the ghost man always rings twice.

Being Halloween weekend and time for a fright film marathon (but being too lazy to search the shelves), we here at Unwell Towers ended up with this frankly bizarre re-imagining/rip-off to start our horror weekend celebrations.

Sorry about the brevity of the review but the X Factor's about to start.

Nuff said.

Until Death (AKA The Changeling 2, Brivido Giallo: Per Sempre. 1987).
Dir: Lamberto Bava.
Cast: Gioia Scola, David Brandon, Giuseppe Stefano De Sando, Roberto Pedicini, Marco Vivio and Urbano Barberini.

Professional brunette bad-lady Linda (Scola from the fantastic Raiders of Atlantis) has decided, along with her horse-cocked (yet scarily rodent faced) lover Carlo (Stagefright's Mr. Serious Brandon) to off her baw headed boring hubbie Luca (Pedicini best known for his voice work in Dellamorte Dellamore, looking like a human/frog hybrid and emptying our bins) and set up house together whilst running their homely seaside bed and breakfast cum restaurant cum boat business like some murderous Basil and Sybil Fawlty.

But obviously without a Spanish waiter with a pig ugly, attention seeking whore for a granddaughter.

I'll admit tho' that would have added a certain something to the movie.

Ballie's: more custard than cream.

Anyway, enough character background, let's get back to the story which begins good and proper with the aftermath of Luca's murder and the deadly duo about to bury his still fresh corpse in a nearby swamp.

But he's not properly dead and with his last vestige on strength tears Linda's huge market stall hoop earring out from her ear.

Obviously.

Hitting the poor sod on the head with a large pizza tray to finish him off our loving couple head home to settle into their new (if rather fraught) lives; baking, shaking and raising wee Alex (AS Roma fan Vivio, who seems to have had the biggest career out of anyone else on screen), Linda's muppet like poppet.

Aw, sweet.

Eight years down the line the couples idyllic (yet it has to be said, fairly paranoid) existence is disturbed by the unexpected arrival of ruggedly raffish traveller (OK, hobo), the hunk-tastic Marco (Sam J Jones alike Barberini from Opera, Demons and Casino Royale).

I'd get that seen to son.

After checking out his cooking skills (and his frankly magnificent arse) Linda and Carlo hire him on the spot to help out in the restaurant.

But it's not long before the pair begin to notice Marco’s frightening familiarity with their home-life, business affairs and even where Linda keeps her clean undies.

He also has an almost unhealthy fondness for lil' Alex but most disturbingly for Linda, he knows all of her secret family recipes.

Nice to see she's got her priorities right, no doubt she'll leave him babysitting next time her and Carlo pop out for tapas.

"Hey senorita! You fancy a little mooth shite-in?"

All this insider knowledge begins to play on Carlo's barely hidden paranoia, leading him to surmise that Marco is working with the police to trap the couple for murdering Luca.

Obviously Italy have a special 'head-fuck' department specially recruited to play with criminals minds.

Or something.

Linda however is way too busy fiddling with herself whilst lusting over Marco to  jump to such bizarre conclusions and poor Alex is too shock to fuck by his recurring dreams about arms bursting thru' his bedroom walls and trying to goose him whilst soggy tramps attempt to crawl out of swamps to care one way or t'other.

"Laugh now!"

Is Carlo reading too much into the situation?

Will Linda get her end away with the hunky bum?

Will Alex get touched up by the nightmarish ghouls?

Will the movie end with a blazing inferno?

But most importantly will Marco steal all of Linda's recipes and pass them off as his own, getting his own teevee show in the process?

If you really are what you eat then he must have eaten a whole cabbage.

Only a director of Lamberto Bava's (albeit slightly tarnished) reputation could take the plot of The Postman Always Rings Twice and re-imagine it as a psychological horror tale before turning it into a cheaply made teevee movie and still make it moderately successful.

Under no circumstances to be confused with the 2007 Jean-Claude Van Damme cop caper of the same name (tho' if you did I reckon you deserve all you get), Until Death is, bizarrely enough one of Bava's most subtle and successful movies, returning to the promise he showed with his first feature Macabre then subsequently pissed up the wall with every movie since (Demons being the obvious exception).

"Ooh Alex come and have a wee nibble of your mums nice hot pie!"

It's nicely acted, stylishly shot and features the best line in denim fashion wear this side of Brokeback Mountain.

