Facing the waves
He’s written any number of cookery books, usually spin-offs from his highly successful global food forays to France and Spain, to the Far East and India. So what persuaded Rick Stein to pick up his pen and tackle a memoir?
‘The short answer,’ he says, ‘is because I like writing and I don’t think I’m ever going to write a novel. I tried to write 1,000 words a day but usually only managed about 700. I read somewhere that the former Poet Laureate, Andrew Motion, said the only way to do it is to get up early, wash your face and then sit down and write. And it’s true. If you don’t, you inevitably get sucked into the day.’
It was his second wife, Sarah, who propelled 66-year-old Rick into action. ‘Sas, as I call her, was incredibly supportive from the start. She was the first person to read the finished manuscript.
‘I was sort of quivering in another room, I don’t mind admitting. She’s certainly not someone who hides her feelings. It’s one of the reasons I love her.
‘And she was very good over the bits about Jill [the first Mrs Stein]. She understood that that part of the story is part of my history.
‘All Sas wanted to be made clear was that she’s so much more than merely a younger woman in my life. She’s very important to me.’
Anyone who reads Under A Mackerel Sky will marvel at Rick’s total recall of every meal he’s ever eaten. ‘But that’s because food is so incredibly central to my life. For example, Sas and I were on holiday in the south of France recently and eating at one of my favourite restaurants.
‘I’m not interested in fancy places with Michelin stars and everything presented to within an inch of its life. I like good produce, cooked well and served without a flourish. I was eating a bass and she suddenly said she wished she could video me because then I’d see how I go off into this little world of pure pleasure. And it’s true, I do.’
His current great good fortune is in sharp contrast to earlier, darker chapters in his life. He grew up a privileged, middle-class boy, the son of intellectual parents who moved in literary and artistic circles. But he had a difficult relationship with his mercurial father Eric, a successful businessman.
‘Because he felt I was the most like him of his children, he deliberately made me feel inadequate to toughen me up and then I’d try as hard as I knew to make something of myself. He shouted at me a lot and yes, I was a bit frightened of him but he never laid a finger on me.’ As it turns out, his father’s behaviour was all part and parcel of his being bipolar, or a manic depressive, as it was called then. Looking back now, Rick found Eric’s manic phases almost more disturbing than his depressive ones.
‘He’d do crazy things like deciding to build a swimming pool in the garden or coming back from a business trip to Japan laden with electronic gifts – transistor radios and cameras and heaven knows what. This was the 1950s and it just felt like a sort of embarrassment of riches.’
Rick wasn’t quite 18 when Eric threw himself off a cliff in Cornwall when out walking one day with his sister, Zoe. ‘One of the reasons I wrote this memoir was because I hope it will make my sons understand better how I got to where I am. I’d have loved my father to have seen what became of me and I’d have loved to have been able to talk to him as an adult, something I can now do with my own three sons.’
His reaction to his father’s suicide was to run away to Australia. ‘I think it was the making of me, a rite of passage. It turned me from a sheltered middle-class boy into someone still with problems but with an ability to cope. It was a really important part of my life.’
Rick's parents in the 1950s. Inset: Rick, aged five
Back in Cornwall after two years away, Rick and a close friend decided to buy a club in Padstow at the same time as he was offered a job on the Western Morning News as a sub-editor. Then the job offer was withdrawn as a result of the three-day week. ‘That’s typical of what happens to you in life. You think you’re in charge of your own destiny but you’re not.’
The club frequently fell foul of the law as inebriated locals took advantage of the extended opening hours. So much so, that it morphed into a modest restaurant that started to win awards, its inspirational chef rapidly finding his way on to television and into the nation’s sitting rooms. ‘I could never have foreseen how my restaurant empire would grow,’ he says now. ‘But then, I’m very grateful to Jill because it’s as much her business as mine. To achieve all of that out of not a lot is very gratifying.
