Michael Caine - The Elephant to Hollywood

Serve with hot crusty bread.

Another family favourite of ours is baked potatoes in their skins. It’s easy to do, nutritious and if you follow this recipe from my daughter Natasha, they are delicious. Use one large or two smaller potatoes per person.

Wash the potatoes and then dry them thoroughly. Prick all over with a fork and smear them with olive oil and sea salt. Place them in the microwave for ten minutes. Place them in a pre-heated oven (220 degrees C, or gas mark 7) for an hour.

Michael Winner has always been very complimentary about my roast potatoes – and, as everyone knows, he has exacting standards in the culinary department. You can use one of two types of potatoes: if you want the typical English roast potato, go for Maris Piper. If you want something a bit more delicate and classy, although it’s slightly more tricky, use Mayan Gold. Either way, you soak a bunch of rosemary and a couple of cloves of garlic in a baking tin of olive oil. While you are doing that, boil the potatoes – ten minutes for the Maris Pipers, but only five minutes for the Mayan Golds, or you will have mash. Strain and allow to dry. Dry the saucepan thoroughly and then tip the potatoes back in, and give them a violent shake so that the surface is broken up and they have a fluffy appearance. Take the rosemary and garlic out of the oil and replace with the potatoes, making sure they are well coated. The oil is cold, not pre-heated, and although I can hear chefs screaming, if you do it this way, the oil will sink in. Finally, sprinkle the whole lot with celery salt and place in a pre-heated oven at 180 degrees C, gas mark 4, for one and a half hours for the Maris Pipers and one hour for the Mayan Golds. If you do this, you will have the most amazing treat to go with your roast Sunday lunch…

For Saturday lunch, we often eat bruschetta , along with melanzane parmigiana . Shakira cooks the melanzane – she loves aubergine and I have a whole greenhouse full of it. Shakira is a great Italian cook and learnt it all from a lady from Bologna who used to cook for us, but had to retire because of arthritic hands. I’m in charge of the bruschetta – and here’s my favourite recipe, which I got from a restaurant in New York.

Chop a bowl of cherry tomatoes into small pieces and sprinkle with black pepper, salt and celery salt. Mix in a couple of tablespoons of olive oil and then a large sprig of chopped basil.

Toast slices of slightly stale ciabatta bread. Rub with garlic and drizzle with olive oil. Pile the tomatoes on top and enjoy yourself!

And while we’re about it, here are some general tips I’ve picked up along the way:

All meat must be room temperature before cooking except hamburger, which holds better if it is slightly cold.

If you want a quick roast chicken, boil it for half an hour first.

For the best toast, run the toaster empty first and then do it again with your bread. (Not very ecologically sound, I know, but it really works.)

If you want very hot English mustard, mix Colman’s mustard powder with milk instead of water.

Before you roast a leg of lamb, rub it with a mixture of olive oil and mint, rosemary and garlic all chopped up together with salt and pepper, and then cover with grated Parmesan cheese.

Sardines, beetroots and tomatoes are all supposed to have anti-ageing properties. I’ve been eating them all my life and I’m still going…

If you want a soft-boiled egg and you boil it ten seconds over two minutes it will be as hard as a rock. (And I’ve always found that if you want a hard-boiled egg, you can often boil it for ten minutes and it will still remain mysteriously soft…)

And my personal favourite – they say that one glass of red wine a day is good for you, so I always drink two on the principle that it must be twice as good for me.

So now I’m in the fortunate and luxurious position of only working when I want to. I don’t like having to get up early in the morning or spending a long time learning lines, so these days I only work with offers that I really can’t refuse. It’s very different from the way I used to be. From the age of twenty to the age of twenty-nine, I was obsessed with becoming an actor – and when I finally got to Hollywood, I could never quite believe that I had made it and so I kept on working for fear it would all disappear on me.

These days, I don’t think like that at all. I don’t see myself as a Hollywood movie star – in fact I don’t see myself as anything in particular. I’m aware that I have this image in the media and I have to confess that I quite like it, but of course I’m not allowed to take myself too seriously. I once tried it on Shakira. ‘I’m an icon,’ I said. ‘It says so in the paper.’ ‘You may be an icon,’ she said, ‘but you’d better take the rubbish out!’

Of course we still go back to Hollywood – it’s an incredibly important part of our lives and many of our friends still live there. But the links are loosening. I had thought it was all over in 1992, but it turned out that it wasn’t. Now, I think it probably is.

The first hint of this came during a visit to LA last year when we went to a restaurant on Little Santa Monica called Dolce Vita. It was Frank Sinatra’s favourite restaurant and as we walked in, I remembered the night long ago when he had first brought us there. As Shakira and I walked to our table, which was right across the room, the faces of friends of ours kept appearing out of the darkness to say hello. When we finally reached the table and sat down, I asked Shakira, ‘Did you notice anything special about the people who have just greeted us?’ ‘Well,’ she said, a bit puzzled, ‘they are all friends of ours…’ ‘I know that,’ I said, ‘but they were all women, and they are all widows.’ I could see at once that she understood: Barbara Sinatra, the widow of Frank, Veronique Peck, the widow of Gregory and Barbara Davis, the widow of our billionaire friend, Marvin.

This time, as soon as we arrived, Shakira and I went for a drive through Beverly Hills, for old time’s sake. As we drove around we pointed out to each other the houses of people we had known: Danny Kaye, Jimmy Stewart, Edward G. Robinson, Fred Astaire among others. When we finally got back to the hotel, I had another question for her. ‘Did you notice anything about those houses we were looking at today?’ I asked. This time Shakira had the answer straight away. ‘Yes,’ she said sadly. ‘The people we knew who lived in them are all dead.’ Some sort of message was beginning to sink in for us.

The following day, while Shakira had lunch with girlfriends, I had lunch with my Hollywood press agent Jerry Pam at The Grill just off Rodeo Drive, one of my favourite haunts for over forty years. As we sat down, Jerry gave me the news I had been half expecting for some time: he was retiring and leaving Hollywood for good. He is a sprightly eighty-three, so this wasn’t exactly a shock, but given our experiences of the last few days, it was another sign that it was probably time finally to say goodbye to the place I loved so much. After lunch, Jerry and I got to the corner of Rodeo Drive, shook hands, said goodbye – and as I watched him disappear into the groups of Japanese tourists on his way to find his car, I knew it was over.

I didn’t hesitate. I went straight into Ermenegildo Zegna and bought myself a shirt. I always do that when I’m a bit depressed. Carrier bag in hand, I wandered back up Rodeo Drive as the memories flooded back. The history of my Hollywood was all around me. I passed the Daisy on my right, once the best discotheque in Beverly Hills, now a clothes shop. The jewellers’ on the corner had once been the home of Barbra Streisand’s hairdresser, Jon Peters, who became the boss of Columbia Pictures. On my left was the site of the Luau, the place to see and be seen by everyone who was anyone in Hollywood. It is now a shopping mall…