Miles Collins

It’s the taking part that counts, apparently…

I’ve decided to break this down into two (or more) seperate posts in case you didn’t read the title. Back in the early to mid nineties I entered a number of national and international professional cookery competitions, most of which I was told to enter or had already been entered (never thought I would write that!) and told later. Thinking back on them all it would be impossible to fit it all into one post so I shall start from the beginning…

1994 was a good year, I had been back in England for a year and felt at home two hundred miles from home in Cumbria where the fishing, drinking and you know what was convivial to a young man’s lifestyle. I worked in a reputable kitchen (more of which later) known as much for the antics of the chefs as it was for the food or anything else.

My first foray into competetive cookery was in the North West of England Salon Culinaire 1994. There were thirteen categories, one was for special needs college students, the chef made twelve of us enter the others. We won eleven and came second in the other, you can imagine what happened to the poor sod who came second the next day! It was a real mauling, not only did we win eleven categories we also won first, second and third overall best. I won first prize and second overall for a plated three course meal whilst my sous chef (who still competes for the Welsh national team) wiped the floor with his display of cold starters which was so good one of the other entrants in that category gave up half way through!

We celebrated our landslide victory in the usual manner, copious amounts of beer followed by a crappy ‘nightclub’ and I say ‘nightclub’ in the most general sense of the word followed, inevitably by a fight. We thought that was it until next year, our chef had other ideas.

In the hotel’s eyes we were now the dog’s nuts, not quite enough to warrant a pay review of course but very proud nontheless, which meant a lot to hard up twentysomething chefs with a penchant for beer. The chef decided to showcase our talents on the national stage with the sous chef and myself as the ambassadors elect (’elect’ as per Robert Mugabe’s dictionary)

First up, as I recall was a low key affair in Manchester-his words, not mine. We arrived at the ’small venue’-his words etc. Manchester GMEX had played host the previous evening to one of the biggest bands in England at that time, ‘Take That’. For those of you from further afield it was considered big enough for U2 to finish their ‘Zoo’ world tour in. If you’re Bruce Springsteen then maybe it’s not such a big deal but when you’re a chef trying to cook something in front of a lot of people whilst being judged by one of the world’s greatest ever hotel chef’s, Anton Mossiman then big deal it is, believe me.

Any newly found sense of importance or talent was soon dissolved as we watched our fellow competitors dressed in matching suits with embroidered jackets saying ‘Team USA’, ‘National Cookery Team of Malta’ and so on unload equipment and serving plates and mirrors we thought only existed in Buckingham Palace. The sous chef and I looked at our pitiful collection of pots, pans and display trays that had played host to a thousand buffet lunches before looking at each other. We were on our own when everyone else had brought a travelling army of supporters, we were out of our depth, ill advised and embarrased, we forged a plan.

This would prove to be the catalyst of future salon culinaire’s for us. Arrive at venue, set up display as quickly as possible before the ‘competition’ arrived then head straight for nearest bar to get hammered whilst waiting for the forgon conclusion results.

Part two reveals how salon culinaire’s turned me into the bitter and twisted chef I am today….