‘But while life is much more relaxed now, catering doesn’t stop being a pain in the neck. You’re never going to eliminate all the problems involved and they usually involve staff.’
That said, he’s not the sort of person who’s ever going to retire. ‘I don’t have hobbies. I won’t be taking up golf. I just work. That’s what I like to do. It still gets the adrenalin pumping. And you never quite lose the thought that you’re only ever as good as your last meal.’
His – now – is a ridiculous life. He says so himself. ‘I spend my life on long-haul flights between the UK and Sydney. Sas is Australian and lives there because her two children from her first marriage, Zach and Olivia, are still in school.
‘Funnily enough, I rather enjoy the journey. I wrote quite a lot of the book on board aeroplanes. And I make sure I always lie down and have a proper sleep, which helps a bit with the jet lag. But I tell my staff to ignore anything I say for the first two or three days after I get back because I’ll almost certainly make the wrong decision.’
Rick and Sas have a house rule that they never try to go for more than four weeks without being together. ‘I’m really looking forward to four years from now when her children will have left school and she’ll come to live in London.’
On paper, everything was stacked against the relationship, he says. ‘But she’s a very positive person. She always says that, when you think about everything we’ve been through, it’s just so encouraging that we’re still together. I feel the same way.
‘It’s testimony to how well we get on that, despite all the separations, we still adore being in each other’s company. There’s the phone and Skype, of course, but the time difference makes it pretty difficult. If it’s my morning, it’s her evening and you don’t feel the same at the beginning of the day as you do at the end.’
And 10 years from now? What would be the prefect scenario for the still-driven Rick Stein? ‘I think I’ll be living most of the time in London, although with some sort of input into the business. My middle son, Jack, is currently Head of Development and I’m assuming he’ll take over the running of the business.
‘People keep suggesting I should open a fish restaurant in London and I’m toying with the idea. But, as I’ve said, I’m not into Michelin-starred dishes; that’s not my style.’ A pause. ‘Even so, I think there are enough people in London who would share my approach to food.’
You read it here first.
Under A Mackerel Sky, by Rick Stein, is published by Ebury Press, priced £20.
‘The short answer,’ he says, ‘is because I like writing and I don’t think I’m ever going to write a novel. I tried to write 1,000 words a day but usually only managed about 700. I read somewhere that the former Poet Laureate, Andrew Motion, said the only way to do it is to get up early, wash your face and then sit down and write. And it’s true. If you don’t, you inevitably get sucked into the day.’
It was his second wife, Sarah, who propelled 66-year-old Rick into action. ‘Sas, as I call her, was incredibly supportive from the start. She was the first person to read the finished manuscript.
‘I was sort of quivering in another room, I don’t mind admitting. She’s certainly not someone who hides her feelings. It’s one of the reasons I love her.
‘And she was very good over the bits about Jill [the first Mrs Stein]. She understood that that part of the story is part of my history.
‘All Sas wanted to be made clear was that she’s so much more than merely a younger woman in my life. She’s very important to me.’
Anyone who reads Under A Mackerel Sky will marvel at Rick’s total recall of every meal he’s ever eaten. ‘But that’s because food is so incredibly central to my life. For example, Sas and I were on holiday in the south of France recently and eating at one of my favourite restaurants.
‘I’m not interested in fancy places with Michelin stars and everything presented to within an inch of its life. I like good produce, cooked well and served without a flourish. I was eating a bass and she suddenly said she wished she could video me because then I’d see how I go off into this little world of pure pleasure. And it’s true, I do.’
His current great good fortune is in sharp contrast to earlier, darker chapters in his life. He grew up a privileged, middle-class boy, the son of intellectual parents who moved in literary and artistic circles. But he had a difficult relationship with his mercurial father Eric, a successful businessman.
‘Because he felt I was the most like him of his children, he deliberately made me feel inadequate to toughen me up and then I’d try as hard as I knew to make something of myself. He shouted at me a lot and yes, I was a bit frightened of him but he never laid a finger on me.’ As it turns out, his father’s behaviour was all part and parcel of his being bipolar, or a manic depressive, as it was called then. Looking back now, Rick found Eric’s manic phases almost more disturbing than his depressive ones.
