Food has been my career, my hobby, and, it must be said, my escape.

It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you.

It must have been the lack of nutrients that gave my father his temper. He is not a sweet man despite a very sweet tooth.

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.

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

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