"Gordon Ramsay Learnt Everything from My Albert"
My Accidental Lunch With Chef Albert Roux's Partner On Living With PTSD
AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION IN AMSTERDAM WITH MY FRIEND FAY HEAP ABOUT HER JOURNEY THROUGH THE CULINARY WORLD, HER MANY LIVES AND HER LOVE STORY WITH ONE OF THE GREATEST RESTAURANTEURS AND CHEFS IN THE WORLD. HE HAD THE FIRST RESTAURANT IN THE UK TO GAIN THREE MICHELIN STARS.
Fay Heap: Sorry about that—I was trying to get the waiter’s attention.
Me: Don’t worry at all. I actually appreciate how thorough and pedantic you are. I am too.
Fay Heap: Pedantic… That’s a very intriguing word.
Me: Hahaha. I’d like to think I choose my words very carefully.
Fay Heap: Well, that’s rather important these days.
Me: It certainly is.
Fay Heap: Would you like to take a seat?
Me: Absolutely.
Fay Heap: So, you’re based in Amsterdam? Or are you escaping London momentarily, as I am?
Me: Yes, based in Amsterdam, actually. Born in London. Joseph, by the way.
Fay Heap: And how do you spend your days…?
[MY NAME WAS EVIDENTLY INCONSEQUENTIAL TO OUR DISCUSSION]
Me: [I PAUSE WITH CONSIDERATION] Well, I’ve been invited to over 3,000 dinners, and I fill my nights attending them—and my days recovering from them.
Fay Heap: [VISIBLY STARTLED] What exactly does that mean?
Me: Well, it’s a bit of a downer. But I’m embarking on the complex and self-loathing path of pursuing medically assisted death.
Fay Heap: [BLINKS IN ANIMATED BEMUSEMENT] For yourself?
Me: [NODDING] I’m afraid so. I was diagnosed with BD at 16, and it’s been a journey.
Fay Heap: BD?
Me: Yes, bip—
Fay Heap: Oh—bipolar disorder!
Me: Yes… that’s the one.
Fay Heap: Oh my. I’m literally writing partly about the insanity of living with PTSD. The sweet torture of what it has become.
Me: Oh, so these are some of your notes? [POINTING TO PAPERS SCATTERED ON HER DINING TABLE]
Fay Heap: Yes, and I was curious about what you mentioned because I come from a family of restaurateurs—and my ex-partner owned a few.
Me: Your ex? [MY MOUTH BETRAYS MY MIND]
Fay Heap: Former partner. He’s passed away. He was actually quite a brilliant man. But there was also a madness deep within him. I’m Fay, by the way.
Me: That’s a charming name. [I PAUSE] Ummm, you said… madness?
Fay Heap: Yes. Well, that’s partly what I’m writing about—how madness can be, at times, a beautiful thing… and how it affects us all in the end.
Me: You know, that reminds me of one of my favourite quotes ever written…
Fay Heap: And what quote would that be? [SHE GIVES A DEVIOUS SMIRK]
Me: It’s by Rainer Maria Rilke. He says, “Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.”
Fay Heap: That’s remarkable.
Me: Isn’t it? But we digress—you were about to enlighten me on madness.
Fay Heap: Yes. I’ve lived with diagnosed PTSD for as long as I can remember. And while it’s not information I usually volunteer to handsome young men I’ve just met… you seem to have— [SHE PAUSES]
Me: Yes? [I GIVE AN EAGER LABRADOR NOD]
Fay Heap: Well… there’s just something about you that puts me at ease. Your openness. But also, an intensity behind your eyes. Albert had that...
Me: Albert?
Fay Heap: Yes. Chef Albert Roux. My forme—
Me: Former partner. Of course.
Fay Heap: Have you heard of him? His restaurant Le Gavroche in Mayfair closed just last year after a 65-year run. It was so special. [HER EYES WIDEN]
Me: Gosh!!! I don’t think I’ve done anything for that long.
Fay Heap: [SCOFFS WHIMSICALLY] You’ve got plenty of time. But definitely look him up.
Me: I absolutely will.
Fay Heap: He had such great presence. And I loved him profoundly. I mean, he trained the likes of Gordon Ramsay, for heaven’s sake! [SHE WHISPERS THE LAST SENTENCE]
Me: Jesus! I clearly have some reading to catch up on.
Fay Heap: Well, in between all your thousands of pre-scheduled dinners, I hope you have the time.
Me: I hope so too. [OFFERING A DEFEATIST EXPRESSION]
Fay Heap: [HER HAND EMBRACES MINE ON THE TABLE] I understand that we all have our demons to fight. And my own part with post-traumatic stress—through love and great loss—has not been without its hardship. And that’s why I write… to find myself and my voice.
Me: [A SOLEMN SMILE FINDS MY FACE, SAVOURING HER WORDS]
Fay Heap: But what a joy it is to be here now. And what an adventure, to have all these strangers open their doors to you.
Me: Oh, bless. I’m so glad we crossed paths. Do you mind if we take an obligatory selfie before I head off?
Fay Heap: Oh yes, and please, please send it to me once you get the chance. Oh—you’re so sweet.
[WE PROCEED TO TAKE THE MOST ADORKABLE PICTURE TOGETHER]
Me: Please enjoy the rest of your time in Amsterdam. [EMBRACING HER LIKE AN OLD FRIEND]
Fay Heap: Go well, and I’ll definitely let you know when I’m back around. Take care.
