My scallops are being served with awesome precision. The dish is immaculate, the service terrific. I glance at the waiter but he is carrying out his task with so much concentration that he cannot be distracted.
The reason for this is the identity of my guest, who is watching the serving of the scallops with such brooding intensity that I feel I have strayed into an Aztec ceremony.
This is Marco Pierre White, the best-known, most lauded of all English chefs — still only 32, born in Leeds, half-Italian, beefy, tousle-haired, charismatic and tempestuous: able to pass, in an eye-blink, from cherubic to volcanic. Or so the folklore says. By accident or design, my guest has attracted some of the most enviable publicity in the history of cooking.
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