Whoops! I've got a scallop in my pants

Now, I don’t know whether you’ve caught this on the Telly box yet, but following the trend for dangerously over-produced, sun-drenched cookery programmes, the BBC has recently seen it necessary to air yet another ‘sexy’ food show hosted by the (allegedly) voluptuous beauty, Sophie Dahl.

There are a lot of things wrong with this. A lot… of things…

Call me a cynical old piece of overdone venison, but can anyone actually tell me what the connection between posh nosh and graveyards is? No? As far as I know the two have never been particularly comfortable bedfellows, largely on account of the people in graveyards being, well, dead.

As Sophie gamely licks cream off her fingers all smug and back-lit and flashing her oyster-sized engagement ring all over the place, the scene cuts to various ‘mood pieces’. Either Sophie reciting a poem in wistful recline or, in a rather bizarre twist, talking about the ‘eternal romance’ of graveyards. Now slap me in the eye with a chilli scallop if I’m wrong here, but do people really want to think about their nearest and dearest maggoting away in their coffins as they tuck into their shepherds pie? NO would be my guess.

Graveyards (romantic or not) are no place for a quick sandwich. The antithesis is too great, the juxtaposition of the monster-munch-guzzle living and dried out hollow-socket dead is unsettling. No. I don’t like it. It is incorrect. Whichever way you spin it, food and dead folk don’t mix. Well, not unless you’ve got some pretty deep psychological problems anyway.

And I’ll tell you what else forms a particularly incorrect and alarming union. Fish and your underwear, that’s what. It’s a well known fact. NEVER mix seafood and your undies, it’s just a bad idea and conjures up all sorts of unpleasant associations. A point which the producer of Sophie’s show has spectacularly missed it seems.

As she chops up a chilli with a rather sinister commentary about an ex boyfriend’s penis (no, I’m NOT making this up – chilli being sliced - followed by phallus reference), we cut to a gratuitous shot of what appears to be Sophie’s pants hanging on the line. OH – FOR – GOD’S – SAKE – WOMAN. Do you really need to be quite so literal about all this? WHY would I want to see a shot of your pants as I’m trying to get in the mood for marinated shell fish? NO. I DRAW THE LINE SOPHIE, I really do. You are making me feel nauseous – not usually the aim of a cookery programme, surely?

The irony was complete when Sophie (a bit too flushed from the success of her mash potato) proudly garnishes her pies with some sprigs of rosemary. One, she explains, is garnished with a V for…

…vacuous? My flatmate suggests.

Nope. It turns out that too much anthropomorphism in her formative years (I blame Roald) has turned Sophie into a VEGE BLOODY TARIAN.

What? She’s been cooking meat and fish for the entire show, but doesn’t actually eat it! Wonder what Fantastic Mr Fox would have to say about that? Not chuffing much I’ll warrant.