THIS past week included extensive coverage of the RHS Chelsea Flower Show (BBC1 and 2, 19-25 May). Ably hosted in the evenings by Monty Don and Rachel de Thame, and in the afternoons by Nicky Chapman and Angelica Bell, this is the kind of thing that the BBC still does rather well. Support was provided by the Gardeners’ World familiar faces Carol Klein and Arit Anderson, offering a knowledgeable and passionate backbone to the coverage, as did the effervescent Adam Frost, who is surely the favoured successor to take over the wilting laurels of Don’s crown.
The highlight was, of course, the judging of the show gardens, all competing to win the coveted Garden of the Year award. They are judged according to nine criteria — a phrase that is troubling for anyone who has been judged for suitability for ordained ministry in the Church of England, also according to nine criteria. The standards required are fairly similar: the gardens are assessed on their health, quality, sustainability, and general display. Ministerial candidates? The same, pretty much.
The winner was the “Japanese Tea Garden” by Kazuyuki Ishihara, who was partly inspired by the 1945 atomic bombing of his home town, Nagasaki. “Everything was destroyed,” he said. “My garden shows that nature can always come back like this in a beautiful way.”
Hope was the determined strand that ran through so many of the displays, conversations, and themes on offer at Chelsea. The renowned jazz singer Gregory Porter, a keen gardener, told Don how he loved to “get into the soil” because it reminded him of who we are and where we come from.
Chelsea is about so much more than gardens: it is about the search for solace, meaning, and beauty in an increasingly fraught and busy world.
Tucci in Italy (Disney+, Monday of last week) is yet another series in which the American actor Stanley Tucci (he’s Italian on both sides, you know) visits extraordinarily beautiful places in Italy while eating everything that he sees, accompanied by lip-smacking and exclamations of ecstasy.
I am completely on board with this format, because Tucci is living my dream, and yet, when he arrived in Tuscany and proceeded to gorge on the Florentine speciality lampredotto (a sandwich filled with the fourth stomach of a cow), I became far less enthusiastic. Next up was tongue, followed by rabbit stuffed with lardo, which is — yes, you guessed it — lard.
The second episode took him to Lombardy, where I was hoping that he would consume more pasta and far less offal. This included a visit to the ominously named Trippa, in Milan, where, unfortunately, the clue was in the name. Squeamishly unpleasant viewing, despite the elegance of Tucci’s chinos.
