Kensington Palace was the last place I worked in England and in some ways was the most important place I have ever worked. It was the residence of Princess Diana until her death and it was the place she turned into a home for herself and her sons, William and Harry.
I remember cooking at Wood Farm for Her Majesty one December day in 1992, while she attended the dog trials. She had just returned after the event and sat in her Land Rover, listening to Prime Minister John Major tell the House of Commons—and the rest of the world—that the Prince and Princess of Wales were to separate. I have never shaken that image of the Queen, alone in her car, quietly listening to the radio. It was a sad moment for us all, but especially for her. It had only been a few weeks since the great fire at Windsor Castle—and now this. I immediately thought that I would no longer see Princess Diana at any of the royal houses and might not see too much of the boys either.
But things turned out differently than I thought. It was Prince Charles who moved out of Kensington Palace. Princess Diana stayed and the staff that had served them both was split accordingly. Prince Charles took two of the chefs and left one with the princess, creating a vacancy. I decided to throw my hat in the ring. I got word to the princess that I wanted the position and my interest must have been well received. All other applicants were dropped and the subsequent interview was a mere formality.
I went to work for the princess for the next four years. It wasn’t that long really, but my memories of those years are so full that they tend to crowd out the years spent working at Buckingham Palace. Sure, I was sorry to leave my kitchen mates and traveling around the world in “royal style” with Her Majesty, but otherwise I was ready to go. I had worked my way up from junior cook to senior pastry chef and was now ready for a new challenge. At Kensington I would be responsible for running a whole (albeit small) kitchen, a refreshing change from the more rigid partie system at the palace.
My return to the Kensington was picked up by the press
Even though I knew Princess Diana from the palace, my relationship with her really took off when I started working at Kensington. She was entering a new stage in her life and taking better care of herself. Her years as a bulimia sufferer had ended and she was eating properly. She had willpower. I often teased her when I made donuts for the boys, saying, “Go on, your Royal Highness, try one.”
“Oh, Darren,” she would reply, “that will go straight to my hips.” And she would grab a piece of fruit instead.
The Kensington apartment was elegant and comfortable, laid out over three floors with a nursery for the boys. There was a small open kitchen that was a pleasure for me to work in, especially after the labyrinthine kitchens of Windsor or Buckingham Palace. The kitchen had a huge window that opened onto a courtyard. There was no room there for me to grow anything, so I had a window box built and began cultivating fresh herbs. On warm days, all of the windows in the courtyard would be open and the princess’s favorite opera arias would waft into the kitchen. I think it might have made my herbs grow a bit faster!
The apartment’s location was perfect for Princess Diana. Situated right in the heart of London near Chelsea and Notting Hill, Kensington put the princess in the midst of busy city life. She could pop off down the road and stop into her favorite café for a cappuccino or call in on one of her girlfriends. Shopping was nearby and she could get around London easily.
Everything about life at Kensington was more relaxed than life with the royal family. When William and Harry were at home with their mum, the rules of etiquette were eased. In fact, there was quite a bit of huffing and puffing from the nanny who thought it scandalous that the boys were eating their dinners with their mum off of trays while watching a video. Even when lunch was served in the dining room, the princess and the boys ate family-style. Food was served “all in,” which meant both courses were placed on the sideboard before they entered the dining room.
This style of service, sometimes used by the Queen, gave more privacy and meant the butlers didn’t have to keep coming in and out of the dining room. The princess would usually tuck into a piece of chicken and a salad, while the boys would have chicken, roasted potatoes, and some vegetables. I would occasionally roast potatoes for the princess too, though unlike the boys, she would have the fat-free version. For that I’d toss the potatoes in egg whites, salt, and paprika and bake. Dessert was usually something like banana flan and the princess might skip that in favor of a yogurt. What a change from Buckingham Palace. Now everyone just passed food round the table and chatted up a storm. It was exactly what the princess wanted for her boys.
It was a simpler household too. When I came to Kensington, Princess Diana had a household staff of twelve. There were two chefs, two butlers, two dressers, a police protection officer, two housemaids, a kitchen helper, a chauffeur, and a nanny. It soon became clear that was too many. The princess began eliminating some positions but kept her favorite staff, those she felt she could trust.
Instructions from “the boss”
By the time she died, the number had whittled down to just five: a chef, butler, nanny, housemaid, and kitchen maid, and a part-time housekeeper. It was a small group and the typical royal household divisions melted away. If the princess’s car needed gas—here were the keys. Someone knocking at the door or ringing on the phone? Go and answer it. The role of chef expanded to become that of a caretaker for the princess and the boys when they were home.
