“Bill Granger is moving to London. Will you take him under your wing?” a mutual friend asked, way back in 2009.

“Of course,” I replied, feeling all big-sisterly and worldly-wise.

Shortly afterwards, Bill and his wife, Natalie Elliot, came for lunch – bringing a plate of food, in true Aussie style. I’d been dining in Bill’s airy, communal-table-dominated café in Darlinghurst, Sydney, since the early 90s, so it was a joy to finally meet the Gastronomic Love God.

Bill Granger’s TV shows included Bill’s Kitchen: Notting Hill.

And he could not have been more charming. When he strolled into my kitchen, in a fresh white T-shirt, all tousled blonde hair, cackling like a kookaburra, well, it felt as though a Bondi Beach sunbeam had just lit up the room.

But as for me taking Bill under my wing? Ha! Bill simply took flight. London society was instantly beguiled by his deliciously self-deprecating wit, laid-back attitude and magical way with an egg whisk. (As long ago as 2002, The New York Times anointed him “The Scrambled Egg Master of Sydney”.)

The son of a butcher, Bill was an autodidact – a word he clearly taught himself. With no formal training, he went on to create a culinary empire. With help from Nat, his business-savvy wife, they now own 19 restaurants from Australia to London, Korea and Japan. Bill has also made five cookery series, viewed in more than 30 countries, and his 14 cookbooks have racked up more than a million sales worldwide.

A terrible cook (I use my smoke alarm as a timer), I was worried Bill would not want me on his human menu. But when I confessed that the last time I’d baked was when I fell asleep on the beach, that I thought “aspic” was some posh ski resort in the Colorado mountains and “blancmange” the highest point in the Swiss alps, he gave that lovely coruscating laugh of his then gently pressed his cook books into my hands. “Give it a whirl, Kath.”

And Bill’s approach to cooking proved so welcoming and inclusive that those precious copies are now food-splattered and butter-stained, being so well thumbed in my kitchen.