Michael Winner directed some of the most execrable movies of all time. I mean have you seen “Chato’s Land” or “Death Wish 3” or “Won Ton Ton The Dog Who Saved Hollywood”?

We thought not.

His fascination with violence, the American West, Charles Bronson’s aging epidermis, bronzed pectorals and deeply carved visage, could keep a team of psychoanalysts busy for years.

Such poor taste didn’t keep him from landing a restaurant writing gig at the Sunday London Times (aka The Sunday Times) years ago, from whence yonder perch he writes hugely entertaining tales of his eating about England (and the rest of Europe).

Not the youngest pup (he’s 73), his prose is as sprightly and full of (mostly black) humor as any food writer out there. And like many of his contemporary restaurant critics in Jolly Olde England, he has elevated (?) his current occupation to something close to bloodsport….

At once sarcastic, overly-personal, infuriating and delightful…we only wish we could get away with his cheekiness.

Take a read here, here or here and see what we mean, and for a real laugh, check out Michael’s Missives for the hate mail he inspires from readers always at the ready to launch rotten tomatoes his way.