The latest tiff between toffs gives plenty of food for thought.
Jam, not bombs.
The vegetarian movement has ground to a halt.
I’ve nothing against celebrated wines: enormous care and attention goes into their creation. Still, a little imagination is a heavenly thing.
A few years ago, the Great British Bun was in danger of extinction. Then, like a well-proofed dough, it rose again.
When it to comes to putting stuff in your mouth, only the spoon will do.
Why I hate the pathetic prescribed quirkiness of Ikea's new bed-based coffee house.
What does the success of the Féminalise Wine Competition tell us about wine and women?
elBulli's new project will "shift the paradigm" in molecular gastronomy.
Before I even got near the reds, I found myself thinking of a short story by Tolstoy, “How Much Land Does a Man Need?”.
Labour’s last straw was the “immigrants and benefits” scaremongering in one of its national leaflets. That’s not the party I joined. But it’s the party I left.
The New Statesman goes behind the froth of daily headlines to look at the people and the passions shaping our world.
Be well-informed. Be a New Statesman reader.