The inevitable question now is, When do Americans get a bigger piece of him? Until last year, the Food Network couldn’t fill the insatiable maw of cable programming with the measly eight shows that constitute a British series. They needed 26 episodes, so Oliver formed his own production company to churn out a studio version of his show. Oliver’s Twist recycled the worst clichés of his English series—the wobbly camera, rapid shots, and abrasive music—the result of which verges on self-parody. But even this hasn’t dampened his stateside appeal. E-mails come in from hundreds of viewers each week. One woman arrived home to find her husband naked at the stove, a copy of The Naked Chef in hand. “We had sex on the kitchen floor,” she wrote to Oliver. “You changed my life!”
“He could be much more huge here,” says Eileen Opatut, the Food Network’s senior vice president for programming and production. “But I think he sees America as this monster that wants to jump on him, brand him, license him, promote him. I’m not sure anyone’s ever explained it to him.”
Oliver says he’s neither that stupid nor that strategic. America’s a big country. He’d have to spend months flying across four time zones (he hates airplanes), pounding the green rooms of Leno and Letterman to stump to his public. And right now it’s a question of time. He’s got money, a family, a $2 million apartment in tony Hampstead, and plans to replicate his restaurant, which is not just a commercial and political success, but a deeply personal one as well. Besides, he’s already seen thousands of believers rise to their feet, shrieking over a plate of homemade pasta. For someone who’s passionate about food, what greater pleasure could there be?
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