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

Pamper a tomato, overfeed it, overwater it and you will get a Paris Hilton of a tomato.

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.

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

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

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