My mother was a wonderful cook, and my father was a wonderful eater. She was from Bolton – mothers from Bolton seem to be a common theme among quite a few very good chefs I know. They used to throw dinner parties of the kind that people had in the 1970s – paisley tablecloths, lots of claret, creme caramel and going to bed without doing the washing up. I remember coming downstairs in the morning to find the debris of the night before, half-drunk glasses and ghostly wafts of cigar smoke, and longing to be a part of it all.
My favourite food as a child was steamed syrup sponge and custard. When I was little I had a mystery illness which landed me in hospital for a few days; Mum tells me that she realised it must be serious when I refused steamed syrup sponge.
Architecture formed me. It has given me a clarity and rigour to my vision … or perhaps that has always been there. My father was an architect, and when I told him that I was leaving architecture school to become a cook he said: “OK, but be a good one.” I suppose I must have taken that to heart.
I am happy to eat most things and I feel that almost everything has a place or a context in which it is redeemed, but I hate raw celery. It seems so pointless, as though it takes more energy to chew than it gives you. That makes it strange, as a foodstuff. I can just about eat it braised, though I’m still not crazy about it.
I always recommend that people cook half a braised pig’s head, if they’re hoping for a romantic meal. What could be sexier than gazing into your lover’s eyes as you dive into the cheek, or nibble on the ear? The other thing, for me, is pigeon and peas. It was the first thing I cooked for Margot [Henderson, his wife], when she visited me in the kitchen. She was surprised that it was just that: a pigeon, and some peas. It caught her eye.
When we opened St John we were accused of being 400 years out of date. That gave us a freedom – if you are never fashionable, you are never going to be out of fashion. That’s why I hate the idea of food “trends”. The idea of trends in food is tragic – by their very nature they are impermanent, elevating bad foods where they don’t deserve it or consigning good foods to history. Good food should be permanent.
I think my style may sometimes be too dour. White food is becoming more fashionable in some areas, but lots of people do still have a problem with it. And although offal is more acceptable to many than it used to be, I still have some difficulty convincing the masses about the joys of tripe.
Having Parkinson’s has changed the way I run my restaurants in the most significant way – that I can’t really cook in the St John kitchen at all any more. It is such a sadness. But I offer encouragement, and advice, and I am a constant presence, which my chefs like. That is contributing to what’s on the plate, even if it isn’t directly plating it. That’s important.
My most memorable dining experience was a meal at Michel Guérard’s restaurant [in Eugénie-les-Bains, south-west France] that had all the emotions running through it. We were two families, my own and my father’s friend Terence Conran’s. A couple of days earlier we had been to a wonderful restaurant where they both behaved terribly badly, in a cantankerous way, but this meal was well received and it just kept going and going – delicious, but unbelievably rich. I remember eggs with their heads chopped off, stuffed with everything possible – crayfish, foie gras, truffle, the lot. It was too much and to aid digestion, which we needed, we drank an entire bottle of Poire William. Getting back to our accommodation was wobbly and difficult. It was an evening filled with excitement, joy and regret.
My favourite things
Food
Bone marrow here at St John. Roasted, with toasted sourdough, parsley salad and wet salt (the French call it sel gris). Every element works in perfect union, and the architect in me enjoys a dish that you have to begin by constructing rather than destructing: scooping out the marrow, building each bite.
Drink
Tricky. Almost everything that can be drunk, I feel some affinity towards. I couldn’t live without good red burgundy. But then again, what would I do without a dry martini? Impossible.
Place to eat
I would go to Ikeda, if they could fit us in that night. And of course I’d go with Margot, who is the best company I know and who would also be furious if I went without her. They once gave us each a bowl of simple miso soup which was so perfect and so delicious that it brought us to real tears.
St John’s new restaurant is at 98 Marylebone Lane, W1; stjohnrestaurant.com
