As a child, there was a book that had a profound effect on me. It reclined upstairs on a white wicker table in my mother’s haunted house in Warwickshire. I don’t suppose I was meant to see it, but of course I did.

The book was David Thorpe and Pierre La Poste’s Rude Food.  I read it furtively before my mother or step-father could find me.  I remember being fascinated, enthralled, shocked and titillated by turns.

Here is my homage to that book…