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your alcohol levels) it has one of the most idiotic and shlocky twists ever committed to celluloid.


More fun than Graveyard Disturbance but nowhere near as sexy as Blade in The Dark (or your sister), Until Death is still worth owning.

Especially if you have a wobbly table that needs straightening.

love bites.

It's been a long time coming but here, as promised is that review of probably the second gayest vampire movie of all time.

Next to Twilight that is.

Gayracula (1983).
Dir: Roger Earl.
Cast: Tim Kramer, Steve Collins, Rand Remington, Randal Butler, Michael Christopher, Ray Medina, Max Montoya, Doug Weston, Douglas Poston and Davin McNeil.

"You have done me a great service....

now I shall service you!"

Our dark tale of undead bloodlust begins with a group of robed and mysteriously seventies haired monks carrying a coffin thru' the California desert to a fairly inoffensive sub-Jerry Goldsmith Omen-esque score.

So far so so.

Entering a dark, dank cave or hooded pals force open the coffin to reveal a jug-eared young man in his granddad's tuxedo lying within.

As the lead monk Brian attempts to stake him thru' the heart our be-suited chum suddenly opens his eyes and sits upright before metamorphosing into a bat whilst filling the cave with what looks like eggy bad-dad gas.

As the monks shriek and scream in terror the bat makes it's escape (via fishing wire and a big stick) to the cave entrance before reverting back to it's human form....

Naked apart from a cape, patent leather brogues and socks the monks can only cower in fear at the evil that is Gayracula.

Ladies and gentlemen....
live on stage....5ive!

Jump forward (backwards?) to the year is 1783 (well according to the dodgy Letraset font superimposed over a kids drawing of a Halloween castle it is) and the fantastically monikered Gaylord Young (The late Tim Kramer of California Jackoff fame) , a courier for the legal firm of Crotchley, Bloomfield and Smythe (like it matters) has been dispatched to Transylvania to deliver a family heirloom to the mysteriously moustachioed Mark Shannon alike (and even more fantastically monikered) Marquis de Suede (Collins last seen in Falconhead Part II: The Maneaters).

Being so grateful for the personal touch of delivering the said artefact to his imposing castle by hand, de Suede offers Young a hot meal and a bed for the night.

Oh yes, and offers to suck on his huge throbbing manhood as if it were an oversized Chupa Chup then firing his own undead vampiric muck all over Young's lily-white arse before biting him on the neck.

All in gloriously over-lit clinical colour.

Which is nice.

The year they invented Crayola obviously.

Waking the next morning to a head full of red and an anus like a sugared doughnut, poor Gaylord stumbles over to the mirror to examine his neck only to see not his own reflection but the face of de Suede laughing maniacally at him before the mirror explodes in a shower of sharp pointy shards.

The curse of the vampire has been passed to a new victim.

Gaylord Young, legal eagle is no more.

He has become the king of the undead.

Something less than human but with a cock the size of a newborn baby.

Which is a plus point if you think about it.

Suddenly (and without so much as a warning or even a crudely crayoned flashframe) we're transported to 'modern day' Los Angeles, where Boris the manservant (allegedly some bloke named Rand Remington but frankly I'm convinced is Tom Savini) and Geoff the delivery boy (Christopher last seen in the 1991 erotic thriller Fade In, an undiscovered classic that featured gay half-men, half-spiders who devour their sexual partners after trapping them in webs of sticky cum...seriously) are busy tidying and decorating a huge mansion ready for the new owner to move in.

Worn out after carrying a big wooden coffin into the lounge Geoff has to rest for a while but luckily Boris appears to be a trained sports therapist and offers to massage his stiff shoulders.

With his penis.

Geoff, grateful for the help notices that Boris looks uncomfortable sitting on a rough wooden box so, assuming his bottom must be getting a wee bit sore offers to massage that in return.

Boris agrees and the two men indulge themselves in a bout of manly massage.

"Tonight Matthew I'm going to be...
Gary Barlow!"

All this excitement, groaning and testosterone (not to mention the copious amounts of semen dripping into his coffin) is enough to wake Gaylord from his slumber.

Having been asleep for 200 hundred years tho' he's rather peckish and makes short work of poor Geoff's bum draining every speck of blood from his body.

Now Gaylord, rested and fed can begin his mission.

Your dad, working late at the office last night.

