It seems as if Marco Pierre White’s indomitable presence is affecting not only the celebrity chefs working in Hell’s Kitchen but the hapless celebrity diners as well.
Striding here, marching there, helming that hothouse with hands like hams; his mad perm bristling above the hotplates. A culinary Captain Ahab. There she blows, over on table four; a fork where a harpoon once was.
Despite all this bluster and thunder it seems that whilst one half of the celebrity population, mainly male, pale at the mention of Marco Pierre White; the female of the species blush.
Perhaps it’s the chef’s brooding physicality; perhaps it’s his commanding gait. It could be an unfaltering self-assurance or it might be his voice; which when bellowed rattles the clouds and when lowered sounds like your uncle. Just as the contestants swoon and recoil in equal measure, so do the guests.
Marco Pierre White is a man who looks like he does not suffer fools lightly. Unfortunately for the diners, judging by the calibre of cliental, it is open season on fools of all kinds.
Dancing on Ice disaster, Coleen Nolan, brushes shoulders with a man whose job is to sell crisps. But it is Mo from EastEnders who most accurately assesses Marco; who is busy intimidating the customers or else taking sidelong glances at Danielle Bux; much to the champion of crisps’ dismay.
“He’s like a warrior” exclaims Mo breathlessly. And wearing that headband, in the flickering lights of Hell’s Kitchen, she is right. The whaler and the chef are one.
“... to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.”
