Tim Harding's comedy diary

Reviewer Tim Harding gives a rundown of the comedy he's been watching in London.

Cooking With Kathryn is the debut Soho Theatre show from Kate Owens, a New York-based clown / character comedian, and nominee for the best newcomer award in Edinburgh.

It’s easy to see the source of its appeal, as Owens makes deft use of the same box of tools favoured by more confrontational clowns, but keeps her antics restricted to within a comfortable range and aims primarily at softer targets. That’s not to do her down, as she’s a talented, confident actor, and this is a show that’s clearly been carefully calibrated in every respect.

Kate plays Kathryn, the latest in a long line of deep southern Republican women, who’s inherited the mantle of Cooking With Kathryn – a local public access cooking show - from her recently deceased mother. Visibly trembling under the weight of obligation, expectation, religion and social norms, it’s up to Kathryn to get through her first shift as a TV chef without collapsing like a souffle.

The kind of big-tent revival conservatism that Owens is sending up still thankfully feels culturally distant in London, a straw man that the comic is able to knock down with some well-chosen performance details – the pink dress tightened at the back with bulldog clips, the desperate mantra ‘it’s okay!’ accompanying every kitchen disaster, and the tense cutie-pie smile the character brings out whenever she starts to feel overwhelmed. 

The show is full of such fine details; the set dressing, musical stings and performance all working in harmony. What Owens uses them for, though, is often a little blunter. There’s a lot of quite traditional messing around with food in a mildly gross-out sense, getting covered in eggs and Flour and using the blender without the lid on. A couple of audience members are roped in for some tricks like the ol’ fake wedding that are amusing if not a little familiar. And it wraps up with a visitation and a message of self-acceptance that don’t deviate from these close rails, although again, there’s a lovely touch with a picture being turned around that I almost didn’t notice until the very end.

As a pleasant, accessible and charming entry point to the tropes of modern clowning, you could do a lot worse. Hopefully it’s the beginning of a journey of discovery for those catching it after the nomination.

For a show all about food, Owens has missed an opportunity to curry favour with audiences by providing some light refreshments. Luckily fellow newcomer nominee Molly McGuinness has you covered in Slob, with a buffet of sausage rolls, cheese balls, Scotch eggs and French fancies available throughout her debut hour. It also provides her a neat way into her first couple of routines, wherein she pours scorn on the quality of funeral buffets. 

Like her director, Chris Cantrill of the The Delightful Sausage, McGuinness walks a fun line between observational material and some more surreal grostequeries, often plaiting one strand with the other, as when she talks about the alkies in ancient leather who seem to be her primary suitors. 

In fact, another Sausage came to mind at points, as McGuinness also has the Teflon cheeriness of Amy Gledhill, a trait that came in handy a couple of years ago when, following a bout of tonsillitis, McGuinness contracted the severe bacterial infection Lemierre’s syndrome, developed sepsis and fell into a coma for over a week, her life hanging in the balance. 

This extraordinary story forms the entire back half of Slob, detailing her experience coming back into the world, her weeks recovering in hospital over Christmas and New Year, and the tentative romance that developed over the period of her illness.

I would personally have loved some more details about the actual experience of being in a coma, but I suppose by definition it’s not an easy place to send dispatches from. The few hints that we do get – especially her relentless and terrifying coma dreams – are queasily compelling.

Her joke writing is unflashy but certainly has personality, plus there’s warmth and authenticity to burn. She also has a story to tell that will likely continue to pay out for future shows. All in all, it’s just what you’d want from a debut. I’m looking forward to seeing more of her.

Lastly, just a few words on something called The Duel, as I’m not even sure if it’s a work in progress or not, let alone if it’ll ever play again. This was a two-night engagement for Sam Campbell, Paddy Young and Amy Gledhill performing a kind of late-night play at The Bill Murray in the first cold weekend of 2026. 

Genuinely, I’ll be surprised if I see anything better this whole year. Campbell and Young play two mutually obsessed ball-cupping actors putting on a play within a play about The Bill Murray (or The Bill Cosby as Sam will insist on calling it) being taken over by greedy developers, while Gledhill is cannily given the most bizarre character as the developer’s pampered daughter, whom Campbell and Young both fall in love with.

I’ve seen this exact plot a few different times in my comedy-going career, but never put on with such delirious energy. It feels like being in a mad scientists’ lab and ducking for cover while jokes explode everywhere around you, and your hunched form is showered with humour debris. 

The chemistry between the three leads is crackling, and it somehow synthesises the energy of a live show with an array of exceptional scripted material. Not to lay it all entirely at his feet, but one of the things that most impresses me about Campbell every time is his sheer diligence. 

The Duel could easily have been a slapdash lightly-scripted hangout show coasting on vibes, but instead it has several of the funniest and most rigorously planned sequences I’ve seen in years. This is the best-case scenario for a collaboration between three of your favourite comics – greater even than the sum of its considerable parts. Lord willing they take it to the Fringe and give more people a chance to see it this year.

Published: 12 Jan 2026