Although a recent article found a few chefs willing to cook brains and a little rise in consumption of those parts of animals more difficult to reach, there has been a 92% drop in the consumption of liver in the UK since the 1970s, so the chances of getting back to the wartime habits when my father ate tripe and even whale (off the ration you see) are probably quite low. Elvis Presley would apparently have been incredulous given his liking for chitterlings (boiled pigs intestines) and other southern delicacies as created by manic teenage cook Jill in Cooking with Elvis. Her dad you see is a surveyor turned Elvis Presley impersonator and what could be more suitable on his birthday than an Elvis themed meal. Except of course that Dad has been paralyzed in a car accident and couldn’t eat his Polk Salad even if he wanted to.

Lee Hall is best known for the heart warming Billy Elliot although anyone coming along for similarly cuddly fare would have been disappointed (not to say shocked and scandalised) by what they saw. Sex and alcohol and Rock ‘N’ Roll were the order of the day. Mam is cruising the local scene for younger bakery workers to roll with while failing to keep her whisky addiction in control, Stu is happy to move in and then take up with Mam’s young, (not to say underage), daughter Jill as well. Dad was both there and not there, only making his voice heard when he ceased being a “cabbage” as Mam puts it, springing to imaginary life as “The King”. And I haven’t even mentioned the tortoise yet. Someone call the RSPCA.

It is quite difficult at times to imagine what we are supposed to think about all these goings on. Should we be admiring Mam for taking the bold decision to carry on living her life or dislike her for neglecting and bullying her daughter while carrying on living her life? Is Stu a rather dim Jack the Lad going around offering Victoria Sponge and Lemon Slices to susceptible females or a dubious predator who will attempt conjugal relations with anything that moves (or doesn’t). And what of Jill, our chef/narrator who seeks solace in food? Is she simply a grumpy teenager who doesn’t have any friends or a put upon carer who needs a hug rather than another chocolate pudding?

In short the production had to tread a thin line between bad taste and black humour, between laughs and gasps, and in general it succeeded. Personally I would crawl over broken glass to see Sue Brodie read from the telephone directory and her Mam didn’t disappoint. Swinging between enthusiasm “I’m still a young woman” and despair “Thirty Eight years of age and on the scrap heap” while wrestling with the fact that Edina and Saffy like her daughter was (initially) less raunchy than she was “The trouble is I treat you too much like an adult and you have no understanding”.

It is quite difficult to imagine the play (as originally written) without “Elvis” - Dad’s alter ego who sings where Dad cannot even speak - because it is he who brightens proceedings when things get too serious, who hints that Hall may be poking fun at us and that Elvis was not really any sort of “King” to be worshipped : “all will be well and all manner of things shall be well. And then I went home and was sick”. James Laing did a good job helping things along and making us laugh when we most needed it - his entry through the bedroom cupboard when Jill and Stu were bouncing under the covers was priceless - and his rapport with the audience was first class.

Brad Johnson as Stu chose to play it quite cool , treating women as he would a new range in his bakery, there to try but, you know I can take it or leave it, moving almost silently into houses and then beds seemingly nonplussed by his adventures even when offering er, “relief” to the senseless dad almost like some sort of sexual social worker. I wondered if he should have had a little bit more edge or been a little bit dimmer (his frustration at being made to play Trivial Pursuit by Mam was a prime moment “I haven’t got a piece of pie!” as was his bewilderment at being covered in marinade by Jill “You’re a fucking pervert you” - that was his job after all.

Olivia Baker’s Jill was in effect the narrator, introducing all of the twenty three mini scenes, a dramatic device which could have got very annoying indeed if it hadn’t been handled so well. This was a very strong performance from an assured performer, equally adept at sulky teenager, practical carer and strong young woman. Her confidence made her last minute suicide attempt slightly surprising as I felt she could handle almost anything that life threw at her. Even cooking a tortoise.

Emilia Teglia’s direction kept everything together nicely (in a play which you feel could come apart at the scenes quite easily) and which kept you guessing, nicely balancing the competing elements of realism and fantasy. Barbara Diana’s musical direction brought us home Presley-wise and Max Batty’s set was an excellent (if rather orange) split between bedroom, kitchen and lounge. Special mention should go to the stage management team of Kate Sibley and Maja Laskowska for the large amount of cooking involved in the production. Irena Pancer’s costumes were notable for the hideous Elvis wear brought out for the King and at one point, Stu.

In reality Elvis Presley cared more for junk food than “southern delicacies” and in calling the last scene “The unbearably glib Epilogue” and having Elvis at the end say that there are in reality “no cripple Elvises, no sad Mams and burger Kings, no fat girls or cake makers” does make you think that Hall is trying to have his cake and eat it. But all things considered it’s a pretty well cooked dish, elvisly or otherwise.