My cooking reflected this new environment. No more traditional French cuisine with demi glace and cream reductions and certainly no pheasant, grouse, or deer.
A Princess in the Kitchen
Soon after coming to work for Princess Diana, I began dating Wendy, who is now my wife. The princess quickly figured out that the relationship was serious, so she would urge me to leave early on Friday to get a jumpstart on the weekend. I would leave food ready to be microwaved—nothing fancy—and make sure there was plenty for Her Royal Highness to choose from. That was important. The princess did many things, but cooking was not one of them.
Great news. I can head out early to see Wendy.
Once she tried to cook dinner for a girlfriend. She decided to make an easy pasta dish and she must have let the pasta water boil over. The gas pilot light blew out and by Sunday morning, the princess could smell gas. She called security and they immediately sent out a call to the local firehouse. When I came back on Monday, the princess gleefully informed me that she had twelve hunky men in her house while I was gone. When I heard the whole story, I just laughed. The princess did too.
Darren, can you give this to Wendy, please?” the princess said as she presented me with an envelope one Christmas Eve.
In fact, game referred exclusively to the boys’ PlayStation! If I was cooking only for the princess, breakfast was sure to be freshly squeezed juices, yogurt, maybe some scrambled eggs, or that quintessential British invention, beans on toast. That had zero fat, but loads of carbs to give Her Royal Highness energy at the gym.
For lunch or dinner, Princess Diana loved pasta, fresh vegetables, chicken, and fish. If she was home alone for lunch, she would have a place set at the kitchen counter. She would wander in around one, and I would serve her lunch and salad on her favorite Herrand Rothschild bird china. Dessert was always fruit or yogurt. Lychees were her all-time favorite. She could work through a pound of them without even thinking. When they were in season, I’d leave a bowl of them out in the sitting room for her.
The boys were easy to feed as well. They had typical childhood favorites, all the things my own children now enjoy—like stuffed potato skins, roasted chicken, pizza, and pasta. They were even pretty good about eating their veggies. Nanny made sure of that. The entire family loved ice cream, and often either William or Harry would wander into the kitchen looking for his favorite Haagen-Dazs chocolate chocolate chip. They were always polite enough to ask, and then helped themselves to a spoon and the ice cream. William would sit in the kitchen windowsill, his spoon digging right into the container, chatting away and keeping one eye on the stairs for Nanny.
You didn’t get that at Buckingham Palace. If the boys were visiting Granny and wanted ice cream, the Queen would call her page, who in turn would call the head chef. The head chef would call the pastry kitchen and the pastry chef would in turn call the silver pantry for some silver dishes to present it on. The ice cream would be formed into decorative quenelle shapes and placed in the silver dessert dish. Then it was off to the linen room to get the proper napkin. Eventually a footman would arrive to take the ice cream up to the royal dining room some fifteen minutes later.
The boys’ lunch: (left to right) Corn on the Cob, Banana Flan, Roast Pork, Potato Skins
The cousins, Fergie’s daughters, often came over for a visit when they were in town, much to William and Harry’s delight. They would all run about the house shrieking at the top of their lungs and enjoying themselves immensely. The Duchess of York would stay for tea and visit. The princess adored the girls and would make sure they each had a gift and that a balloon was tied to each child’s chair. Tea would include several kinds of sandwiches, one being jam pennies—the Queen’s favorite. Chocolate chip cookies were a must since all the children loved them, and the princess realized that children need sweets too, from time to time.
I tried to keep the cooking healthy for everyone, but occasionally met with resistance from the household’s younger members. One afternoon I entered the kitchen to see a handwritten note on the counter that read: “Darren, please give the boys pizza tonight. Thank you.” It was signed by the nanny, but something about the crooked eight-year-old handwriting gave it away as the work of Prince Harry. I prepared roasted chicken and vegetables and sent it all up with a private chuckle.
Harry bounded into the kitchen the next day telling me he was going to get his mother to allow pizza for dinner that night. I dangled the note in front of him and asked, “Do you think I should let the nanny know about the change, Harry?” His eyes grew big as saucers and he dashed out. In fact, I think the princess did allow them to have pizza that night, and I prepared it with pleasure. The boys also loved American barbeque and every once in a while they could all be found tucked into a booth eating ribs and burgers at a local spot aptly named Sticky Fingers along Kensington High Street.
