Jamie's the man

Over the past five episodes spread over six weeks - and I doubt Channel 4 will make the mistake of postponing this celebrity for Celebrity Big Brother again - Jamie's Kitchen (C4) has achieved the status of a thoroughly modern utopia. While society seems to disintegrate around us in the most alarming fashion, Jamie Oliver is conducting a social experiment with unparalleled levels of success.

Consider his achievement for a moment: 15 unemployed school leavers to be turned into an elite kitchen brigade capable of satisfying the most fastidious palates. Some of that original intake had attitude problems which would have taxed the expertise of a gaggle of psychologists. One of them didn't even like fish. Another had no discernible taste buds. Oliver has managed to turn the 13 survivors into a team capable of bringing high marks from Sir Terence Conran. Even Fay Maschler was rumoured to be impressed.

The events which led up to the opening of the new restaurant were masterfully organised into a suspense story. It was a battle against time and mounting bills, waged by a cast of characters who often seemed ill-equipped for the fray. In the absence of any true villains, the builders were co-opted into that role, as Oliver marched round his incomplete premises pointing out examples of chronic workmanship and employing a fruitiness of vocabulary hitherto unguessed at. There were plenty of words, for example, which sounded a bit like his trademark "pukka" but were most assuredly not.

The central drama concerned the relationship between Jamie and his charges. By rights, this should have been a disaster, the ambitious and driven professional quickly driven to distraction by outbreaks of giggles at the back of the class. It did not work out like this, and the reason for that could be clearly be seen in Oliver's eventual failure to coax the recalcitrant Dwayne back into his fold.

The former obviously cared about the latter, thought he showed real promise, and was throwing away a real chance of achieving something in his life. When Dwayne flunked the three-and-out rule, then could not even be bothered to turn up for the sack, Oliver was obviously saddened.

The rest of the young team responded well to his encouragement. When cakes would not budge from tins, bread was baked to a crisp, and careless spillages occurred, he would deliver some stinging rebuke before returning to his normally upbeat manner.

For those who have no knowledge of restaurant kitchens, such as myself, it must have come as a shock to catch sight of a flash of fear in some of the young faces caught in an unguarded moment.

A crucial slip in these kitchens means more than reaching for another tin of baked beans. The technical term is pressure.

Towards the end of the programme, the pressure intensified to unbearable levels. In order to make sure his proteges were up to scratch, Oliver set a series of daunting tasks, including cooking supper for 300 in a tent in the middle of a field in October. Meanwhile, the flue in his own restaurant was still not connected, rendering the place inoperable.

"This problem is bigger than King Kong's scrotum," he announced with exasperation. Water poured in through the roof, which suggested that comparisons of the size of the problem could be extended to King Kong's entire tackle.