I’d like to introduce my six-year-old son to Curtis Stone.
I think they’d get on.
They could shoot the breeze about what surfers they liked and my son could be all star struck asking him about Manu.
They could talk about superheros and Pokemon and maybe Curtis Stone could cook him a meal (because after all he is an internationally renowned chef) of say fish pie or duck duck goose ravioli and my son could sit there with him and stare at the food blankly, boots-in-the-ground, stubborn-as-can-be refusing to eat it because it wasn’t one of his six foods he eats.