It seems that Gaylord has discovered that the Marquis de Suede is still around, posing as an agent and running an all male dance troupe in a theatre just off Hollywood Boulevard and our vampiric chum and the Marquis have some unfinished business to attend to.

Revenge for turning Gaylord into a vampire?

A battle to the death to decide who is the king of the undead?

Or is it that Gaylord just can't get enough of the Marquis' ungodly shaft?

Go on, guess.

"Flames in mah mooth!"

Arriving at rehearsals and given a front row seat (and key to the mysterious 'backroom') by the Marquis, Gaylord's sex plans are thrown into disarray when he comes across (not literally, well not yet) the young, virginal Gavin (McNeil star of Malibu Days Big Bear Nights), a waiter at the theatre and falls instantly and hopelessly in love with him.

Using his powers of persuasion to entice Gavin to his home the pair make beautiful (well sticky and sweaty) love together and, as Gavin falls asleep in Gaylord's arms, the vampire vows never to suck the young boys blood and to only indulge in rimming on a Tuesday.

Aw, aint love sweet?

Abstaining from blood drinking tho' leaves Gaylord weakened and stumbling thru' the streets in a daze and it's only thru' sheer luck that he manages across the local bloodbank where, as is usually the way with these things, the hunky doctor is far too busy sodomising one of the (even hunkier) patients to notice our hero draining the blood supply dry.

Returning home Gaylord vows to tell Gavin the truth about his unusual affliction.

But will their love survive?

"Put it in me!"

Three cheers for Roger Earl for producing a vampire movie with all the passion, romance, horror and copious scenes of buggery sadly missing from such big budget offerings as Bram Stoker's Dracula, Twilight and the like. It's micro-budget never once compromises Earl's vision and tho' he may have had to incorporate props and sets left over from the arse end of the seventies (cracked and wobbly disco balls, silver clad dance 'numbers' and a couple of unfortunate moustaches) he stays true to his aim of producing a film that not only delves deep into vampire lore whilst dealing with the universal issues of love and belonging but also manages to feature the most varied and frankly disturbing scenes of fucking, rimming, sucking and cupping I have ever seen.

And for this reason alone I take my hat off to him.

Who am I to judge tho? Earl may have just been making a low budget gay porn film and not realised the truly heart warming effect it would have on viewers, I invited my next door neighbours 11 year old Twilight fan daughter to watch it with me whilst we babysat her and she was left crying and shaking with emotion as the tender love story played out in front of her.

Something I'm sure Robert Pattinson has never manage to do with his big square face and glittering shite.

I've not seen her since but when I do I'm sure she'll thank me for sharing the experience with her.

As will you after viewing this lost classic.

You can thank me later.

the tedious footsaw massacre.

Staunton Hill (2009).
Dir: G. Cameron Romero.
Cast: Kathy Lamkin, Cristen Coppen, David Rountree, Kiko Ellsworth, Christine Carlo, Paula Rhodes, BJ Hendricks and Charlie Bodin.

It's 1969 (OK?) somewhere in a part of America that has loads of trees and stuff and where group of faceless and fairly interchangeable friends - hunky behatted Cole (co-writer and drummer with Blur Rountree, best known for appearing in the Britney Spears Oops, I Did It Again video), the token politically minded black dude Boone (shiny browed co-producer Ellsworth) and his granite jawed missis Raina (star of Nora's Hair Salon, Carlo), teeny tiny Trish (actress, composer, writer tho' obviously no judge of quality Rhodes) and the terrifyingly toothsome Jordan (Coppen, I can't be arsed looking her up) - are busy hitch-hiking their way to Washington D.C. for a rally of some sort or another.

By the year we can assume that it's either to protest against the war in Vietnam or to demand equal rights for someone, seeing as that's all folk did in the sixties.

The writer obviously doesn't care enough to give a specific reason so why should I be bothered to think of one?

Not having any luck finding a ride (tho' you'd need a bus to carry all of them) they decide to stop at a roadside garage, store for no other reason than to give the writer the chance to have a pock-faced Hick use the word 'nigger' (shocking) and to introduce car driving cut-out Quintin (Bodin, all pube beard and ticks) so he can offer them a ride.

So far so clichéd.

"Hello, I'm bad".

Well would you believe it, halfway down the road Quintin's truck breaks down, leaving our party stranded in the woods with a storm brewing and no shelter.

But wait, didn't they pass what looks like a deserted farm a few miles back?

