Felicity Cloake is the New Statesman’s food columnist. Her latest book is The A-Z of Eating: a Flavour Map for Adventurous Cooks.
Jam, not bombs.
A few years ago, the Great British Bun was in danger of extinction. Then, like a well-proofed dough, it rose again.
The fact is, eating often does unflattering things to the face. Far better to follow Thatcher's example and steer clear.
Julian Baggini thinks that eating well is one of the most important ways we live our values. But would he ask a dinner host where she got her chicken?
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.
If you know where to look, you can get a long way from virulent orange sauce and “chips, not rice”.
It's a food Felicity Cloake has enjoyed since childhood. Now Paddington is helping to revive flagging marmalade sales.
In many ways, January diets are as self-indulgent as the Christmas binge.
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.
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”.
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