I have a crush on Jamie Oliver. It's nothing new. I've been into his thick-necked, lisping drawled hands-on approach to fodder for about 15 years. Ever since he had his first show on the Food Network, I was hooked.

I almost met him once on Queen St. Toronto. He wandered out of Terronis mid-afternoon. We stood face to face. My heart leapt into my throat and I remained silent as he nonchalantly strolled past me into his limo. Charlie watched, waiting for me to say something. I didn't say a peep, but stood there transfixed with shock. His black stretch rolled away. F****K! Bummer. Perhaps I'll get the chance to share a beer and grilled sardine with him one day. Never say never.

His mega-brand expands exponentially each year. It's an empire (read: corporate machine) that has made fresh, bright, mouthwatering cuisine accessible to Brits. I can barely keep up with his projects, campaigns and children (he has 4?!)

We couldn't miss a visit to his 15 Cornwall in Watergate Bay. Charlie booked a table for brekkie, thinking that would be the ideal time to bring the kids. It was a magnificent experience not because of Jamie, but another lad into food. A young, strapping Chef Michael instantly fell for Alfie and Sophia. He gave them memories of pasta making they won't soon forget.

The restaurant is bright and full of young energy. We ordered coffees and immediately moved to the action.

Charlie and I ordered an English brekkie Jamie styles.

Chef Michael, originally trained as one of the 15 by Jamie, led the kids through his pasta making talents. He had several flavours going: squid ink, basil and beet.