The Maverick Chef

He’s a dad now and it’s calmed him down,it’s hard to feel like a badass,“when you’ve just finished playing X the dinosaur and wriggled your bottom in your underpants to entertain your kids”. He runs a couple of restaurants and bars,has a weekly radio show,a hit reality TV programme called Conviction Kitchen,a diverse philanthropic portfolio and a few offers of writing cookbooks,which he has declined for being too indulgent. And to think all of this may never have been. He nearly didn’t make it. He was a prime candidate for falling through the cracks,much like the many boys he has helped since. As a kid,he spent some time in juvenile detention,and lost his driving licence at 18. For a while,he wasn’t going anywhere. And then two things came to his rescue,one was the fact that his mum was a terrible cook and the other,an advice from a chef — if you want to get the girls and see the world (in that order),become a cook. He enrolled in culinary school and decided to get out of his hometown Coventry. If you’ve ever been there,he says,you’d know that was motivation enough.

When I bump into him at the Creative Service Support Group (CSSG) Gastronomy Summit 2012 in Delhi,he’s at the buffet counter,outside of his whites; in jeans and T-shirt sporting a leather wristband,yet looking every inch a chef. Unsurprisingly,he gravitates to a chef in uniform and shakes his hand. There is an easy camaraderie that chefs possess,one that is unique to them,even the most reticent (and there are many of those) will find their voice with another chef — irrespective of nationality or cuisine. It’s a comfort circle,and they are circumspect about who they let in. My mentors in my hospitality life have always been chefs,so I have found it easy to break in,which is more of an achievement than it may seem in print; for I was of another DNA — service — and we were considered the sellers of a skill we didn’t possess.

He’s instantly friendly,asking me about what’s going on at the summit. I tell him there was some talk about foraging and he rolls his eyes. He’s not a fan of the trend — it’s a little too precious,chefs going out into gardens and picking herbs! I know instantly that we are going to get along. “My mouth gets me into trouble all the time,” he tells me. He looks over at the live taco station and points at the neatly aligned bowls of mise-en-place. “That’s what my kitchen looks like now,all my prep is done,I just go in and toss it all into a pan and people say,‘That’s amazing,chef!’”

He’s self-deprecating and curious about the Indian food scene whilst having opinions. “You don’t let people stand on each other’s shoulders here”; it’s a comment that is greeted with applause when he makes it again during his talk. “You have great chefs,but they have to go abroad to make a name for themselves. Because you don’t give them that space.” I have to admit that our culinary maestros are still mostly ignored,but it’s changing. “Your chefs are ambassadors of your culture. Look at what Marco Pierre White did for British cuisine.” It’s the only nice thing he has to say about White,mostly he calls him the devil who sold his soul. “He could have been so much,done so much but decided to sell Knorr soup cubes.” I tell him White was like the Bob Dylan of chefs who went pop. “Pop,” he scoffs,“he went Lady Gaga”.

Curley uses the terms chef and cook alternatively,but not interchangeably,I point that out to him; when he refers to himself in the media or on a stage,he uses the term chef,but when he speaks of his kitchen,he uses the term cook. He agrees,but it’s never been that confusing for him,as it’s never been a career; it’s always been a vocation.

Advaita Kala is an author and has worked in restaurants and kitchens in India and abroad.