Idris Elba x Berlin: Behind the Scenes of Hijack Series 2

Travelling from the UK to Berlin to cook during the filming of Hijack Series 2 was never simply about changing cities. It was about carrying continuity across borders. About arriving with intention. About ensuring that in the midst of relentless schedules, creative pressure, and a winter climate that shows no mercy, there remained something familiar, steady, and deeply human at the centre of each day.

Berlin in winter is austere. The cold is sharp and unyielding, the sky often low and colourless, the air dry and metallic. It cuts through coats, through gloves, through bravado. You feel it in your bones. You hear it in the silence between footsteps. You smell it in the frost. From the moment I arrived, I knew the food had to respond to that reality. This was not a place for novelty or excess. This was a place for warmth. For depth. For nourishment that holds you rather than weighs you down.

My brief to myself was clear and uncompromising: every dish must comfort, every plate must restore, and every meal must quietly support performance without ever becoming a distraction. In environments like this, food is not background. It is infrastructure. It is emotional scaffolding.

One of the quiet pillars of this period was my coconut miso chicken soup. It became a constant. A daily anchor. The steam rising from the pot in soft clouds, carrying that unmistakable umami aroma, warm and inviting against the cold air of early mornings. The first spoonful always did the same thing – it softened the shoulders, slowed the breath, settled the system. The depth of miso, the gentle sweetness of coconut, the clean clarity of the broth. It was light, but it was not thin. Warming, but never heavy. It wrapped around you from the inside out. In that Berlin cold, it was not just food, it was reassurance.

Breakfasts were treated with the same reverence. No rush. No carelessness. One of the combinations that became a favourite was soft egg whites, barely set and delicate, alongside iron-enriched spinach and perfectly grilled plantain. The spinach deep green and earthy, the plantain caramelised at the edges, sweet and golden. The plate was simple, but it spoke volumes. Clean protein to build and repair. Greens to strengthen. Plantain to comfort. That familiar sweetness, that texture, that memory. It is important to me that wellness never feels clinical. That nourishment still carries warmth. That health still tastes like home.

Then there were the evenings when the body asked for something more substantial. When the day had been long, the cold relentless, and only something bold would truly answer. Perfectly cooked rib eye steak, seared hard, resting just long enough, juices still glistening. The smell alone was enough to change the energy in the room. And alongside it, egusi. Thick, rich, deeply aromatic. Ground melon seeds, palm oil, spice. The kind of dish that announces itself before you even see it. Finding egusi in Berlin felt profound. It was not just a meal. It was an anchor. A declaration. A reminder that home is not geographical, it is emotional. It is cultural. It is memory carried in flavour. And it travels with you.

This is always my approach when cooking for Idris. The food is there to support, not interrupt. To ground, not distract. To quietly strengthen behind the scenes while the work unfolds in front of the camera. There is a rhythm to production, a pulse to the day, and my role is to move in harmony with it. To read the energy. To anticipate the need. To offer comfort before it is even asked for.

Hijack Series 2 demanded focus, endurance, and resilience. Early starts. Long hours. High pressure. The hum of set life never really stops. My contribution was to meet that intensity with warmth, intention, and care. Through creative soups in the biting winter cold. Through nourishing breakfasts before the city had fully woken. Through plantain, through rib eye, through Egusi. Through memory. Through home.

In a foreign city, in the depths of winter, in the heart of production, food became a quiet constant. A steady presence. A reminder of self. A moment of pause in a fast-moving world.