Food takes me back to places I physically can’t get to anymore. A plate of corned beef hash with lashings of HP Sauce and I’m 8 again, balancing a slightly too hot tray on my knee of a Saturday evening, watching Blind Date and wondering when I might be old enough to ask clever questions to potential suitors.
Lemony roast chicken accompanied by a very cold glass of Jacob’s Creek Sauvignon Blanc and I’m 17, playing house with my boyfriend and studying Delia’s Complete Cookery Course with the attention my A Level texts never quite got. And then there’s sausage and mash with salted butter beyond belief and sticky onion gravy; that is the taste of my university years. A plate piled so high us girls would have a little break halfway through, just to pace ourselves.