Life and times

The chef and restaurateur is cheered by friends’ weddings, his sons and an epic tasting session

Chef, restaurateur and author Yotam Ottolenghi

I’VE ATTENDED TWO WEDDINGS in the last few months, one in Amsterdam and the other in Athens. Two of my topfive best friends were getting married. Not to each other, though the idea has crossed my mind in the past, but to partners they met in recent years. I enjoyed preparing the speeches. The two mature relationships lifted my spirits enormously, at a time when I find it hard to be cheerful about most things to do with the human race.

Middle-aged people are not known for their flexibility. I know I am not getting any less stuck in my own annoying ways. But I do find that relationships that form past the age of around 40 tend to have a certain inbuilt wisdom about them. Less is at stake, I suppose, fewer points need proving, plus two fully formed, independent adults who work really well together is a rare sight to behold.

I wish for both my friends and their respective husbands that their newly established commitment remains that of grown-up love, of independence and not interdependence. In other words, I wish them to stay just the way they are. I MISSED MY ELDEST SON Max’s ‘graduation’ ceremony at his nursery school. While he was singing Yellow Submarine and reciting little poems about London, I was in France for work. Many parents talk about guilt. I also suffer from it, though I didn’t struggle too much about not being there for his graduation. When I watch the video of the event, though, I do shed tears.

My kind of guilt is more about disorientation than about absence. I spend a fair amount of time down on my knees with my two boys. I love it. We can easily fill a good hour or two having pretend karate fights, followed by lying on our backs not doing much, followed by a card game that deteriorates into another fight between the boys. Although this one is not pretend.

But all this doesn’t help with my unease about not knowing what is good for my children. I honestly feel like I am navigating childhood for them without a clear sense of direction. It’s a sign of our times – parents wondering about parenting instead of just getting on with parenting – and I am another victim.

WALKING INTO MY TEST KITCHEN in Camden, I find eight(!) dishes ready to be tasted. Going through an inordinate number of dishes is something I do, but in the weeks leading up to the opening of our new restaurant ROVI, all records are broken. On this particular day, before midday, I have scallops, fava- bean paste, squid and lardo skewers, gratin and four puddings.

Things tend to taste spectacular at 11am, then, as bellies fill, they decline. A mitigating factor must be added to counteract the 4pm moment, when nothing tastes particularly good and you’re about to explode. So we fabricate a considerable amount of enthusiasm when evaluating dishes whose only shortcoming is that they arrive at the wrong time.

After the test kitchen, I always go to try the food at one of my restaurants. A random quality-control check. When I get home in the evening, skipping dinner is the only way I feel like I will ever eat again. At 9pm, I pour myself a glass of wine and slice off a thick wedge of pecorino… which requires a few cheese crackers alongside, obviously. Ottolenghi Simple, by Yotam Ottolenghi with Tara Wigley and Esme Howarth, is out now (Ebury, £25)

Before midday, I have scallops, fava-bean paste, squid and lardo skewers, gratin and four puddings