Junior Apprentices
William and Harry came by the kitchen fairly often looking for a treat or to find out what was for dinner or even just to grab a piece of fruit. But every once in a while they would try their hand at cooking. “Can we help make Mummy’s dinner, please?” they would ask. The princess’s favorite dish was stuffed eggplant and the boys would get very excited about putting that together. No matter that it looked like smashed eggplant when it was done, they served it proudly and the princess was thrilled. She would eat every bite. I’m sure it tasted delicious—it was made with such love.
The card sent from Princess Diana when my daughter Kelly was born. It came with the biggest bouquet of flowers I have ever seen.
When I think back, it seems to me that the princess knew her time with her children was a scarce treasure. It would disappear as they grew up and assumed more of their royal responsibilities. She tried to let both of them have as normal and relaxed a childhood as possible, and I think William and Harry really benefited from that. To have complete unconditional love from their mother was a source of strength for them. They were full of energy, inquisitive, courteous, and temperamentally kind. You always knew when they were around: the corridors would be thundering with noise of the boys racing along the hallway or kicking a ball or doing all the things that boys do. It brought the house to life. It brought the princess to life too.
ENTERTAINING AT HOME
Princess Diana always took an active interest in the world around her. By the time of her death, she was patron of 119 different charities, a huge number. But that was Princess Diana. When she saw a worthwhile cause, she threw herself into it. She didn’t have handlers or advisers or any of the BP “gray suits,” as she called them, testing the waters and advising her on protocol. The princess was herself, spontaneous and sometimes impetuous. That and her kindness and warmth were her greatest strengths.
She opened her house often to entertain on behalf of the charities she worked so hard for. No dinner parties, though. Lunch only. That was by design. She was sure that the press would have a field day and there would be no end to the stories of who was in her house at night. But lunch, well, who could gossip about that?
Though the dining room could hold up to thirty comfortably, luncheons were usually limited to twelve. Princess Diana preferred smaller groups. She said that it gave her a chance to talk to everyone around the table. Her entertaining style was formal, but she made everyone relax as soon as they walked through the door. “Look them in the eye and give a firm handshake,” was her mantra. The dining room was very feminine with lots of pretty china and flowers. She had it completely repainted after the prince moved out and now the walls were a rustic, but tasteful, burnt orange. No gilt, no under butlers, no stewards and wine waiters, no pomp at all.
Beet Red
The princess liked all different kinds of juice, and so I learned to prepare all sorts, including veggie juices. Once she came into the kitchen and said she had heard beetroot juice was very good for your skin and she would like a glass. I glanced quickly in my juicing book, which mentioned that you should dilute beet juice with carrot or apple. But since she just wanted a shot, I juiced some beets and she drank it down. She had appointments set up all afternoon and wanted to look her best. By midmorning, her skin began to form red splotches and she was having palpitations.
She came racing into the kitchen. “Aargh, Darren!” she cried. “I think you’ve poisoned me!”
Well, I was pretty sure that she would live to see another day, but I was a bit alarmed. Good Lord, I thought, what did that juice do? It turned out that the book was right. Beet juice is quite strong and needs to be tempered or diluted with other juices. After a quick stint on a tanning bed, the princess’s blotches began to fade and she was able to make her afternoon appointments. I refrained from juicing anything red for a while, though she did laugh when I slyly put beetroot soufflé on the menu the next day.
When she entertained I would try to introduce new dishes to the menu. Some of her favorites were pressed vegetable terrines with a pureed herb dressing, carrot and egg roulade with a maple ginger dressing, baked crabmeat and corn custards, chicken breast stuffed with red pepper and basil mousse, and iced praline and amaretto soufflés with poached pears.
Hollywood at Home
Princess Diana once hosted a lunch for the actor Clint Eastwood. I can’t remember the exact reason for the lunch, but I do remember that it was only one where I was called into the dining room. It seems Mr. Eastwood had enjoyed his lunch so much he asked to speak to the chef directly. I stepped through the green baize door and was introduced by the princess. Mr. Eastwood stood up to shake my hand and I was surprised at how tall he was! I’m six feet two inches and am usually the tallest one in the room. At six feet four inches, he had me bested by a few inches. I don’t recall what he said. I just stood there in utter surprise with a sheepish grin on my face. What can I say except that it “made my day.”
