ACTION BRONSON FOR GQ.CO.UK

Ariyan Arslani is a man of considerable appetites and many names. On a recent visit to London, the 22 stone chef-turned-rapper - known by a series of aliases including "Baklava", "Bam Bam", "Bronsolino", "Ill Prosciutto" but mostly "Action Bronson" - wanted to get the most out of the only city that he feels rivals his beloved birthplace of New York.

In short succession, the 30-year-old gourmand consumed BBQ pork buns from Kowloon bakery in Chinatown, lamb chops at Lahore Kebab house and some particularly fine yuca frita in what he will later describe as "some bullshit English pub on the corner between Camden and Kings Cross". Bronson even interrupted his sold-out gig at Kentish Town's Forum to try and buy a box of fried chicken from a nearby takeaway. Advancing to the counter topless, dripping in sweat and without a wallet, it's a testament to his charisma that he nearly succeeded.

All bravado, part bresaola, Bronson specialises in extraordinarily elaborate hip-hop, dotted with references to obscure sportsmen, Eighties action heroes, long-forgotten wrestlers and a tasting menu's worth of high-end ingredients. Genuinely funny punch lines and the occasional gross moment seal the deal. A man of Falstaffian proportions and Kool G Rap's way with words, Bronson particularly enjoys defying expectations: not least seeing how a macho London crowd reacts when he walks on stage to the Pet Shop Boys' "West End Girls".

British GQ has been after Bronson for a while. He first accepted our lunch invitation two years ago and plans were made to hit Hawksmoor for steaks and sink a few of Shaky Pete's signature Ginger Brews. It wasn't to be: on the day of our proposed encounter Bronson discovered that UK immigration aren't to be reasoned with, no matter how impressive your "conquistador / velour" rhyme scheme.

Since that thwarted visit, Bronson's star has risen considerably: he's supported Eminem on tour, played stadiums in South Africa, joined Atlantic's Vice Records imprint and been given his own food TV series entitled F***, That's Delicious. This month he's released his most high profile single yet, "Easy Rider", complete with a video that sees Bronson barrel around on a Harley Davidson like a plus size Peter Fonda. It's almost certainly the only hip-hop record you'll hear this year that includes references to Guns N Roses' "November Rain", a Ritz Carlton lounge and the benefits of having a dwarf Puerto Rican butler. 

"Easy Rider" is also the first taste from Bronson's hugely anticipated major label debut LP. Like Bronson himself, it has had many alternative titles, including Not Your Average Korean, The Chairman's Intent, Carmine Intentions, Album Album and, perhaps most bizarrely of all, Gary. Bronson recently settled on the typically self-aggrandising Mr Wonderful, a reference both to Eighties WWE wrestler Paul Orndoff and the term Bronson's mother used to sarcastically describe her miscreant son.

Everything is in place for this to be Bronson's year. The only problem is that by the time GQ is finally scheduled to sit down with the man himself (who now has the correct paperwork), the rapper has had second thoughts on lunch. His rep from Atlantic asked, as an alternative, if he might have a manicure and pedicure rather than yet another meal? We initially thought he was joking, or perhaps testing the foppish British men's magazine. Could this be the metrosexual equivalent of Motley Crue asking for a boa constrictor on their rider? But Bronson wasn't joking. The 300 pound rapper who has gained a fearsome reputation for body-slamming stage invaders and can part the toughest crowd like an Arctic icebreaker? Apparently he really fancied a mani-pedi.

Which is why we found ourselves recently in Gentlemen's Tonic, a luxurious salon in Mayfair. Bronson arrives bang on schedule, a habit hard to break from his time spent in the culinary world. He declines the offered Bloody Mary and is introduced to charming Hungarian therapist Zsuzsanna Szelle, known simply as "Zsu". Zsu has never met a rapper before - she's personally more into jazz and tells GQ she hopes one day Michael Bublé might swing by. But with increasing numbers of men of all shapes and sizes coming in for treatments, she's keen for everyone to experience some high-end man-maintenance. Still, one suspects that in her ten years at Gentleman's Tonic Zsu has never performed a procedure on a man wearing a "High Times Hardcore OG" hoodie and a pair of swimming shorts with the lining cut out.

