Linda Herrick: Sopranos fans in mourning

What a yawning chasm in the lives of devotees of an essential drama that's just gone off screen until, yikes, 2006.

On Monday, The Sopranos were silenced with the finale of what has seemed like a too-short, particularly brilliant series five.

It's been full of humour, emotional upheaval and, yes, bloodshed. But also weaving through this series has been an everyday quietness, which speaks volumes about a team of writers and actors in cool control of their craft.

Through it all, Tony Soprano has emerged as a most unlikely great hero of the screen, large or small. For all his faults — and he has many, least of all the fact that he is a crook, a killer, a slob and is chronically unfaithful to his wife — Tony has shown true heroism of late.

He has made an effort to become more honest with himself, thanks to groundbreaking work with Dr Melfi, including the recollection that he abetted his father's infidelity, thereby establishing a lifelong pattern of betrayal and guilt.

He also dredged up the true reason — a panic attack — he'd let down cousin Tony S so many years ago. A relief to get it out? Like a cure for constipation, he thought, in blunter terms.

Psychoanalysis was all very well, but when it came to the suggestion he should emulate sister Janice's efforts at anger management, no way, no how. Tony employed all his wiles and goaded Jan until she lost it. He was thrilled. So were we.

Where series four ended with the vicious implosion of Tony and Carmela's marriage, this time Tony has made excellent progress towards reconciliation, via a few hookers.

He also opened his heart to newly released cousin Tony B. But that eventually led to serious issues with the malevolent Johnny Sack, who last week was demanding the handover of Tony B for the purposes of torture.

As one of Tony's crew pointed out, "We're in an effing stagmire". Here's where Tony displayed real backbone. He told Johnny Sack where to go. He confessed his old lie to Tony B. And then, because he knew Tony B's fate would be to die agonisingly if he fell into Sack's hands, he killed his cousin. It was like watching a man put down a dog he loved. A mercy killing.

As one hero departs our screens, another — a self-styled one — reappears on Friday on One, old coot Rick Stein and another helping of his Food Heroes.

Now, I used to be a big fan of Stein's up to and including when I met him earlier this year. He was affable and intelligent to chat to, even if we knew he really didn't want me to ask about his marital woes — due (like Tony Soprano) to an affair.

But as I have continued to watch Stein's series, and various reruns on the Living channel, he has started to irritate.

Why? Because under that cheery exterior, he does moan on a lot. It's monotonous and some nastier asides reveal a massive ego.

Even a moaning Stein is preferable to most TV chefs — have you seen Emeril? — but the other night there he was, in a little five-minute gig on Living, doing a weird "dark and stormy night" ho-ho-ho cooking thing, with
flashing thunder and lightning, the set lit by candles.

Stein was hammier than streaky bacon yet he clearly thought he was hilarious. No. My former hero is clearly in a stagmire.