Picky by Jimi Famurewa: One critic's journey from mash and McDonalds to Michelin Stars

There are few more formative memories in life than the school dinner you hated. Congealed custard, brown broccoli that rather than resembling a green tree looks closer to a wizened bramble bush, and chicken so dry that the Sahara would seem an oasis.

For journalist and food critic Jimi Famurewa, his primary school nemesis was smash... otherwise known as mashed potato.

Cold with a ‘gloopy mouthfeel’, young Famurewa felt strongly that it belonged anywhere but on his plate – preferably in the bin.

However, when faced by the dinner lady guarding said bin, Famurewa did what any young child faced with adversity would: wadded the starchy mixture up, shoved it in his pocket and delivered his empty tray to the expectant dinner lady.

This is one of the early instances where Famurewa’s ‘pickiness’ shines through. Charming and instantly likeable, he has the uncanny and rare ability to reflect and reminisce without the rose-tinted (and grating) impression so many memoirs have.

Growing up in a traditional Nigerian household in south-east London, with a father still in Nigeria, a mother who worked full-time and two brothers, Famurewa learned pretty quickly how to make it on his own. The ingenuity seen in pocketed-potato gate was not a one-time occurrence.

During a particularly influential Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle faze, Famurewa became obsessed with their favourite food, pizza.

Knowing the tomato and mozzerella holy grail awaited his tastebuds in the freezer, but not knowing how to use the oven, he decided to get the family’s toaster involved. The result? Billowing smoke, half blackened, half frozen dough and a surprisingly understanding mother.

What stands out in this engaging memoir that spans toddlerdom to adulthood, huge Nigerian family gatherings to bustling Soho streets, is Famurewa’s refreshing honesty about his Nigerian heritage. In his picky early years he had little interest in Nigerian cooking beyond the tried-and-true favourites he had enjoyed in Lagos.

Instead, McDonalds, KFC and TGI Fridays were the foods he craved.

Having grown up in a household that viewed ‘independent’ restaurants with a decree of caution and the suspicion that they might be scams, the irony of his future career as a food critic is not lost on Famurewa.

Yet his love of food shines through in this book. There is a palpable hunger (pardon the pun) within the pages that expresses a love of any cuisine. Whether it is the jealousy felt towards a coworker’s ‘ghee-simmered onions’ or the fact that on a date with his now wife, he made fish and chips from scratch… a far cry from toasted pizza, a real love for food had always been within him.

Poignantly, towards the end of his book, Famurewa realises there is a wealth of knowledge to be gleaned from watching his powerhouse of a mother in the kitchen. Knowledge that can be combined, not separated as in youth, with the path his own appetites have taken, ‘I am the cultural inheritance that I have been given but I am also what I have given myself.’

Life and food are about finding balance: don’t force something that doesn’t fit and don’t be afraid of the pickiness that helps you discover what is right for you.