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

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.

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

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.

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.

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