Maybe they could stay there till morning.

I mean what's the worse thing that could happen?

Heading off thru' the trees and over a hill (the sound of thunder and local traffic rumbling in the background) our merry band of cipher's take refuge in a big barn and bed down for the night.

I feel that I have to interject right now to point out that it's taken about 35 minutes of the movie to get this far.

Yup, a third of it's running time is over and absolutely fuck all has happened.

No character development, no suspense, no hope of a quick and painless end to the viewers suffering, nothing.

Waking the next morning (which is more than my arse had done by now) the friends come across (and I so wish I'd been literally) hulking, moonfaced inbred Buddy (another co-producer and living potato BJ Hendricks) raping a cabbage patch.

Actually the last bit is a lie but I'm trying to brighten up the review in a way the writers didn't bother with the film.

"For Gods sake somebody throw a pie!"

Buddy's (like all big boned movie mentalists) response to Cole's friendly greeting is to hit him in the face with a spade.

Cue some slow fighting and staged wrestling till the farms owners - wheelchair bound alcoholic Geraldine Staunton (Weston) and her lard loving daughter Louise (Lamkin, playing exactly the same role that she did in the Texas Chainsaw remake) arrive in time to break it up, apologise and invite their guests to stay for a big meaty breakfast.

Cut to lots of long, lingering close ups of Buddy actually cooking the said brekkie followed by even more shots of the cast eating it, intercut with close-ups of Quintin calling the chef a retard.

Realizing that the movie has almost finished yet no-one has died yet (except me, inside) our cardboard crew decide to head out to the fields in an attempt to fix the families van in the hope of borrowing it to travel to the next town or something tho' Trish, desperate for a wee stays behind to look for a toilet.

"That was a damn fine bit
o' mooth shite-in there boy!"

Wandering aimlessly (and whining annoyingly) around the farm she first stumbles across Buddy having a sly Barclay's whilst looking at pictures of Tiny Tears dolls (which isn't as funny as it sounds, I mean the cast are so uniformly unattractive that given the choice I'd probably choose to crack one off over your gran than anyone on offer here) before taking a wrong turn and ending up in a scary (re: filthy) operating theatre built onto the back of a shed.

Taking it all in her stride (tho' unfortunately not in her mouth) Trish tiptoes around opening every door and cupboard in the hope of finding a loo (or a bucket - she's been needing a piss for what seems like days) just as Buddy, brandishing a hammer, turns up and beats her to death before cutting her throat and skinning her.

I'm no medical expert but I'm sure that if you needed a slash (of the wee kind, not your throat) so badly then at least a little bit would come out at the moment of death?

But not to complain, at least we finally get a killing.

Pity it's so boringly directed really.

Which, if I'm honest wouldn't be that bad if we actually gave a toss about any of the characters.

"Hole in mah neck!"

It's not long (thank fuck) before the surviving friends find themselves being hunted down by bad boy Buddy and his family and discover the true horror behind the seemingly random acts of slaughter.

Which (as far as I can gather seeing as my finger was permanently attached to the fast forward button) seems to involve them running an illegal severed foot farming operation led by Quintin (the ex medical student brother of Buddy) out of the converted coal shed behind the house.

Yes, really.

Beard of evil.

Those regular readers of this fine blog will know that this is the point where I usually wax lyrical about the movie in questions production, cast etc. in a cutting yet oh so amusing fashion

adding clever observations and sometimes scandalous lies for the enjoyment of those childish enough to find references to 'mooth shite-in' and the overuse of the comedy catchphrase 'laugh now' the height of cinematic criticism.

But frankly when it comes to Staunton Hill the only thing that comes to mind are three little words over and over again.

Absolute fucking pish.

Look, I'll show you what I mean:

Direction: Absolute fucking pish.

Acting: Absolute fucking pish.

script: Absolute fucking pish.

And so on and so forth.

It's as if the movie has somehow fallen thru' a crack in space/time from some bizarro world where good plotting and character development have no place, it's as if someone decided to remake the Frederick Friedel classic Axe but without any of that films suspense and tension (for any American's reading this is what we Britfags call irony).

I can imagine Cameron and his buds sitting around drunk after reading the script and saying "Hmm, you know what, this script seems a lot like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre....how can we make it different and unique?".

"Well, that film's got Leatherface in it, so named because he has a mask made from human skin..."

