My three-and-a-half year old daughter has a penchant for sweet treats. Hard as this may be to believe, she appears not yet to recognise the benefits of her sage mother’s ascetic approach to food – perhaps because she is growing as fast as a bean-shoot and constantly darts between her two favourite activities of bouncing on the settee and jumping on our bed, or possibly just because she’s three-and-a-half. Anyway – I digress.

This results in a persistent clamouring for “something sweet – no, something really sweet,” said in that typically three-and-a-half year old, utterly resolute voice. And because she eats a (reasonably) balanced diet the rest of the time – with plenty of protein, healthy fats and wholegrains – I give her craving some credit and usually try to find something acceptable both to her and me; though not always an easy task.

And so it came to pass that yesterday afternoon she stood a one metre volcano about to erupt into noisy tears beside the kitchen cupboard, and I adamant, at the other side of the room, that I would not give in to biscuits. None of the usual temptations had work: I’d offered satsumas, a dried apricot, nuts and raisins, and even a date (almost always a winner). My patience waning, I had a sudden flash of brilliance and told her that if she left the room for one minute (an inconceivably long time) there would be surprise better than anything she’d ever eaten before.

The pressure was tangible, but I was fairly confident in my idea, and I could, contrary to all parenting manuals, always resort to the reduced sugar biscuits her grandmother had made at Christmas time if it failed. She accepted this deal, and I set to work, with no more than a banana, a few raisins, a jar of almond butter, some cocktail sticks and an elegant, decidedly grown-up looking plate for my tools. When she returned to the room, she was happily stunned – “what are they?” “oooh, like lolly pops” – ate them all up, and stayed cheerful until teatime.

There is a moral in this tale for all of us aspiring to eat more healthily – children and adults alike. It is the importance of ceremony. It is realising that food is so much more satisfying when given a sense of occasion: through anticipation, careful preparation and setting. Even the humble celery stick sits more enticingly when cut ribbon thin and carefully laid on bone china.

In our hurried age, where emails ping, phones vibrate, taxis beep and children whinge, we rarely take the time to create any sense of ceremony for our food – special occasions aside. Most food is eaten standing up at the fridge, or in the car on the way to work. Instant porridge and prepared vegetables fly off the shelves. Snacks are shovelled in and sandwiches wolfed down, with no time spent thinking about or appreciating the act in itself.

I have been as much a guilty culprit of this as anyone; throwing handfuls of nuts into my mouth in the corner of the kitchen, ripping off bits of bread roll whilst marching round the park with sleeping children in a buggy, eating slices of cheese from the packet on the way home from the supermarket. It’s terribly depressing, and, more significantly, dissatisfying. Your body barely registers eating when on the hop, let alone starts to understand that it might be full or, indeed, still need more sustenance.

So more recently, I’ve resolved to only eat sitting down (unless at a farmer’s market food stall) and have forced myself to make time to lovingly prepare even the simplest of snacks. I now look at my food and take pleasure in its appearance. I try to feel each mouthful, and think about how and if my body appreciates each one. I certainly notice fullness more, and spend less time in the kitchen furtively sneaking in unnecessary food.

A few ideas to adhere to:

1. Leave at least five minutes spare to present your meal or snack, in addition to any cooking time. A final sprinkle of freshly chopped herbs works wonders.

2. Serve food on pretty plates – whether breakfast, a snack, lunch or dinner – and don’t load them so full, you can’t appreciate the design. Give yourself (and others) a modest serving of each element of the meal – you can always go back for more. Never eat out of the box or, worse still, the packet.

3. Eat at a table and always (where possible) sitting down. Remember that candlelight creates something ceremonious out of even the most basic Ikea table – it does in our kitchen anyway.

4. Appreciate the visual impact of your food before you eat it. Enjoy the colours, and the patterns it makes. Then decide in which order it will be most satisfying to eat. I tend to start with the protein and end with vegetables, with a little bit of intermingling on the way. Be sure to leave at least one mouthful of your favourite element on the plate until the very end – as a small grand finale.

5. Always use a knife and a fork – or chopsticks, if a appropriate. Don’t shovel: instead, slice, cut, pierce, and enjoy your hands’ dexterity at putting exactly which taste or combination of tastes, you want into your mouth. And, for the ultimate sense of completion, finish your meal with a gentle dab of the napkin.

Bananas on sticks (guaranteed to please all ages) 

Ingredients

• 1 banana
• 1 teaspoon of pure almond butter
• 6 raisins (roughly)
• 6 cocktails sticks (roughly)
• A piece of your finest china

Method

Peel and slice the banana. Spread a good layer of almond butter on the top side of half the slices, and then sandwich another slice on top. Arrange the little towers spaciously on your chosen dish.

Pierce each raisin with a cocktail stick, and plunge these into the nutty banana towers. The raisins should sit directly on the top slice and, if the slices are the right thickness, the stick will stand firmly in each one.

Present with great aplomb to the hungry crowds waiting with anticipation outside the kitchen door.

Alternatives …

• Any berry would work well instead of raisins.
• Other nut butters, such as hazelnut, cashew, or even peanut butter, would be equally good, as long as they are 100% nut butter with no added salt or sugar.