Recently I was quoted in the Independent, espousing the virtues of Chilean meat culture. It seems that the piece has been picked up in Chile, where one of that country’s leading news sites has based an article on the original feature. They’ve quoted me directly (albeit without mentioning my name), and rather than explain that I’m some some desperately lonely blogger with a tragically limited social life and a penchant for bizarre cooking challenges, they’ve referred to me as a friend of Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall, and proclaim that I’m responsible for the great man’s interest in meat. Indeed, as a badly translated version of the page explains:
Fearnley became addict to the savage knife after one of its friends traveled to our country and it told his experience him. “For the Chileans to buy meat it is an event, in the supermarkets have lengths containers and a staff of 7 to 8 butchers, all experts in the subject. In my first week of visit I went to five roasted. This it is a tremendous event of males, where the woman only feels to talk”, she summarizes the writer on the experience of its companion.
I like this new development. From now on, when people talk about HFW (as I’ve decided to call him) in my presence, I shall blithely explain how I’m the sole reason for his success, offering this article as proof. And I shall strut around like Francis Drake must have done after bringing potatoes back from the New World, as if I were responsible for some seismic shift in British culinary culture.
And then I’ll bring out my own savage knife, and slaughter something. Probably.