"Gee you're right! Every major horror movie villain has a trademark look; Freddie with his hat and finger knives, Michael Myers with his Quick Fit overalls and William Shatner mask and Jason with his hockey mask and machete!"

"Let's give the folk watching a real fright...let's make our killer fat and ginger..."

"And almost myopic from constant masturbation!"

"But what can we call him....His name needs to strike fear into the hearts of cinema goers everywhere..."

Scratching his head Cameron glances over at his record collection catching glipse of the Chesney Hawkes hit 'The One and Only".

"I got it! how about Buddy?"

The only way you'll get viewers to
sit thru' this crap till the end.

Cameron Romero, hang your head in shame and George, if I were you I'd get a paternity test done as soon as possible because if this is the kind of shite your 'son' is producing then I'd check your missis wasn't playing around with John Russo behind your back.

It's the only explanation I can think of.

ahead warp factor bun....

To celebrate the release of JJ Abrams re-jigged Star Trek, we present a collection of absolutely shite Star Trek themed cakes.

Enjoy!

wong turn.

Yi boh laai beng duk (AKA Ebola Syndrome 1996)
Dir: Herman Yau
Cast: Anthony Wong, Yeung Ming Wan, Fui-On Shing, Wong Tsui-ling, Miu-Ying Chan and Meng Lo.

In the back room of a fashionable Hong Kong restaurant, Kai (Wong), ne'er do well employee and general sleazy man spends his off work hours shagging his boss's sexy wife over the uncooked shrimp whilst sweating a fair bit and grunting loudly.

In Cantonese of course.

Not too surprisingly it's not long before his boss catches Kai with his trousers down (and his wife with her arse in the egg noodles) and, like any normal jealous hubbie administers a severe beating upon the bad boy whilst angrily shouting at his unfaithful spouse.

Again in Cantonese.

However, after about the fifth kick to the nads and general pointy fingeredness, Kai goes completely mental killing his boss and wife in a pot noodle of blood and sweat, leaving only their young (Cantonese speaking) daughter alive.

Wife Swap with Rose West went horribly wrong....

Coming to his senses Kai decides the best course of action is to quickly leg it out of Hong Kong and try to start a new (and quieter) life somewhere else.

Grabbing his passport and kiss me quick hat he reckons the best place to lay low would be sunny South Africa.

Ten years later and Kai has carved out (tho' not literally) a nice life for himself in South Africa, working in another restaurant and still filling his days off by masturbating with sides of beef whilst watching his new boss and missis shagging on the tables.

Well at least he's not killed anyone yet.

Hearing that a local village does a great line in cheap pig meat, Kai and his boss decide to hit the great outdoors for a nice picnic and the chance to buy some inexpensive meat product for the restaurant's best selling hamburgers. Unfortunately on arrival they descover that the entire tribe is suffering from the infamous Ebola virus.

How's yer luck?

Grabbing their hankies and quickly covering their mouths our intrepid duo complete the purchase and beat a hasty retreat back to the car but, on along the way, they happen upon a woman lying prone in the grass and having a seizure.

Ever that or she's a Gregory's Girl fan.

Kai, almost hypnotised by the unfortunate woman's (admittedly bouncy) breasts , runs over to give them a bloody good squeeze before sticking it in her.

The romantic devil.

And before you can say John Leslie Kai is pulling a truly terrifying cum face whilst the woman spews blood and dies.

"Oooh Vic...I've fallen".

Returning home poor old Kai develops a fever (and an embarrassing itch) so decides to visit his local GP. The doctor immediately recognizes that Kai is showing the symptoms of Ebola (surprise, surprise) and prescribes plenty of bed rest and weak lemon drinks.

Or something.

In a bizarre quirk of fate Kai begins to feel better and within days his fever has cleared up entirely (tho' not the itch) and, deciding to celebrate his new lease of life and good health decides to rape and murder his pals wife before bludgeoning his boss to death.

But can you guess how Kai decides to dispose of the bodies?

Yup in a masterstroke of unhinged genius our mentalist mate begins to sell a new dish, African Buns, thru' the restaurant.

And (as if you hadn't guessed) African Buns are (albeit very tasty) hamburgers made out of the by now Ebola infected folk that Kai has killed.

Translation: "Shite in mah mooth!"

It's not long before a large part of the populace of Johannesburg are writhing about on the floor foaming at the mouth and pissing blood leaving Kai no choice but to sell up the restuarant and head back to Hong Kong on the next available flight.

