I’ll tell you what, I’ve cooked for quite a few big shots in my time, but it doesn’t get any bigger than catering for 600 guests at David and Victoria Beckham’s World Cup send-off party, held in a marquee on the lawn of “Beckingham Palace” in Hertfordshire. Not only were most of the England squad there, but loads of other stars too – Joan Collins, Ray Winstone, Freddie Flintoff, Christian Slater, P. Diddy… Even, bizarrely, the Duchess of York and David Cameron. If I poisoned that lot, I was on the verge of becoming the most famous chef on the planet. Good job there was no lasagne on the menu.

There was a lot of bollocks in the papers about how Victoria and I had fallen out because she wanted tapas and I insisted on a British line-up. Absolute rot. She and David were involved from the start in choosing the menu, and David came to the chef’s table at Maze to try it beforehand. That’s how we settled on a chilled tomato consommé, seared tuna, poached chicken with thyme velouté, and peanut-butter parfait. He said he loved it all, asked for a doggy bag of extra Turkish delight, and that was that.

It was an incredible set-up. There were 52 tables set up in the split-level dining area, a drinks reception in a marquee done up like a Spanish courtyard and a catering tent the length of a football pitch, where a team of nearly 40 chefs and 100 waiting staff were gearing up for the big event. Six of my most trusted lieutenants had arrived earlier to oversee everything, and make any refinements necessary.

The struggle with a large event like this is keeping the cooking to restaurant rather than banqueting standards. You are fighting against over-reduced sauces, too much gelatine in the mousses – which you often get when doing things in bulk. So I divided the kitchen into four parts, each serving about 140 guests, which is on a par with the covers they do at Claridge’s each night. One section was charged with doing “special”, which included 20 vegetarians, one no-garlic, two no-wheat and two no-nutters. Given the crowd, I reckon we got away pretty lightly.

I hadn’t really planned the meal with the footballers’ needs in mind, but in terms of protein, it was well balanced. And I thought the Label Anglais chicken would hit the right note. I couldn’t think of anything better to give our boys than a nice Essex bird before they start playing. It was poached in a bag and served with braised baby gem lettuce, broad beans, peas and baby courgettes in a thyme velouté, with chopped truffle on top for glamour.

The peanut-butter parfait with poached cherries is a favourite on Jason Atherton’s menu at Maze. Jason calls it a sandwich, but for the party I upgraded it to a parfait. It was the perfect dessert; a lot of people don’t like fancy food, so they could have their chicken dinner followed by peanut-butter mousse.

I was on David and Victoria’s table, next to Ronaldo and opposite Elle Macpherson – every man’s fantasy. Also on the table was Roberto Cavalli, who had designed Tana’s stunning dress. I wanted a bloody word with him about how much it had cost. And there was P. Diddy too. I’d met him earlier at Richard James, the tailors. Good job I was in front of him in the queue, because he was in there buying five of everything, and he’s about my size.

Everything was going well. Only Frankie Dettori had any complaints – that his gazpacho was cold – but he’s easy to ignore because he only comes up to my kneecap. Then word came. James Brown, who, with Robbie Williams, was providing entertainment, didn’t want my fancy cooking. He wanted turkey sandwiches. Bloody hell, where was I going to find a turkey? Oh well, a bit of Label Anglais, plenty of mayonnaise; he’ll never know the difference.

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