"In the final analysis, if people like and trust you, they’ll follow you."
Q. Your journey in food writing spans decades — from editing The Guardian to judging on Great British Menu. Looking back, what moment or experience do you feel shaped your perspective as a critic the most?
Crikey. That’s a tricky one. I suppose if there was one moment of epiphany, it was
while I was at university. I’d been jilted and become a broken-hearted bore. I took to cooking for my friends so they would listen to my moaning on about how miserable I was. One evening I’d cooked a supper of chicken in a white wine, cream and mushroom sauce (very sophisticated for the time).
while I was at university. I’d been jilted and become a broken-hearted bore. I took to cooking for my friends so they would listen to my moaning on about how miserable I was. One evening I’d cooked a supper of chicken in a white wine, cream and mushroom sauce (very sophisticated for the time).
One of my guests asked for some bread. “What for?” I snapped, fearing I hadn’t given him enough to eat. “Because this sauce is so delicious, I can’t bear to leave any,” he replied. In that instant, my wounded heart was healed, and I understood the joys and pleasures of making food for others. Exploring the complexity and joys of cooking and eating, and writing about them, has occupied me ever since.
Q. Italy clearly holds a special place in your work and writing. What is it about Italian cuisine or culture that inspires your creativity, and how has it influenced your approach to food storytelling?
As a very young chap I went to Italy for the first time on a family holiday. Each
evening, my father took us to a cafe for an ice cream. One evening we arrived, to be told that there wasn’t any. I was ready to be inconsolable until the proprietor
explained that he was making a fresh batch. Intrigued and then fascinated, I watched him pour banana essence into the ice cream mix.
evening, my father took us to a cafe for an ice cream. One evening we arrived, to be told that there wasn’t any. I was ready to be inconsolable until the proprietor
explained that he was making a fresh batch. Intrigued and then fascinated, I watched him pour banana essence into the ice cream mix.
Suddenly, the air was filled with the perfume of banana more intense than any banana I’d smelt before. I tasted it. It tasted more of banana than I’d ever eaten before. And as that first lick of cool, downy softness drifted over my tongue, I fell in love. Any nation that could lavish such passion and care over ice cream, was one to treasure for life.
Q. Food writing today is very different from when you started. How do you see the evolution of culinary journalism, and what excites or challenges you most about it?
The challenge is the same as it has ever been, even if the means have changed. Some people want to say something. Some people want to listen. How do you match the two?
When I started writing for newspapers and magazines, like others at the time, I was appointed by the editor. It was a privileged position, if not very well-paid. Then the internet brought about the democratisation of communication. Now anyone can be a food writer, restaurant critic, wine connoisseur, gastro-influencer, internet sensation.
Start a blog. Record a podcast. Curate a YouTube presence. Post on Instagram. The opportunities are innumerable, and changing so rapidly, only a fool would try and prophesy the future. In the final analysis, if people like and trust you, they’ll follow you. Getting paid for your creations is another matter altogether. But then it always was.
Q. Many chefs and writers talk about ‘discovering their voice.’ How did you discover yours in writing and critiquing food, and what advice would you give to someone trying to find theirs?
Before I started writing about food, I was an advertising copywriter. That’s how I
learned to eat, drink and write. I felt - still feel - my readers want to be amused,
informed, and perhaps learn something they didn’t know before. So I developed the friendly, cheery voice of a chap exploring the food world with amused enthusiasm.
learned to eat, drink and write. I felt - still feel - my readers want to be amused,
informed, and perhaps learn something they didn’t know before. So I developed the friendly, cheery voice of a chap exploring the food world with amused enthusiasm.
I’m just a greedy bloke living the dream. Tip. Less is more. If you’re lucky, people will take away only one fact from anything you produce in whatever medium. So don’t try to cram everything you know into an article/post/film/ communication of any kind.
Q. If you could share one hidden culinary gem — a dish, a place, or an experience that people often overlook, what would it be, and why?
Eat better. Eat less. I have no problem with the first. I still struggle with the second.
BIO
I wrote my first food column for the Financial Times in 1986 and became food editor of the Guardian in 1989. My tenure as editor coincided with a golden age of food writing. I won various British and Italian awards, including a pig for the
Premio Antico Corte Pallavicina. In 2006, I was chosen as a judge on the Great
British Menu (BBC2), a job I did happily for several years. In the middle of all this,
I had a good idea - to spend three months riding from Calabria to Turin on a
Vespa to write Eating Up Italy.
Premio Antico Corte Pallavicina. In 2006, I was chosen as a judge on the Great
British Menu (BBC2), a job I did happily for several years. In the middle of all this,
I had a good idea - to spend three months riding from Calabria to Turin on a
Vespa to write Eating Up Italy.
I did the same in Sicily for Sweet Honey, Bitter Lemons. And then I had my best idea of all, and spent six months touring the Italian Islands on my Vespa as research for A Summer in the Islands.
Interviewed By Irene Elina Eldhose
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