Some of her old favorites were on the menu too. Tomato mousse with lobster was a dish she loved from her Buckingham Palace days. The original recipe called for three different kinds of fat and she had me rework the recipe into a fat-free version. I remember on one occasion when a famous American talk show host came for lunch and I served the tomato mousse. The princess and I chuckled later when she told me how the guest had gushed: “Diana this is wonderful! How do you manage to stay so slim?” Of course, the guest was eating the original recipe while the boss had the fat-free version.
Of course, if the boys had friends over, then the menu was more kid-friendly: pork loin with apple sauce, poached chicken in a supreme sauce with rice and nursery favorites, baked jam roll and custard or a pear and banana crumble, a Prince Charles favorite.
Over the years, the princess opened her home to all sorts of people, some famous, but many were just regular people doing good work. I remember she once invited a little boy over for lunch. He had cancer and had written to her saying he would very much like to have lunch with a princess. He arrived at Kensington Palace in a black taxicab with his sister and mother in tow. You could tell his mom was nervous. Enough pressure having lunch with a real-life princess, but to have to do it with your kids!
The princess asked me to serve something William and Harry liked to eat, so I roasted two chickens and some vegetables. In the dining room the princess had placed a gift-wrapped toy truck on the little boy’s seat, a doll on his sister’s, and a hand-tied bouquet of flowers on the table for his mother. They all sat down to eat and the princess did her best to put everyone at ease.
Halfway through the meal the little boy picked up his drumstick with his hands and began gnawing at the bone. The mother had a terrified look on her face and Princess Diana, reading the situation quickly, put down her fork and knife and picked up her chicken with her hands too. The boy’s mother smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. That was classic Princess Diana—she never missed a thing.
A COMPLICATED LIFE
I always look back on my years at Kensington with pleasure. I was really happy there. But in all honesty, I don’t think that was always true for the princess. She found it extremely hard to have a normal life. The media focus on her was intense. The princess, because of her marriage and her charity work, was a person of interest to every major news and media outlet in the world. And wherever she went, the press followed. The fact that she lived her life in a goldfish bowl made her more adamant that only those people who could guard her privacy were allowed to stay in her house. If she felt you were untrustworthy, you ended up leaving Kensington. She initially had a personal protection officer assigned to her from the palace, but ended up asking him to leave. She felt her every move was reported back to Buckingham Palace, and she just couldn’t stand that.
Christmas card from Princess Diana
She missed her children all the time. The custody arrangement was that she and Prince Charles would each have the boys on alternate free weekends and alternate holidays. By the time that Prince Charles and Princess Diana had separated, both William and Harry were in boarding school and most weekends they stayed at school. That was hard on her. She was not yet ready for them to be away so much. And while she and the Prince split custody of the children on holidays, Princess Diana never celebrated Christmas with her children. She felt that at Christmas, the rightful place for the boys was at Sandringham with the rest of the royal family. It was a tradition she was willing to support, but it left her in tears and with a big hole in her Christmas holiday. She was alone then; all the staff were away visiting their own families. I would load up the refrigerator with goodies for her and head out of the door on Christmas Eve.
Dating was difficult for her and she could be fickle in her affections. She didn’t have a clear sense about what she wanted her love life to be. It was a work in progress, impeded by the relentless attention her every move generated. She was really pleased at my own good fortune in meeting my wife. She thought it must be blissfully easy to form relationships when your life wasn’t so public. I think she was absolutely right.
Cufflinks given to me by Princess Diana
There is no doubt she had her faults. The princess was neither a martyr nor a saint. She could get furious at someone for a perceived slight and then never speak to that person again. She stopped speaking to me for a few days after I drove too fast into work one day, nearly colliding with her car as she headed out to the gym. My apologies were profuse, but not enough to stop her from telling the rest of the staff that I had nearly killed her. Fortunately for me, after a few days all was forgiven.
Princess Diana was a woman building a new life and sometimes its outlines were not clear to her. She could feel lost. I was her chef and she often sat in the kitchen eating her lunch and chatting. Sometimes the conversation was just about what happened in last night’s soap operas and other times she would burst in and say, “Darren, you won’t believe what the Queen [or often Fergie] has just told me!” If she trusted you, then you were privy to everything and anything on her mind. Conversations would meander over topics, covering a little bit of this and that. Listening to her I felt that her innate compassion and kindness would help her mature into a woman of great purpose. She just needed time to grow into it, as we all do.
I didn’t know that time was the one thing she didn’t have.