"My style has been a little bit weird since I started rapping to tell you the truth," says Bronson by way of outfit explanation. "The more successful I got, the more popular, the less I gave a f***."  He tells GQ he hasn't worn trousers in around eight years. "I'm done with jeans. I need air. I need circulation. I need to feel free." The rapper peels off a Nike and plonks a pale foot down in front of Szu and our photographer. She assesses the damage. "I'm sure you've seen worse," says Bronson. Zsu eyes the offending digits - particularly the jagged, unkempt nails - but confirms that this is nothing out of the ordinary. She promptly gets to work, soaking his feet in warm water with a few drops of body wash, then starts using a buffer to remove stubborn hard skin. When a respectable pile of Bronson bits lies on the towel, the rapper smiles and announces, "Save that for later." EBay is mentioned. "You could, actually. Someone will buy my dead skin."

Despite his apparent familiarity with the dark arts of the spa, this is Bronson's second only treatment. His only previous experience was at the W Hotel in Fort Lauderdale. "They scrubbed my feet, they massaged my legs and then they took all the crazy dead skin off the bottom. But then I went to the beach and my feet were so sensitive: I couldn't walk on the sand." He's certainly intrigued by the entire process. At one point he asks Zsu, "Oh, is that a nice exfoliating scrub?" in exactly the same manner he would talk on record about eating calf's brain at New York's Osteria Morini restaurant.

Bronson's trademark confidence is very much in evidence. "I have beautiful feet. They're Roman. That's a Roman foot." Faced with complete incomprehension from a Hungarian skincare specialist and a Mancunian portrait photographer, he explains further. "Did you ever see that chart of what your descendants are? I did. It was all over the internet. On the Egyptian foot the front toe was a little bit bigger. It had more of a slant."

When our photographer starts documenting this foot worthy of a Praetorian guardsman, Bronson adds a little art direction. "My left foot is much more beautiful honestly. I broke this leg and it's forever swollen. It's a little bit bigger." It was this 2011 injury that ended his career in the kitchen and sent him inadvertently into the world of hip-hop. "Somehow it's much stronger than it was before the surgery: it's like Bionic Man, they definitely did something. They put some sort of titanium in there that reacts to the sun."

Despite apparently having slept for less than two hours Bronson makes for excellent company - partly because this is one of the few interviews in his career that won't include the question "What's your favourite thing to cook?" What's immediately clear is that Bronson is someone fascinated by details both in and out of the kitchen and the recording booth: asked about his plans back in New York, he discusses the merits of a Sobakawa Cloud pillow bought off QVC at 2am "along with the Super Slicer".

His well-documented passion for Eighties action films is also in evidence. "I tried to get Steven Seagal for a video. I read it was $250-300,000 local and overseas it something like $750,000. It was out of control - just for him to come through and say 'What's up?'" Bronson's next bet is to try to appeal to him as a fellow musician (when he's not kicking people in the face or hanging out with President Putin, Seagal plays the blues). "That's how I'm going to have to get at him, through a song. Then, when he's there, I'll be like 'Let's do this fight scene in Chinatown.'"

When challenged for his most GQ-appropriate lyric, he opts not for the offered "All I see is C-notes/Silk shirts at the casino" but rather for the funnier, more bedroom-focused "I nutted in like three strokes / That's no way to rep the East Coast." His tastes, however, match more with the magazine than you might imagine. For instance, he's currently on the lookout for either a watch fromBreitling or Chopard. "I want invisible wealth on my wrist. Something handmade, custom, very subtle. I want the watch to cost $1m, no diamonds. Just because of the movement, the material, the craftsmanship and the person making the time." Despite his dishevelled appearance he can also admire tailoring on others. "Honestly I always like how my father dressed. He always had the custom Armani suits on, because he was European Albanian, so close to Italy and always on that style tip. I always looked at my father and wanted to wear suits every day. Then I got older and I was like, 'F*** that, it's overrated.'" Given half a chance however, his dandy tendencies might assert themselves. "I like a light brown shoe with a grey suit and a pink sock. Something crazy. That's how I would do it."

