The Quiet Deep deep down, in the deep deep Forest, There was a great big Tree, In the colour of Orange. The Sun shone down, and warmed the land, The Tree stood still, Never making a sound. Twelve hours passed, And the Moon beamed around, The Tree looked up, And then back down. The Cloud rolled over, And sprinkled it's water, The Tree stood still, Never making a flutter. A little while later, The Wind grew loud, The Tree glanced across, But held his ground. The squirrels came around, And scavenged for food, The light grew bright, And shined real strong, Morning had come, And ended the storm. All was calm in the deep deep Forest. All was quiet, and the Tree turned blue.

Cooking Minestrone with Gino D'Acampo "Minestrone? Minestrone! Yes, I shall make Minestrone. But where do I begin?" I ponder. I've never made Minestrone before, but I want it to be the best. I look above toward the heavens and say a silent prayer without trying to sound too desperate. I place a bulb of garlic in front of me. "Soup always has garlic," I mutter. As I reach for the Garlic Zoom, a vicious, and strangely hairy, hand slaps mine away from it. "No! No. No. No. No. No. You are not deserving of garlic if you must use a contraption to mince it," a shrill accented voice says exasperatedly, "Pick up tha knife!" "You're Gino....Gino D'Acampo....off the telly...." I say with slight enthusiasm. "And you're Michael, not off the telly! Now lets get cooking!" the Italian chef says. "Touché..." "Now, grabba that onion and start chopping," Gino says, pointing his knife at the largest onion in the basket. I pick up the onion and begin my journey into a new and exciting dish, explained to me by an actual Italian. "Why is your hand make a shake?" he says. "Just haven't taken my medication this evening." "Well take it. Take it quickly! Cutting an onion with a shaky hand is like a bumblebee driving a tractor." "That doesn't make sense." "Precisely," he replies with a knowing smile, "Precisely...." Two minutes later I return with a steady hand and a sharp blade. I fry the onion and then add the meticulously hand minced garlic to the pot. After a couple of minutes, I throw in the tomatoes. As they cook, I remember no soup is complete without carrot. Luckily I always have them to hand. "You are holding that wrong!" "Huh?" "Huh.....HUH!? The carrot. You are holding the carrot wrong." "How do you hold a carrot right, Gino?" "You must hold it like it is a beautiful woman....or....a handsome man, if you will. You take ahold of it with your dominant hand and you promise it you will do something beautiful and magical with it. And always. Always," he whispers, "Always keep this promise." "....." "Don't look atta me. Look at a your ingredient!" I chop the carrot, trying not to think of what Gino may be implying. I add it to the pan along with my vegetable stock, celery salt, tomato purée and bay leaf. As per his instructions, I throw in a bit of macaroni and some frozen spinach to kick it up a notch. This is going better than expected. The kitchen is clean, the smell of herbs and onion is filling the kitchen and the soup is starting to come together nicely. "You must fuck us...." Gino says, maintaining full eye contact and gesticulating with his hands. "Wwwhat?! Really?" I say, with a twinge of excitement. "Yes, you must focus on what you are a doing. You need to add salt and marjoram...what is wrong with you? WHERE is your dedication? WHERE is your passion?" I take some fresh Rosemary and put it in the soup. "That was purely for brownie points," I admit. "You have more chance of teaching that plant how to whistle," Gino replies, raising his head towards my Peace Lilly. I ignore his unfavourable reply and await with a dramatic silence until my soup is just bubbling away. A sprinkle of lemon peel and black pepper and we're done. Gino flashes his teeth to me as he reaches for the spoon. He dips it in the pot, and raises it to his mouth. He doesn't blow. He just tastes. His poker face doesn't give away any clues as he savours the flavour explosion entering his system. "PERFECTO!" the overenthusiastic Italian in my kitchen beams as he kisses his pinched fingers. "Perfecto," I reply, matter of factly, knowing this expedition could have ended no other way. Based on an untrue story.