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http://chrisneillsdirtykitchen.wordpress.com/
I'm a stand-up comedian and sometimes chaotic cook. You can hear me on BBC Radio programmes quite often on shows like Just A Minute, Broadcasting House and MacAulay & Co where I jabber sixteen to the dozen and often try to get the subject onto food. When I'm not working as a comic, I'm equally happy transforming a pig’s head into a giant wobbling brawn, gutting cuttlefish, or not being able watch my soufflés (sometimes) triumphantly rise as the bulb in the oven has gone.
In 2008 I combined my enthusiasms by presenting a show at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe called Chris Neill's Got A Bun In The Oven where I told jokes about food and cooking (with some knob gags on the side) all the while preparing a variety of venison offal dishes for the audience to chow down on.
The entirely beautiful food magazine Fire & Knives has published a piece by me on the most astonishing person I’ve ever met, Sir Clement Freud. If you’re not already a subscriber please do become one: despite my presence in its pages there (read full article)
Of all cuisines, those of the Middle East are probably my favourite. My knowledge of them is about as fulsome as that of most other Englishmen – with additional smugness provided by the existence of an unopened sachet of sumac in the cupboard (read full article)
Some nights I can’t wait to be over. Trapped on a treadmill, my subconscious seems intent on churning out exhaustingly busy but yet extravagantly dull dreams. One after another they come. Last night, I dreamt I was in the humiliating pos (read full article)
Those of you heavily sedated, or possibly not remotely interested, may not have noticed that summer has arrived in London. But it has and I know this for several reasons. I awoke yesterday with thoughts of disdain for the solitary blanket left atop m (read full article)
Hello. Fortified by a breakfast of bacon, eggs and plenty of bubble and squeak (frankly the only one I’ve ever made that seems quite right) I feel equipped to lift my face, shame scribbled all over it, above my blog’s parapet. I know, I (read full article)
Maybe it was because I had been so well-behaved for over twenty-four hours. Sunday afternoon I spent gardening, or rather deciphering what was actually dead by whether something had a bud on it or not. By Monday I was on a roll with all this treati (read full article)
My aunt’s choice was something by Aretha Franklin, my cousin’s girlfriend opted for Saturday Night Fever, Mum rather touchingly couldn’t survive her desert island without a recording of Big Ben in full flow and I was torn (and remai (read full article)
Tonight at 6.30 on Radio 4 I’m on Just A Minute, sitting alongside Josie Lawrence, Paul Merton and Charles Collingwood. On the night of the recording, I sometimes discover that Claire Jones, the producer, gives me a food-related subject. As (read full article)
Following the sage advice of the incomparable Ivy Bean I’m off for my Friday portions. Nothing mucky, thank you very much; just a nice weighty (if I’m lucky) plate of fish and chips, a spoonful of sugar in the tea, plenty of tomato ke (read full article)
This week in amongst tweets about my objections to Question Time producers booking comedians as panellists, my elderly neighbour’s sad and slightly creepy afternoon activity of playing Teddy Bears’ Picnic on the piano whilst gathering her (read full article)
There’s a lot of fluff and flutter on food blogs around now concerning all the many splendid dishes made and consumed over Christmas and new year. Mighty roasts, delicious fish, alluring puddings, exquisite wines. Personally, I find I eat wor (read full article)
The culinary talisman of 2009’s gastro-flick Julie and Julia is the heroic blogger’s making of a boeuf bourguignon. From what I recall of the film, the first time she attempts this stew she drops it on the floor, and the second time sh (read full article)
My mother was once shown a photograph of my then partner, his brother, and me standing dutifully in our suits waiting to go to a wedding. “Is that your brother you’re standing next to, love?” she asked Piers. Then a flutter of confusion rip (read full article)
Not so long ago I was driving slowly through the Liverpool rush-hour traffic on my way to a gig. (It took place in a bar situated next to a club going by the rather sinister name of Baby Cream. But that’s not really the point. ) In the car, (read full article)
In my teens, as friends and I started venturing beyond our well-worn paths of London suburbia, on Saturdays we would visit places like Kensington, Knightsbridge and Chelsea, not so far away from home but alien and foreign places that seemed to occupy (read full article)
The mythology amongst stand-up comedians surrounding performances to Christmas revellers is this: they are rowdy, full of drunks, and generally grim. Just think of the money and run is sensible advice. It would be nice for me to be able to say other (read full article)
There is something intensely silly about cooking on the radio, not quite as daft as a ventriloquist act having his own wireless show, but getting that way, nevertheless. Woman’s Hour loves the occasional studio item where somebody produces s (read full article)
You know when you do something very clever but if you feel you start shouting about it then you might appear a bit of tosser, well it’s a risk I take tonight. On Saturday two friends came for supper and they were given roast pheasant, baked c (read full article)
Oh, East Dulwich… How giddy am I in being able to choose from more than a dozen of varieties of RHS-grown apples in the greengrocer’s whilst being on first-name terms with the proprietor; What pleasure I take in casually stroking the shab (read full article)
The history of food in Britain goes back a long, long way, almost as far as Leslie Phillips. Evidence exists to show that earliest man did in fact eat things. Roughly the same things up and down the country: soil, dead relatives and dandelions. T (read full article)
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