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.
Despite all its associations, vinha d’alhos is a mongrel dish - and the fraught question of what we ought to drink needs an international answer.
In this week's Real Meals, Will Self resists the parliamentarian-endorsed temptations of a mainline skeuomorph.
There's some joy to be taken in the long lunch - as long as someone else is paying.
My eyes and my nose streamed, it felt like someone had stuck a red hot poker through both of my ears and my heart was dancing a fast polka in my chest, but I also felt weirdly euphoric.
Spain and Portugal may have settled their differences, but when it comes to grapes, it's not so simple.
Kelly Gissendaner, due to be the first woman executed by the US state of Georgia in 70 years, chose a feast of junk food for her last meal. Her selection has been pored over by the media – why?
If you know where to look, you can get a long way from virulent orange sauce and “chips, not rice”.
Lots of places claim to have the “perfect” pancake recipe – but here’s how to guarantee the best results. Maybe.
Buckets, bobsleds and a battery-powered bike.
It's a food Felicity Cloake has enjoyed since childhood. Now Paddington is helping to revive flagging marmalade sales.
I may be late to the party, but I am tough on ramekin – and on the causes of ramekin.
Nina Caplan drinks German wine and contemplates J M W Turner’s work on war.
In many ways, January diets are as self-indulgent as the Christmas binge.
Even I willingly acknowledge that the damage to the vineyards of Champagne was one of the lesser tragedies of the First World War.
What should you do to stay happy and healthy this Christmas? You’ll like the first piece of advice: if you want to relax, you could try eating a big meal.
Jay the lesbian gannet made our Christmas much less tense than normal. The home-made Baileys flowed.
From without in the chilly night, the Hovel – which is a maisonette above a shop – looked cosy; I could see lamplight and books ranged on shelves.
In the spirit of festive generosity I would like to offer a helping hand when it comes to surviving the onslaught of hot plonk. Here, food, as in so many situations, is your friend.
Real Meals by Will Self.
The Drink Column.
Once upon a time, the food of Venice was considered the finest in Europe, “specialising in wild boar, peacock, venison, elaborate salads and architectural pastries”.
Will Self’s Real Meals.
We are now in the thick of what you might call “the bonfire season”, which runs from mid-October to the weekend after Guy Fawkes Night.
What does the term mean, other than that the wine is big, probably red, and certainly unaffordable?
Do you dislike Jamie Oliver because you’re ideologically opposed to his pasta dishes, or is it because the idea of a working class man who has acquired the privileges of middle class life pisses you off?
Scott Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Wicca in the Kitchen, “a practical guide to food magic”, promises, rather thrillingly, that from now on, every “munch of celery will resonate with new meaning”.
We’re aiming for 150 bottles, with “NW6” on the label and a bouquet of Bakerloo. But this is about more than wine. Could we rediscover lost skills and reconnect with each other?
I can understand the logic of opening a branch of Dirty Burger in Shoreditch – but Vauxhall? Although the spirit of gentrification is taking up residence here, the fact remains the place is still what is scientifically termed a shithole.