Roasting in Hell's Kitchen: Temper Tantrums, F Words, and the Pursuit of Perfection

288 Pages·2007·3.18 MB·english

by  Gordon Ramsay

Roasting in
Hell’s Kitchen
Temper Tantrums, F Words,
and the Pursuit of Perfection
To Mum,
from cottage pie to Humble Pie
– you deserve a medal.
CONTENTS
foreword 7
1 Dad 11
2 Football 39
3 Getting Started 59
4 French Leave 87
5 Oceans Apart 113
6 A Room of My Own 127
7 War 143
8 The Great Walk-Out 157
9 The Sweet Smell of Success 171
10 Ronnie 203
11 Down Among the Women 237
12 Welcome to the Small Screen 251
afterword 273
index 279
PHOTOGRAPHIC INSERT
PICTURE CREDITS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CREDITS
COVER
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
FOREWORD
In my hand, I’ve got a piece of paper. It’s Mum’s hand-
writing, and it’s a list – a very long list – of all the places
we lived until I left home. I look at this list now, and there
are just so many of them. My eye moves down the page,
trying to take in her spidery scribble, and I soon lose track.
These places mean very little to me: it’s funny how few of
them I can remember. In some cases, I guess that’s because
we were hardly there for more than five minutes. But in
others, it’s probably more a case of trying to forget about
them as soon as possible. When you’re unhappy in a
place, you want to forget about it as soon as possible. You
don’t dwell on the details of a house if you associate it with
being afraid, or ashamed, or poor – and as a boy, I was
often afraid and ashamed, and always poor.
Life was a series of escapades, of moves that always
ended badly. The next place was always going to be a
better place – a bit of garden, a shiny new front door – the
7
FOREWORD
place where everything would finally come right. But it
never did, of course. Our family life was built on a series of
pipe dreams – the dreams of my father. And he was a man
whose dreams always turned to dust.
I don’t think people grasp the whole me when they see
me on television or in the pages of some glossy magazine.
I’ve got the wonderful family, the big house, the flash car in
the drive. I run several of the world’s best restaurants. I’m
running round, cursing and swearing, telling people what
to do, my mouth always getting me into trouble. They
probably think: that flash bastard. I know I would. But it’s
not about being flash. My life, like most people’s, is about
keeping the wolf from the door. It’s about hard work. It’s
about success. Beyond that, though, something else is at
play. Is it fear? Maybe. I’m as driven as any man you’ll ever
meet. I can’t ever sit still. Holidays are impossible. I’ve
got ants in my pants – I always have had. When I think
about myself, I still see a little boy who is desperate to
escape, and anxious to please. The fact that I’ve long since
escaped, and long since succeeded in pleasing people, has
made little or no difference. I just keep going, moving as far
away as possible from where I began. Where am I trying to
get to? I wonder . . . Work is who I am, who I want to be.
I sometimes think that if I were to stop, I’d cease to exist.
This, then, is the story of that journey – so far. The
tough childhood. My false start in football. The years I
spent working literally twenty hours a day. My battles with
8
FOREWORD
my demons. My brother’s heroin addiction. The death of
my father, and of my best friend. I’m just forty, and it
seems, even to me, such an amazingly long journey in such
a short time.
Will I ever get there? You tell me.
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