‘He’d do crazy things like deciding to build a swimming pool in the garden or coming back from a business trip to Japan laden with electronic gifts – transistor radios and cameras and heaven knows what. This was the 1950s and it just felt like a sort of embarrassment of riches.’
Rick wasn’t quite 18 when Eric threw himself off a cliff in Cornwall when out walking one day with his sister, Zoe. ‘One of the reasons I wrote this memoir was because I hope it will make my sons understand better how I got to where I am. I’d have loved my father to have seen what became of me and I’d have loved to have been able to talk to him as an adult, something I can now do with my own three sons.’
His reaction to his father’s suicide was to run away to Australia. ‘I think it was the making of me, a rite of passage. It turned me from a sheltered middle-class boy into someone still with problems but with an ability to cope. It was a really important part of my life.’
Rick's parents in the 1950s. Inset: Rick, aged fiveBack in Cornwall after two years away, Rick and a close friend decided to buy a club in Padstow at the same time as he was offered a job on the Western Morning News as a sub-editor. Then the job offer was withdrawn as a result of the three-day week. ‘That’s typical of what happens to you in life. You think you’re in charge of your own destiny but you’re not.’
The club frequently fell foul of the law as inebriated locals took advantage of the extended opening hours. So much so, that it morphed into a modest restaurant that started to win awards, its inspirational chef rapidly finding his way on to television and into the nation’s sitting rooms. ‘I could never have foreseen how my restaurant empire would grow,’ he says now. ‘But then, I’m very grateful to Jill because it’s as much her business as mine. To achieve all of that out of not a lot is very gratifying.
‘But while life is much more relaxed now, catering doesn’t stop being a pain in the neck. You’re never going to eliminate all the problems involved and they usually involve staff.’
That said, he’s not the sort of person who’s ever going to retire. ‘I don’t have hobbies. I won’t be taking up golf. I just work. That’s what I like to do. It still gets the adrenalin pumping. And you never quite lose the thought that you’re only ever as good as your last meal.’
His – now – is a ridiculous life. He says so himself. ‘I spend my life on long-haul flights between the UK and Sydney. Sas is Australian and lives there because her two children from her first marriage, Zach and Olivia, are still in school.
‘Funnily enough, I rather enjoy the journey. I wrote quite a lot of the book on board aeroplanes. And I make sure I always lie down and have a proper sleep, which helps a bit with the jet lag. But I tell my staff to ignore anything I say for the first two or three days after I get back because I’ll almost certainly make the wrong decision.’
Rick and Sas have a house rule that they never try to go for more than four weeks without being together. ‘I’m really looking forward to four years from now when her children will have left school and she’ll come to live in London.’
On paper, everything was stacked against the relationship, he says. ‘But she’s a very positive person. She always says that, when you think about everything we’ve been through, it’s just so encouraging that we’re still together. I feel the same way.
‘It’s testimony to how well we get on that, despite all the separations, we still adore being in each other’s company. There’s the phone and Skype, of course, but the time difference makes it pretty difficult. If it’s my morning, it’s her evening and you don’t feel the same at the beginning of the day as you do at the end.’
And 10 years from now? What would be the prefect scenario for the still-driven Rick Stein? ‘I think I’ll be living most of the time in London, although with some sort of input into the business. My middle son, Jack, is currently Head of Development and I’m assuming he’ll take over the running of the business.
‘People keep suggesting I should open a fish restaurant in London and I’m toying with the idea. But, as I’ve said, I’m not into Michelin-starred dishes; that’s not my style.’ A pause. ‘Even so, I think there are enough people in London who would share my approach to food.’
You read it here first.
Under A Mackerel Sky, by Rick Stein, is published by Ebury Press, priced £20.