But who should he meet on the way but the daughter of the couple he killed ten years earlier.

What are the chances of that?

Being a model citizen she rushes to tell the local authorities but much to her dismay they send her packing thinking she's imagined it.

Taking the law into her own (very delicate) hands she follows Kai back to Hong Kong where, upon confronting him she has the choice of:

A. Telling the police.

B. Giving him a damn good kicking.

C. Running away screaming.

Or

D. Biting him.

She decides on the latter, which is a wee bit silly when you take all the facts into account.

"Fiona! where's mah lunch?"

After a few (well a lot) more killings, sexual shenanigans, murders and a little bit more shagging (really I don't want to spoil it for you) the police finally decide that this Kai bloke is possibly a bit loony and that maybe, just maybe that they should really bring him in for questioning.

When the officers turn up to ask him a few things (just minor stuff like "Are you an Ebola infected multiple murderer with a penchant for shagging bits of meat?") Kai loses the plot even more and escapes into the street before taking a cute wee Chinese a girl hostage, daring the police to shoot him and risk his blood infecting everyone in the surrounding area.

The rotter.

Devo and John Leslie always enjoyed their

weekly game of 'What's the Time Mr. Wolf?'

When the small child (understandably) starts crying for her mum, Kai reckons he'd have a better chance of evading capture on his own, so he bumps her off before running (like a big girl I must admit) thru' the busy streets spitting on passers by and hollering "I have Ebola and now so do you!"

Will Kai be captured before he infects the world?

Will the girl from the start turn up again or just disappear completely from the film?

And will I ever recover from seeing the great Anthony Wong slaughtering a frog in extreme close-up?

The infamous Mr. Sausage Fingers was dismayed

to discover that The Cheeky Girls would

never reveal the whereabouts of his car keys.

On paper Ebola Syndrome sounds as if it should possibly be one of the most offensive films ever conceived, from it's tragedy exploiting plot thru' to the constant on screen barrage of murder, sexual violence, swearing, more sexual violence and gore.

But bizarrely enough it isn't.

Somehow director Herman Yau has managed (by accident or design, who knows?) to give a skewered sense of quality and credibility to the whole thing, partly thanks to an amazing turn from Anthony Wong as ker-razy Kai.

The magnificent Wong, a mainstay of Hong Kong cinema for the past twenty years has made a career playing damaged characters in films of wildly varying quality, flitting happily from such critically acclaimed fare such as Infernal Affairs to (enjoyable I'll admit) dreck like Raped by An Angel IV.

Here Wong manages to makes Kai the film's most interesting (if not most sympathetic) character, the rest of the (admittedly great) cast all just fade into the background when the great man is on screen.

"It's Cccccchhhhrrrriiissstttmmmaaasssss!!!"

If any criticism can be leveled at the movie it has to be the completely gratuitous (and unnecessary) scenes of animal slaughter, a throwback to the worst of the 70's Italian exploitation era and, while it may only be a few frog guttings and the beheading of a couple of mangy chickens, it's still enough to taint the viewing experience somewhat.

"Oh no! it's the Ninky Nonk!"

But don't let that put you off experiencing such a sleaze-tastic epic that for all it's shocks is a lot less vile and infinitely less hard going than the earlier Wong-Yau masterclass in bad taste, Baat sin faan dim ji yan yuk cha siu baau.

But then again, what film isn't?

This is why your girlfriend didn't
return your calls last Saturday.

Great as a first date film or a even a quiet Sunday afternoon with the family, Ebola Syndrome has everything you could ever want from a film about restaurant employed sexual deviants and is far more fun than any number of editions of The F Word.

Buy it now.

reasons to love cookery shows (part one).

Yum! (the noodles, obviously).

Ching-He Huang's fantastic new BBC show Chinese Food Made Easy is a fantastic feast of food delight, featuring as it does the yumsome chef re-imagining fave Chinese dishes for a modern age.

Born in Taiwan in 1978, Ching-He Huang is not only a top chef and television presenter but is also the managing director of her own food company, Fuge Ltd.

"Aaaah Tzu!" "Bless you!"

First appearing on UK screens in her hit show Ching's Kitchen, she has since appeared on such hit shows as Daily Cooks, Saturday Cooks and Great Food Live.

Her new book Chinese Food Made Easy, has recently been published to accompany the series.

She is also very pretty.