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Mayhem on a plate

I would love to spot somebody like Dylan or a disinterred Hemingway or a Charles Bukovski in such a restaurant and sit quietly nearby, watching their faces, as such delights were set before them. Their BS antenna would be up quicker than a priest’s cassock on spotting a choirboy, and they’d be out of there in search of something honest, preferably involving a bar stool and plenty of Jack’s.


A devil of a time with heavenly vegetables

But the courgettes developed a life of their own. They grew and grew, and then grew some more. I lined the hallway with them, and the tannies would squeal on sight of a row of priapic marrows.


Night of the vegetarian vampires

VAMPIRES slunk into dark corners on sight of the caramelly whole roasted garlic as I took them from the cinders and unfurled their shiny foil blankets. Hard to imagine that I had lived for 20 years before even tasting the pungent, plump cloves. Now I eat them whole, though not quite raw, and movies like Twilight and Nosferatu the Vampire no longer frighten me.


Strawberry meals forever

I THINK I may be going to Organic Hell. This is a pristine Orwellian place where you are sent if you have committed an Organic Sin.


The first and most florid celebrity chef

It’s easy when you know how: combine equal amounts of good food, wine and friends, stir gently against a backdrop of Provence, Tuscany or the Cape winelands, and place on the backburner of your life to simmer.