Chef Gordon Ramsay enjoys sporting pursuits with his young family – in between stints in the kitchens at Claridge’s.
Saturday morning is “special time” for me and my son Jack, while Tana takes our girls – Megan, Holly and Tilly – to gymnastics. There’s an amazing football set-up on Wandsworth Common called Fit for Kids. Jack’s been going since he was four and now they’ve evolved into the Wandsworth Wanderers. It’s amazing how competitive the team are e_SEmD they haven’t lost a league match yet.
Jack fines me £5 for a non-appearance. I like that initiative in an eight-year-old. So I’ve failed to turn up only twice this year. He once missed a sitter and I shouted: “Jack, you should have gone to Specsavers.” He ran over and said: “All the best players miss sometimes, Daddy.” All the parents looked at me. It didn’t go down too well.
Supporting is fantastic fun, even if it’s pouring with rain and blowing a gale. Back home, I’ll whip up pasta for lunch e_SEmD rigatoni with tuna and grainy mustard, with some crusty sourdough bread.
On Saturday afternoon, Jack will want to watch whatever rugby match is going on up on Wandsworth Common. We’ll take Rumpole, our 10-week-old English bulldog, and, for a treat, we’ll all go to an amazing little shop on St John’s Hill which has big jars of retro sweets – sherbet bonbons, pear drops, rhubarb and custards. The children are allowed to spend £2.50 each. They are given pocket money according to their age: Megan receives £10 per week, the twins £8 and Tilly £7. I’ve told them that’s the policy until their 21st birthdays.
From 6.30 to 9pm, I go into Claridge’s to kick off service. Chefs work hours people might call unsocial. Christmas is always a busman’s holiday, but an exciting one. For the past seven years, I haven’t missed a Christmas Day at Claridge’s. The family comes in with me for brunch and then Tana takes them back. From 12 to 3, I’ll do lunch at Claridge’s. Then I’ll get home, with my chef’s jacket on, to finish cooking a late lunch there. It’s mad, mad, mad.
After my Saturday night Claridge’s stint, Tana and I will sit down to supper at 10pm. Tana might cook a lovely fillet of beef steak from Randalls, our local butcher, and make a big salad of lardons, artichokes, anchovies and
mi-cuit tomatoes. Beautiful.
I never go to bed early. Ever since I started to play football, I’ve never gone to bed on Saturday night without watching Match of the Day. That’s crucial. I want Alan Hansen to smile a bit more and get a couple of ounces from the sense of humour shop, but I think Alan Shearer is fantastic because he doesn’t agree with anyone.
Sunday is a big day for me. From 7am to 10, I go to Richmond Park to recharge for the week ahead. It’s a 7.9-mile run around the outside. The first time round, I unwash the week. It’s all filtered through and gone. The second time round, I get ahead of myself for the following week. When I’m on top of my game, I go for it again and pretend I’m training for a marathon. I listen to Magic and Capital FM. When the love songs come on, I flip the channel to keep the rhythm upbeat.
Tana will have a roast chicken or lamb going when I come home. Every Sunday morning the kids do Kumon maths. Tilly, bless, is always falling behind. She sneaks upstairs while I’m in the bathroom trying to get ready and gives me half her papers. I write them with my opposite hand and sneak back downstairs and she calls out, “Mum, I’ve finished.” Mum doesn’t know. I’ve been doing Tilly’s Kumon for the past six months.
We eat Sunday lunch early because the kids swim in the afternoon. They’re all in Wandsworth Swimming Club teams. Tilly’s just seven but she dives off the block and tumble-turns. Next, we might go out to dinner at Pizza Express in Wandsworth High Street. It’s opposite the Ducati shop, that’s why I like it. In between ordering and eating, I’ll nip out to admire the bikes.
We’d arrive home in time for Top Gear. Our Sunday night staple is what we call bits and bobs e_SEmD the leftover roast,
hams, coleslaw, salads, warm bread, mugs of soup. It goes on the table and we all pick at it. It clears out the fridge and it’s a lovely way to round off the weekend. Tana and I might start with two gin and tonics, then a bottle of Cloudy Bay.
After Top Gear, I catch up on television I’ve missed, such as the compelling Channel 4 documentary, Mum, Heroin and Me – which was important for me in terms of my family history [Ramsay’s brother, Ronald, was jailed last year in Indonesia for possession of heroin]. By 11.45pm, I’m often out in the back garden with Rumpole, waiting for him to do his number ones and twos.
We have two full-size Wembley goals in our garden. They are floodlit, so when David Beckham is around, we can go out and truly bend it like Beckham after dinner. If Rumpole still hasn’t done his number two, I’ll floodlight the pitch, put the dog in the middle of the goal and swerve balls past him. The neighbours must think I’ve gone off my rocker.