For a big man, he's also in favour of a delicate scent. "I'm very sensitive to smell so it would need to be something very light and sporty. I used to do Armani White: they don't make this stuff any more so I guess that no one liked it." Naturally Bronson's air for exhaustive detail comes into play, this time listing the miniatures he stockpiled as a teenager back in Flushing, Queens in New York. "I had 40 little bottles. Green Safari Polo. Brut. Polo Sport. Cool Water. Obsession. CK One. Drakkar Noir. Joop. I remember wearing a lot of Fahrenheit, that was definitely a big one. Probably because rappers said it."

Bar a little YSL, he's cut back on the cologne for now. Most of his grooming regime is dedicated to the Brian Blessed beard he has cultivated. He complains bitterly about a terrible haircut he got in Australia. "They don't know how to give a proper fade. He left me with almost a military haircut. I was pissed because it took so long to grow those illustrious curls and he just ruined it within a matter of ten minutes." It's not the worst he's ever received though - that was when his mother used to give him a trim herself. "If you'd ever seen the movie Major League, she gave me Ricky Vaughn's haircut - with the diamond cut in the back."

As we talk about Charlie Sheen's Nineties crop, Zsu and Bronson occasionally check in with each other. She works diligently pushing back his cuticles, clipping, shaping and buffing the nails. Bronson, noticing the improvements, declares "I'm actually looking beautiful already" and Zsu, to her credit, chimes in with "You're getting gorgeous." It's fair to say that Bronson's body care regime is not what it might be. "I'm not fancy… I'd like to be" he says, before listing assorted skin complaints. "I'm scared to go to the doctor. Who knows what else I got?"

Bronson takes this opportunity to air some podiatric concerns. "I don't know if not wearing socks is good or bad but my feet sometimes stank. I let my toenails grow very long because I don't know how to cut them. When I was younger my mother used to cut them and it hurt me so I never wanted to." He leans in. "I'm going to tell you something disgusting: when I come out of the shower I rip them off." Zsu patiently reassures him there are graver misdemeanours. Bronson agrees. "I'm scummy. I'm not that scummy."

Bronson's mixture of outrageous self-belief undercut with occasional genuine concern is startling. But there is something undeniably admirable about a man so comfortable in his own skin that, stripped to the waist, he can stop a gig just for people to admire his girth. Take the following justification for example: "I'm already a big man but I'm very athletic and my wind is incredible so my stamina is top notch". Sure he'll caveat it afterwards by saying he's not on the same fitness level as a professional footballer, but you get the idea. "Was I always this confident? No. But there was a point where I was like: I am what I am and this is it. You can either love me, like me, deal with me or not." He cites the turning point as when he decided to end a serious relationship. "She's still the mother of my kids and I'll always love her for that but it was the greatest decision I'd made in my whole life, I'll be honest with you."

Now that everything is working out, he's started trying to get back to his fighting form. "I've been lifting weights my whole life. I was in great shape - well, maybe not great shape. I was 225/230 pounds: but cut up, nice looking." Losing the pounds has proven something of a struggle, particularly when fans are known to push baked goods into his hands as presents. "It ain't easy anywhere," Bronson says ruefully. "Because everyone wanted to take me out to eat."

The food chat that follows is as decadent as anyone could wish for. Topics include why the world simply doesn't need another burger joint, the need to trust your sommelier and why the embryo-based snack balut is best left off the menu. He's emphatic on how the "monte au beurre" technique is not easy, even if it looks easy when Bronson himself does it. He waxes lyrical on the significance of the aging process of the cote de boeuf at Greenwich Village's Minetta Tavern. "The outside of the steak should taste like roasted peanuts. You need 80 days at least for that deep nutty flavour that's almost rancid."

