The Reluctant Whore

Gordon Ramsay has immediately alerted the media to the fact that, while filming his show “The F Word” in Iceland, he fell off an 85 foot cliff into perilously cold water and nearly drowned because his boots and waterproof clothing were dragging him down.

Well, that’s all very dramatic and I’m sure a lot of people were rather panicked at his near death experience. The part that cancels basically everything out here for me is the fact that he was hunting puffins in Iceland. He was freaking HUNTING puffins so he could kill them and then eat them.

See, up until this point in time – this VERY point in time – I actually really enjoyed Gordon Ramsay. His Kitchen Nightmares show is actually kind of heartwarming even though it’s clear that he goes in and picks fights so he can boost his appeal. After all, there’s nothing more appealing to Americans, apparently, than a bitchy, intolerant Englishman.

All that goes out the window with this news that he was in Iceland to hunt puffins. All of it. ALL.

None of my admiration or interest remains, now. NONE.

Apparently, during the whole ordeal several puffins bit Gordon Ramsay on the nose and made him actually bleed. The thing about that is, in general, in a relaxed and general way, when they’re just sitting and talking or having tea or just walking about or flying or baking – puffins are actually among the most enchanting of all creatures. They are affectionately known as the clown of the sea for fuck’s sake. To actually get them angry enough to make them want to bite you you’d have to be hard core evil.

“We had a licence to cull 1,000 (puffins),” said Ramsay. “I didn’t realise how difficult they are to cook, but they’re very tasty!”

Why the crap would they have needed to cull a thousand puffins? Why would anyone? God, I’m so completely distressed at this and it’s not just the prednisone I was inexplicably prescribed last week in Australia.

Look at this. This is a film of puffins set to the Debussy orchestrated version of Satie’s Gymnopedies. I think it speaks for itself.

Also, I have read that puffin meat tastes like used sump oil too so I guess that’s nature’s reward for killing a pure form of enchanting delight in bird form. I am happy with that news that puffin tastes like used sump oil and I’m rejecting Ramsay’s description.

Actually, once I was on the phone to the Consul General to New York from Iceland to chat about puffins (this is a true story) and he told me that all our chatting about puffins had made him hungry. Naturally, I immediately called the National Audubon Society of New York and told on the Icelandic Consul General and asked them if it were possible for Icelandics to ever eat puffin in New York at a restaurant or in cans of soup etc. The Director of PR for the Audubon Society assured me that it was not and that if I heard of any places serving puffin meat, would I please let them know. I said that I would and ever since that time I’ve had my eye out for anything suspicious. ANYTHING AT ALL. There have been a few false alarms since then – most notably when I was served wood pigeon at a restaurant and it tasted like used sump oil and I demanded to speak to the head chef. That was awkward for all involved.

In short, Gordon Ramsay may still be alive but because he decided to hunt my favourite bird my interest in his work no longer is. [source]