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

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.

It is the deep, salty stickiness of food that intrigues me more than any other quality.

Almost anything is edible with a dab of French mustard on it.

Well let's face it, who on earth besides antique dealers and gay couples actually still give dinner parties?

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

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