He tells me of a culinary experience he himself deems "heavy duty". "In Montreal I had one of the most ridiculous experiences of foie gras in my life. One food trend they had in KFC was a special called a 'double down': two chicken breasts with bacon or cheese in the middle. This place did two pieces of fried foie gras with peanut butter and maple syrup in the middle." It sounds disgusting, but to Bronson it was divine. "I took one bite and I had to go outside. It was so much. It went directly to my brain. It was just like I ate 100 oxtails. Or eating Vaseline - in a good way."

This gastronomic reverie is interrupted as Zsu switches from Bronson's toes to his equally untidy fingernails. She spots a tiny moustache tattoo on one finger and laughs with delight when Bronson brings it to his lips. "I told you: I'm an idiot," Bronson replies when she asks about its origins. "It's a terrible tattoo. Looks like I got it in jail."  He advises those looking to follow him to the parlour to perhaps reconsider. "I've ruined my body honestly. I like this shit but… I have an Arabic alligator on my hand? If I was still working for my father in the kitchen and I came in with this he'd probably stab me in the neck."

The few tattoos that Bronson doesn't regret reveal his two great loves: his daughter's name and a depiction of a 1995 BMW 5 Series. "I put the M5 engine in it, dropped it down, crazy suspension." He's recently sold a black 850csi but his 1987 635csi is being modified as we speak. "It's going to be sitting down on the floor like a kindergarten student." He talks about his wishlist, including a red six speed "with the peanut butter seats" and one sedan that looks like a Rolls Royce and drives like a yacht. His dream when the money finally starts rolling in that he'll go for a Ferrari. "I've just chilling out now till I get that next big cheque, 'til I get that 89 Testarossa." He may have to hit the gym beforehand though. "I can't even fit in the motherf***er and I'm buying it, I tell you."

Bronson nears the end of his treatment: Zsu works in a glycolic-based cream, massaging each hand and incubating them in a hot towel. She asks whether Bronson wants anything further added to his nails. "I want it buffed, I don't want anything shiny," comes the reply. He mulls over the idea of turning up for his next Vice video with a little glitter. "Go to the shooting range with Dior on my nails: that would be cool."

At this point, a musical discussion goes joyously awry. Springing initially from a chat about Bronson's love of Slash's guitar solos, Zsu mentions Brian May. "Brian May is my inspiration. That's why I watch [Queen's] live shows." We discuss the legacy of Freddie Mercury. "That's the type of performance I watch to show how I should really do it. Total showmanship. That guy! And he sounds incredible on stage. To be able to do that kind of thing, night in, night out, with that kind of voice! And he's smoking cigarettes, drinking beers on stage: that's not good for your voice. But he was incredible. One of a kind. And Brian May is a legendary human being." GQ brings up the subject of May's campaign to prevent badgers being culled. This displeases Bronson. "That's a bit pretentious isn't it? Really - that's what you give a f*** about?" He warms to his theme in the borderline nonsensical way that only Bronson can get away with. "Come on Brian May - f*** these platypuses! I don't give a shit about the beavers! I love animals and all man… but come and play the axe! Get in the studio with me."

The appointment draws to a close. The final shots are taken of the left foot (our Daniel Day Lewis gag is met with Bronson quoting The Crucible and asking whether GQ's own foot care regime is up to scratch). Zsu finishes, Bronson inspects the results, thanks her, mulls a haircut and contemplates booking a full body massage on his next visit. Before he leaves he hugs everybody - including a complete stranger who, upon seeing a seemingly cuddly rapper, just wanted to get in on the action. Bronson is thrilled with how good his hands and feet feel. "Very, very smooth. I'm going to Miami next week… so I'm going to wear slippers." One last look in the mirror. "Beautiful!" The heavyweight MC turns and delivers his verdict. "I feel like a princess."

Originally published in August 2014 on GQ.co.uk. Read the original here.