I used to be very reluctant to talk about food because of my size. I was the go-to guy for comment whenever a new report came out about childhood obesity – and once when a piece was published saying that overweight celebrities were to blame. It mentioned James Corden and Jo Brand by name, but thankfully I was saved.
I love that you can go to Bar Italia late at night, damaged. I've been going there for my espresso since I first arrived in London. I've learned to enjoy the nastiness of coffee with age. If I ever find myself in reduced circumstances I'd still save up for a weekly cappuccino. And then [Mark] Lamarr introduced me to this place just next door. The location is perfect. You forget you're in Soho, then step outside into the Big Issue sellers and terrified tourists and someone you think you recognise coming out of the Groucho. You feel you're part of something bigger. Usually in central London you want to do hit-and-run eating, but here I'm already planning when I can next come.
Food is another reason that Nick Griffin is a pinhead. Imagine the food we'd eat under the BNP: fried and tasteless. This country will live and die on its stomach. Last summer I spent a month in Italy, experiencing food properly – the textures, the flavours. Italian food bridges the gap between mystery and pragmatic homeliness. I went to Italy in pursuit of the perfect espresso, so it was a jittery holiday for me, walking alone at 7 o'clock in the morning across empty piazzas, cannonballing an espresso and then standing by the bar for a slower cappuccino. Eventually I found it – the perfect espresso. It was an Indiana Jones moment, and it cost less than a euro. I was quite overwhelmed.
I'm an enthusiastic, if basic, cook – but my family loves my roasts because it's me cooking. Despite loving lobster, my last meal would be Heinz beans on toast. It's reassuring, and it's basic, and it reminds you what food really is – fuel. I was on Twitter the other night talking about random delights – writing on a rubber with Biro. Old people holding hands. The cloud of breath above a rugby scrum. And beans on toast is one of them.
If I had to choose an addiction, it would be food. I'd inject gravy. The thing about great food is that it makes a moment. I've stacked them up: strawberries with black pepper, ordered for me by Clement Freud. The New England clam chowder I had in Boston. A bialy with wasabi-flavoured fish roe I had from Russ & Daughters in New York. The first pizza I had in Italy, InterRailing aged 22. I finally understood it.
I don't want to see the chaos and carnage of the kitchen – I just want to see the beautiful plate. When I went on a cookery show recently, I briefly saw behind the curtain. I think great cookery is a bit like jazz. I consider chefs to be comedians – they want a reaction. They're like stand-ups in that way. Perhaps that's why I have an empathy. When I see a chef at work, making something amazing, it makes me giggle. There's an art to food; I enjoy the not knowing what's gone into a dish – it's pleasing to me. It's the same as listening to music. I don't need to know who played what on a Clash album to love it. Part of the beauty is the ignorance. The oddness.
Hairspray plays at the Shaftesbury Theatre: 020 7379 5399, www.hairspraythemusical.co.uk
Little Italy, 21 Frith Street, London W1 020 7 734 4737
History
An extension of the legendary Soho Bar Italia, started by the Polledri family 60 years ago, the restaurant, opened in 1995 and refurbished in 2005, offers the same authentic Italian hospitality – and dancing – in super-chic surroundings.
Popular dishes
Grilled wild fennel sausage from Sicily with sautéed Swiss chard (£25); linguine with fresh lobster, shallot and tomato sauce finished with brandy (£24.50); crispy tiramisu with mascarpone and coffee sauce. Three-course set dinner, £42.50.
Who eats there?
Chris Evans, Rod Stewart, Tara Palmer-Tomkinson; Francis Ford Coppola has been spotted
Open
Monday-Saturday 12 noon-4am; Sunday 12 noon-11.30pm; bar Monday-Saturday 11am-3am; Sunday 11am-11.30pm