I woke up early on Sunday, August 31, 1997. It was going to be a fun day. The “boss” was flying back from her vacation, and William and Harry would be at the house for a few days before they went back to school. The boys had been at Balmoral and were flying in to the VIP terminal at about the same time as the princess. They’d all be at Kensington for dinner and I had already bought the food.
I sat down to breakfast and flipped the television on. I heard the BBC newscaster mention Princess Diana, but it took me several seconds to make any sense of what he was saying. Onscreen flashed a picture of the princess with the dates July 1, 1961–August 31, 1997 underneath. What was he talking about? He couldn’t be right. Her Royal Highness dead? No, there must be a mistake. I called Kensington Palace but only got a constant busy signal.
This note card accompanied a Hermes tie on Christmas Eve. It was to be the last gift I received from the princess before she died.
I decided to go in to work, taking all the food I had bought for dinner with me. As I drove through the gate into the royal compound, the usually cheery police officer acknowledged me, then quickly looked away. I parked my car and headed to the apartment, passing the princess’s office as I did. The office door was open and I stepped inside. Several staff mates were there, some in tears. No one said anything. We all just stood there, none of us really believing what had happened. The fax machine suddenly broke the silence.
“Oh my God!” I heard one of the secretaries say. “It is the princess’s last will and testament.” The fax was from Antony Julius, the princess’s attorney. It was then that I realized she wasn’t coming home.
During the next week I went in to work each day and cooked meals for anyone who was around. No one ate anything. Not even me. Instead I took to ambling around Kensington Palace gardens where only weeks before the princess had gone walking or roller-blading in a baseball cap and dark glasses so as not to be recognized.
The park was now jammed full of people, all in mourning. Bouquets of flowers, stacked almost three feet high, were piled against the black and gilt palace railings, and the perfume brought back memories of the princess’s birthday each year when it seemed like every five minutes another bouquet was delivered to the house from a charity, a friend, an admirer, or just from someone whose life she had touched, someone she didn’t even know. I noticed that many of the bouquets were freesias, her favorite flower. Candles lit up the park and I remembered how much she loved candlelight. The apartment often carried the scent of Kenneth Turner original fragrance candles. She had given me one as a Christmas gift. I still have it and light it on special occasions.
Signed Photo of Princess Diana in gilt frame with Prince of Wales feathers
The days preceding the funeral went by in slow motion. I was out of sorts. I didn’t want to cook and instead ate at McDonald’s six nights in a row. It was familiar and anonymous and oddly comforting. Along with the rest of the household staff, I was allowed to visit the princess in the chapel, pay my last respects, and sign the condolence book.
On the day of the funeral we were all at Kensington Palace by nine in the morning. We formed a line at the front door, as we often did when Princess Diana went off on a long journey, this time to say good-bye for the last time. We were whisked to Westminster Abbey, through streets lined with more than a million people. The funeral was difficult for me. I sat directly across from Elton John as he sang “Candle in the Wind” in tribute to the princess. I felt a lump in my throat that became tears as her brother, Earl Spencer, gave the eulogy.
It wasn’t until I was driving home that evening that I suddenly thought, Now what am I going to do with myself? I stopped at McDonald’s for a burger and time to think. I had been told that I’d stay on the payroll for six months and the princess’s sisters had requested that I keep my grace and favor accommodation for up to a year and not be turned out onto the streets. Good. That would give me time to sort out my next move.
Mohammed Al Fayed, Dodi’s father, had promised jobs to any members of the princess’s staff, if they wanted one. But I hadn’t really thought about that. Prince Charles also offered me a position as a personal chef, but I declined. I think I would have forever felt Princess Diana looking down on me saying, “You are not going to cook for that woman, are you?” I was also offered a position with Michael Hesseltine, the former deputy prime minister, at his stately home in Oxfordshire, but he and I were politically poles apart. I decided that wouldn’t work.
Knowing how much the princess adored her father, I sent her a note when he passed away. I didn’t expect a reply, but the princess loved to write notes.
The princess had always talked about moving to America. After every visit to the States she would come into the kitchen and say, “Darren, we’ve absolutely got to move there!”
I would just laugh and reply, “Just give me time to pack a few clothes and the juicer, your Royal Highness.” I called her “your Royal Highness” right up until her death, despite the removal of the title after the divorce. I don’t know. It didn’t seem right to call her by any lesser title.
During the next weeks my thoughts kept turning back to those conversations. America. Live in America. Well, someone must need a chef there. I could find someplace warm. Definitely someplace warm and away from all of this. Maybe that just might work . . .