Pushing up the sleeves of her grey cashmere sweater, Tamara Ecclestone glances a little nervously at the formidable lady in chef’s whites looming over her shoulder in the kitchen of her sumptuous mansion in London’s Kensington.
“Right, what you’re going to do now is whisk it,” booms a familiar voice. “That’s right, whisk… No, no, what are you doing? I said whisk! Here, let me show you.”
Seizing the fork, TV chef Rosemary Shrager gives a quick demonstration before thrusting the utensil back into her pupil’s manicured hand.
“Now come on, Tamara,” urges Rosemary, in the delicious plummy, chummy, jolly hockey sticks tones that have made her such a popular figure on our screens. “You’re doing all the work today! Good, good, now you’ve got it.”
She beams encouragingly, as…