experience.

After a long – and, it turned out, typical – wait outside a modest two-up-two-down house in Mottingham, I made my entrance, to be greeted very affably by Terry. After the entrance had been repeated three times (camera in wrong position, glitch with the sound, looking in the camera lens etc) I got into his small and pleasant living room. Terry is a 48 year old general builder, genial salt of the earth South Londoner with a tearaway past based on his passion for Millwall Football Club, and a bawdy sense of humour.

Next in was Ita, an attractive 42 year old single mother who was about to get married (if some financial problems could be overcome!), with a very warm heart and a hidden talent which emerged the following night. We were expecting a second woman to appear next but in came Jon whose appearance took a little getting used to. He had designer stubble, a work-in-progress handlebar moustache, wild hair and dress that branded him a creative person (think too-short trousers, red metallic shoes and no socks). He proved to be a 28 year old theatre design graduate, now doing a PhD in “British visions of the apocalypse during the cold war”.

It took about 20 minutes for the ice to break and for the rest of the week we got along extremely well – perhaps to the director’s disappointment.

The highlight of Terry’s meal (after an excellent main of pork belly with beautiful crackling) was dessert which he called Lime Mousse Surprise. This turned out to be an obstacle course – a shot glass of tequila to be downed, a slice of lime with salt to be sucked, mousse to be eaten and finally an After Eight Mint to be placed on your forehead and juggled without hands into your mouth. After three disasters Terry got about three quarters of his to the right place leaving the rest (melting under the TV lights) spread across his face. The wine had been flowing like water throughout the evening so what will end up on screen hardly bears thinking about. We all had a good time, but I didn’t get back till after 1am, having left home before 5.

Next day saw me interviewed on the tennis court with my wife Sue practising her backhand in the distance to add authenticity. (see Sue’s introductory article for DOV)

The second night was Ita’s. Her flat is just off a shopping street in Beckenham. We came together as old friends genuinely pleased to see each other. We tried to probe Ita (lots more wine of course) about what she did but she refused to say, promising we would find out before the end of the evening. We started the meal with an excellent starter of Portobello mushrooms with mozzarella, Parma ham and pesto. Main course was individual steak pies with delicious vegetables. Then before the dessert she suddenly admitted to being a professional jazz singer. Her singing partner appeared and they sang a series of Sinatra numbers really well; Jon and I were quickly on our feet dancing. Jon clearly was an excellent dancer and seriously outclassed my modest efforts. The atmosphere was really good and we all left with ear to ear grins, but this time it was 1.30am before I was home.

My final interview was at Dulwich Picture Gallery, but I doubt they will actually say where it was!

The next dinner was at Jon’s student garret over a shop on a high street in the heart of Bermondsey. The flat was modest in many ways but full of character. There were candles everywhere, lots of books and, above all, plenty of art work, most of it by Jon. While admiring it, we were troubled by the darkness of many of his images: some children’s faces looked tortured, though he claimed they were laughing. Beside his bed was a carpet bag, apparently full of bandages, with a large carving knife sticking out of it. We took this to be a spooky art work, but Jon explained that he often produces prosthetics for art installations and this was his work bag – the knife was not normally sticking out.

Jon’s meal was amazing. We discovered afterwards he had used eight packets of Normandy butter and 28 eggs! He was so broke, though, that the producers had to give him his cooking allowance of £125 in advance. There was a wonderful piece of beef with a sumptuous Béarnaise sauce, home cured salmon with raw beetroot, and an enormous display of miniature desserts which were genuinely delicious, all produced in a tiny kitchen with very limited facilities. Lots more wine and fun meant another very late night.

The last dinner was mine. The crew arrived at about 10.30am and, apart from an hour for lunch, everything was on camera. I had gone for a very ambitious menu with cheese soufflé as a starter, a Moroccan game pie as the main course, and tarte tatin with basil ice-cream as a dessert. The cooking process was very stressful as I was often asked to slow down for the cameras and repeat things that they had missed. The soufflés didn’t rise the way I was hoping but the rest worked pretty much as I had intended. I also set out some seriously good wines for the evening.

My new friends arrived in an excellent mood and feeling demob happy, but the evening never really took off. One reason is that we were all exhausted, but also my menu didn’t really work for them. They were polite about my pie but it was clear that they didn’t really like it. The dessert was a triumph, but by then it was a bit late. They were politely interested in the wines but as Ita said, “honestly Oliver it just tastes like red wine to me!” – this of a 2000 Chateau Lagune. The last cameraman left at 2.45 am and I was as tired as I have been for a very long time.

It is amazing how quickly you get used to having the cameras around. The lens was only feet away during the meals and the cooking process, but I think we all behaved more or less naturally after the first few minutes. Of course we were often asked to repeat actions, and even conversations if the camera was looking the wrong way, and the director quite often tried – not always successfully – to direct the subject matter.

The crews were delightful throughout despite punishing hours. Two units worked the entire week, each consisting of a director, a sound man, a cameraman and a researcher/gopher. The morning shift worked from about 10am until about 7pm, but the main unit started at midday and stayed to the end, often 3 am by the time they had cleared up their equipment. They ended with about 45 hours of film to distil into a 48 minute programme.

There is one detail which will amuse anyone who has seen the programme (not advised). After each dinner you see the diners going home by taxi and scoring the evenings. I had idly wondered how they managed this. The answer is that there is one taxi which drives round and round the block, and once you have given your verdict you get out and take another taxi home! The interview one is very crowded as you share it with the whole crew who remain discretely out of shot.

I think we are not supposed to reveal the results but I didn’t win. Would I do it again? Certainly not, but I am very glad to have done it once. We were very lucky in not falling out and I am very sorry that I will miss Ita’s wedding to which we were warmly invited. I am dreading the broadcasting of the show (probably next March or April), but perhaps it won’t be too awful.

And the four of us have talked about getting together next summer to reminisce. I wonder if we will.