Goodbye Nigella, hello George

Nigella Lawson may be the celebrity chef of the moment, but her time at the top could soon be over. In the world of 'gastrotainment', the next big thing is the celebrity chef - but this is the celebrity who cooks, or, at least, tries to.

It is one of those ideas so obvious that it's amazing nobody thought of it before. Who needs Marco Pierre White, 'the Jagger of the Aga', when you could, perhaps, get the real Jagger knocking up a little pi?d de cochon farci aux morilles, or, failing that, beans on toast?

The catalyst for this development is Boy George. George is a 24-carat London celebrity. He has triumphed over tragedy. He has stared fame and misfortune in the face. He has tested more drugs than Glaxo Smith Kline. He accepts his lot with a wry humour and some of the most atrocious millinery since Tinky Winky. He loves his mum. We love him. And now, with his friend Dragana G Brown, he has published Karma Cookbook.

If I were Jamie Oliver or Ainsley Harriott, I would be worried. Jamie 'Pukka' Oliver and Ainsley 'Chirpy Chappy' Harriott have made a very decent living out of the celebrity-chef game, but they are only cooks who have become showmen and celebrities. George is a showman and a celebrity who has become a cook and, as such, will ideally suit the postmodern, cross-cultural bouillabaisse that is 21st-century food broadcasting.

It was the sainted Nigella who showed the world that you do not need to be a chef to create a television show, publishing franchise, kitchenware range and celebrity persona based notionally on food. Nigella used to be a journalist. Now she is the new, considerably more intelligent, Princess Di. Routinely billed as one of the world's most glamorous women, she is coping with tragedy and can probably heal the sick, too. The fact that some churlish judge on Masterchef and editor of Good Food Magazine, Orlando Murrin, tried her recipes, and then went public with his criticism (shortly before the Glenfiddich food journalism awards in which she was shortlisted), only reflects poorly on Mr Murrin.

If you want to learn how to cook, study Mrs Beeton and Escoffier, enrol at catering school, and take a lengthy apprenticeship in a Michelin-starred kitchen. However, if it's to entertain you want, turn on prime-time telly, leaf through the lavishly illustrated glossy book, and buy the Nigellaware.

The benefit of being a personality, instead of a cook, is that celebrities come with an oven-ready agenda; there's no need to produce gimmicky personality traits: the scooter, the tousled hair, the foul mouth, the pantomimic gestures. Who better to front up The Cockney Cookbook than luvverley Martine McCutcheon? Then again, it could be jellied eels at dawn as the nation's favourite cockney sparrer, Babs Windsor, might see herself as the first lady of pie and mash. I am sure that Davina McCall is already working on a selection of recipes from the Big Brother kitchen. Now that she's left early morning television, Donna Air should have time to put together the definitive Big Book of Breakfasts. Dahl's Dhal would be the unmissable lentil cookbook from supermodel Sophie. And for those who prefer not to eat, Geri Halliwell could share recipes for her favourite vitamin jabs - in a slim volume, of course.

We cherish our celebrities. We think of them as friends. Thanks to the increasingly tabloid and confessional nature of society, we know more about them than ever before. We have learned how to get their look on our budgets; we have truffled out their bedroom secrets; we have followed them through their drugs shame.

Given such a level of intimacy, it is only natural that we should now want to cook their favourite cous cous with tofu and vegetables, or learn how to create a creamy carrot soup, which, according to Boy George, is 'more filling than an ordinary carrot soup, thanks to the addition of the oats or rice. It is also very soothing.'

And next year - as I hope will happen - when George picks up his Glenfiddich Award, if those uncharitable gastrobores carp that the Culture Clubber did not come up with the recipes himself, I suggest they flick through their vintage vinyl. They will find that a pop record is a collaborative effort: songwriters, producers, backing vocalists and engineers. Why should a cookbook be different? Besides, George has chosen well: his collaboratrice is the macrobiotic evangelist Dragana G Brown. About five years ago, I ate a macrobiotic banquet prepared by Drags - as she is known to her showbiz pals - and if the recipes in this book are half as good, then Karma Cookbook will prove a worthy relaunch vehicle for the endearingly enduring Boy George.

Karma Cookbook by Boy George and Dragana G Brown (Carroll & Brown, £12.99) is published on 14 June.