There is too much talk of cooking being an art or a science – we are only making ourselves something to eat.

I cannot go any further without mentioning my favourite biscuit of all time, now sadly, tragically, extinct. The oaty, crumbly, demerara notes of the long-forgotten Abbey Crunch will remain forever on my lips. I loved the biscuit as much as anything I have ever eaten, and often, in moments of solitude, I still think about its warm, buttery, sugary self.

Good kitchens are not about size; they are about ergonomics and light.

It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you....Once the warm, salty butter has hit your tongue, you are smitten. Putty in their hands.

Real food meas big-flavoured, unpretentious cooking. Good ingredients made into something worth eating. Just nice, uncomplicated food.

There is too much talk of cooking being an art or a science – we are only making ourselves something to eat.

Food is, for me, for everybody, a very sexual thing and I think I realised that quite early on. I still cannot exaggerate how just putting a meal in front of somebody is really more of a buzz for me than anything. And I mean anything. Maybe that goes back to trying to please my dad, I don't know. It's like parenting in a way I suppose.