CHEF IS SERIOUSLKY PISSED OFF © ∂enis ßourg Dialogue of the deaf with René, aka numb-nuts. Hee-haw, hee-haw. Monologue with a good-looking mega-fool. Me. Recipes-in-action 16 hours a day. Born and raised in a farmer's village 25km from Jeanne D’Arc's home, early '50s. In brief: The psychedelic'70s with its tight-nuts-flares, tacky haircuts, Marie-Jeanne, Disco craze, life in and out of those ******* diabolical kitchens. Become Head Chef at 171/8, mostly single-handedly, one assistant max, hair on my shoulders, in France, the Caribbean, the U.S.A, London. 1*Michelin standard. One month no-cooking in Venezuela, one month in Egypt. 20 manic years in fine dining French restaurants, batshit-crazy-busy, preparing-serving astronomical volumes of gastronomic food for voracious piggies. Oink-oink. Averaging 85 hours - 900 famished ones /a week. Fuming: going apeshit, chain smoker, some [loads of] swearing, funny, blunt, genuine, rebellious, still slim , losing appetite and my trousers, Beep-Beep fast. Le Chef's favourite dish? Gorgeous girls. Exotically erotic. I am colour-blind. Gluttonous. And painfully f****** shy. Ah merde ! Holy sh*t! There you go.