Felicity Cloake is the New Statesman’s food columnist. Her latest book is The A-Z of Eating: a Flavour Map for Adventurous Cooks.
Every Christmas, homeless charity Crisis turns surprise ingredients, volunteer chefs and a lot of enthusiasm into dinner for over 4,000 people.
Even a lovingly crafted present wasn’t good enough for one correspondent, who bemoaned the way that Christmas had morphed into the “great middle-class home-made chutney exchange . . . Even in November, I have jars of it left.”
A feast for the eyes: but the best cookbooks are about more than just beautiful photographs.
It’s a national handicap: a survey a couple of years ago claimed that 38 per cent of us would never complain at a restaurant, however bad our experience.
The slight lip around the edge is no mere bourgeois affectation; it keeps the food contained in its proper place.
Let it rot, and keep your little microbes happy.
Summer is the time for wolfing down crayfish on the coast in Sweden.
Keep things streamlined on the food front, so as to leave more room on the rug for important stuff, such as people.
Grigson's recipes still have the power to surprise – God knows what readers in 1971 made of sushi with sweet beans – and her enthusiasm for her subject is utterly infectious.
Jam, not bombs.
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