Would I call myself an accidental restaurateur? Oh god, yes! I had no interest in opening restaurants at all.

I wanted to run a nightclub in Padstow, Cornwall. In 1972 or 73, me and my best friend Johnny both inherited a bit of money from relatives. I picked up £14,000 and I used it to buy a building on the quayside in Padstow. But we had no experience in running nightclubs. We had a late licence until 1am, and everybody – mostly fishermen – got a bit too pissed, and we couldn’t keep order. We got shut down by the police, so I opened the restaurant [the Seafood Restaurant, which celebrates 50 years next year] to keep the business going.

I was born and brought up on a mixed-produce farm in the Cotswolds. It was an organic farm, or pretty nearly, and it meant I had a really broad childhood influence in great food. It never occurred to me until I started cooking, but that was a very rich heritage for me.

I do television because I enjoy it. But the restaurants are what keep me awake at night

What we eat as children is what we want to eat for the rest of our lives. In the late 1930s, my dad built a house on Trevose Head with my uncle and we would go there every summer. Because my father was a keen amateur fisherman, and because he liked the pubs in Padstow and he liked talking to fishermen, he established a relationship with quite a lot of the fishermen in Padstow. He actually invested in a lobster fishing boat there in the 1960s. There was a lot of connection between my family and the local fishermen, so I was lucky enough to have plenty of fish – really nice fish – as a child.

Glynn Christian, a personality in the food world, once told me: “On TV, you’re either the messenger or the message.” And what he meant was, you’re either on TV because you want to be a TV personality, or you’re on TV because you’ve got a message. I’ve always had a message, which is: “Why don’t we eat more fish?”

Television has never been my main business. It’s always been something I do because I enjoy it. But the restaurants are what keep me awake at night.

I’ve evolved a catholic taste in food. I’m open to most things, but I just don’t like rocky road. It’s so stupid, but I can’t stand chocolate and marshmallow.

For my brother’s 60th birthday, we all went on a boozy river trip. I came off where the boats moor at Folly Bridge in Oxford, it must have been around 1am, and there was a little bar or stall selling gyros. And I said to my mates, “This is the best food in the world!” Because it was. Sometimes it’s just what you need at the time.

Sometimes I feel a bit like I’m losing my influence [in my business]. I was in New Zealand at a famous winery called Te Mata, with the guy who set it up, John Buck. He’s in his 80s, and he said, “I’m just making a tea now.” He’s a legend, but I thought, “Well, that’s going to happen to me.” In a way, it’s how it should be.

Running restaurants is a hard game to be in. Years and years ago, one of my chefs said, “Catering is not a vocation, it’s a disease.” By that he meant it’s a bugger, but you wouldn’t want to be doing anything else. You’re hooked into it and, however hard it is, you’re always alive.

My favourite things

Food
Turbot hollandaise served with new potatoes and spinach with butter. Just because I think it’s the best flavoured fish that we have. How do you describe a flavour? It’s the flavour of turbot, innit?

Drink
I’m afraid it’s rather boring, but it’s a white burgundy to go with a turbot. A really special chardonnay with a bit of oak just blends perfectly with the exquisite sweetness of the turbot.

Place to eat
The place I probably enjoy most is Riva in Barnes. It’s very simple Italian food, but I just love the atmosphere and the fact the decor hasn’t changed for years and years, and the waiting staff are so wonderful. And Andrea, the owner, is always there and always good fun.

Dish to make
I’d have to say Dover sole meunière. Dover sole is up there with turbot; I’m afraid it’s ludicrously expensive but you can use lemon sole. It’s so simple, and you always think you can do better, but you never can.

Rick Stein’s Food Stories (BBC Books, £28) is out now; the accompanying TV series is on BBC iPlayer