A friend, who’d been staying for a few days over Christmas, remarked as she left that she must remember bread, cheese, cucumber and celery provided a perfectly adequate meal. Inevitably, my first thought was “what a lazy host I am”, but my second, more reflective thought was “other people surely eat meals like that too, don’t they?” It seemed not.

I must credit my parents for teaching me the art of minimalist eating – for it truly is an art. Not minimalists in so many other ways – their house is an exquisite cacophony of William Morris prints, half-read old newspapers, overflowing bookshelves and grandchildren’s broken toys, befitting for two retired, hummus-eating, brown-bread-making academics – in the kitchen, they value food pared down. It’s not because they can’t cook or because they shy away from strong flavours. Indeed, both are excellent cooks and are naturally adventurous – in food and all sorts of other things. It’s more that they care about ingredients and that they believe most really, truly, good ingredients are dulled by excessive cooking.  (My father prides himself on having distilled his legendary fish pie to fish, tomatoes and a delicate béchamel sauce, which he has refined carefully over many years.) Continue reading →