Dear Andi Oliver…

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You are so lovely.  (I hope that’s not too much. I’m American, so I do endeavor to be direct.)

We are family

Ms. Oliver, we have the same people and I met you when I was younger at Auntie E and Uncle A’s house. Auntie E is my Godmother.  

Also, in late 2000s, after having  relocated back to the UK, I was at  your restaurant opening. R invited me, and the event was a celebration of your accomplishment. 

Now, I see you three times a week on the show, Great British Menu, and you are luxury to me. 

You on my TV

Your beautiful gleaming bald head.  Your large and heavy glasses, so often perched on the crown of your head.  Those statement necklaces.  Your colourful and playful outfits, always with the appropriate neckline. Your sneakers.  The fan.  Your brown brown skin.  That gap in your front teeth.  Your voice. (Weaving a story, your voiceover for each segment, creates interest and drama.).

Your demeanor. The Grown Womanness. Your authenticity.  

Oh. I forgot your smoky eye or the emerald green eyeshadow. Oh, and today it’s canary yellow to match your chandelier earrings! Always so striking!

I hope you don’t mind I have looked at your instagram: https://www.instagram.com/andioliver/

This thing that happened

Andi, a couple of episodes ago, a chef held out his fist to, seemingly, fist bump you, and your response was to  waggle your fingers at his fist,  giggle and lower your head.  

I wondered, watching you in that moment, how you felt. 

This gesture that was so so Black being proffered by a white man, with all the connotation (appropriation?) in the world.  

I have had that happen to me.  A white man held out his fist, upon meeting me for the first time, and I asked him why? He said that he didn’t know what was appropriate anymore.  I looked at him.  After, later, during a break, having mulled and stewed, I revisited the moment and returned to the man. I suggested that a handshake will always work.  (This, of course, was a time before COVID.) I walked away feeling proud of myself — I had advocated and not acquiesced to some bullshit. (He didn’t know what was appropriate anymore, my aaaaaaaaaass…)

For you

Watching you wiggle your fingers on national TV, giggle, then lower your head, I thought I knew all that was going on for you, in that moment.  I mean, I’m not mind reader, so I can’t possibly know.

However, that’s when it solidified for me that I knew I wanted to write to you, AO. 

To say I see you.  And love seeing you, on my TV, these past few weeks. That  you continue to create a space that is stylish and knowledgeable and warm and welcoming and generous and kind and full of playfulness.

And,  I am grateful.