Still a little obsessed with Kitchen Nightmares on the BBC. I used to think, back in my restaurant days, that I was a terrible bartender, waitress, and cook (I did all at one time or another). Now I look at these people who make soup in mop buckets and leave rat droppings in their pantries and serve spoiled food and think maybe I wasn't so bad. I was immature, but I was conscientious and, to my knowledge, I never made anyone sick. I never had any real talent for that business, but I at least had common sense.
Ramsay fascinates me. He's this curious mixture of insults, kindness, and hyperactivity. And because of his excessive cursing I can't help but feel affectionate toward him. He . . . reminds me of my mother as I was growing up. She had high standards, and her language could be appalling when I, my brother, and my sister didn't meet them. But that made her no less kind, and now you would never know that, language-wise, she could put Ramsay to shame. I kind of miss that edge to her, but she's getting on in years, and if she's happy not cursing, I'm happy.