A big serving of closed-cap mushrooms for a fiver are long smoked to an almost meaty intensity and dressed with dollops of boisterous salsa verde; courgettes are grilled and served with chilli, mint and lemon. There is a white coleslaw full of crunch and salt and vinegar, and “crispy” potatoes the colour of polished gold, with undulations and crevices and curled bits. They aren’t just crisp, they are crispy. Each plate is a simple idea, expressed vividly and with care so that the key ingredient gets to shout its name. A masterclass in both braising meat and reducing sauces’: Jay Rayner’s version of Gary Rhodes’s braised oxtail. Photograph: Jay Rayner There are cheerleading slogans on both the walls and the waiters’ aprons announcing its virtue, and a chalkboard comparing the nutritional value of eggs and tofu. (The tofu has zero cholesterol compared to the eggs, which are lousy with it. Go tofu!) But virtue is not a serving suggestion, however much some people may pretend it could be. Virtue can literally leave a nasty taste in the mouth, if the person doing the cooking isn’t up to the job.

Hopkinson allows for additions, so I add a dollop of Dijon, a little grated parmesan and parsley’: onion tart. Photograph: Jay Rayner

It led to a stint as a reporter for The One Show on BBC One, for whom I made more than 150 short reports. I came to love those which showed us exactly where our food comes from; not just the touchy-feely, niche artisan stuff of farmhouses and kitchen tables – although there was a bit of that – but the complex, large-scale business of freezing a pea crop within 45 minutes, or harvesting carrots in the middle of the night, when it is good and cold. I skimmed across a silvery Morecambe Bay at dawn’s low tide to fish for brown shrimps, and stood in a tank with a massive farmed halibut in my arms, while it was milked for its sperm. It was a varied life. The subject of what we eat, I realised, is not just about how things taste. It is about memory and emotion, about love affairs and sex and the two together. It is about family and education; the environment and agriculture. I am ashamed of my handiwork. Then again it does taste fabulous’: Saint-Emilion au chocolat. Photograph: Jay Rayner Independent https://inews.co.uk/culture/radio/food-podcasts-five-best-cookery-out-to-lunch-jay-rayner-off-menu-496639

There is no dessert on the menu today, but at weekends they serve cherry pie. These have already been made in preparation for the rush. And yes, if I ask nicely, they will pop one in the oven. A note of warning: it is a dish with a sugared pastry crust. If you are livid about this being described as a pie because there isn’t pastry all the way round, please write to your MP. They’ve not got much on at the moment. Beneath that toffeed crust is what happens to fresh cherries cooked down in sugar syrup for a long time. On the side is a gravy boat of double cream. The dish is a tenner, and is designed to serve two, even if one of them is me. Tofu is a blank canvas for the flavours it carries’: deep-fried tofu and pepper. Photograph: Sophia Evans/The Observer My family hates it, which just proves they’re ungrateful sods’: Jay’s version of the vermicelli pudding. Photograph: Jay Rayner The India Club, which was established on London’s Strand more than 50 years ago, is once again facing the threat of closure from its landlords, and has established a crowdfunder to pay for its defence. A previous attempt to redevelop the building by the landlords was rejected by Westminster council in 2018 because losing the club and restaurant was deemed harmful to the ‘cultural provision’ of the area.Meanwhile in Ilkley, Simon and Rena Gueller have announced they are looking for a buyer for the Box Tree, which they took over in 2004. It opened in 1962 and was an early point of gastronomic pilgrimage for British restaurant goers, becoming one of the very first places in the UK to be awarded two Michelin stars. In 2015, a 25th anniversary edition of White Heat was published, full of testimonials to the book’s brilliance by chefs it had influenced. One of those was the young lad from Nottingham who had only been able to afford it because he found it in a charity shop. “How mad is that?” Sat Bains says. Three decades on from its first publication there is no doubt: to a certain type of chef White Heat and Marco Pierre White still matter. A bright pile of coriander, julienned cucumber and spring onions’: tiger salad. Photograph: Jonathan Cherry/The Observer Neustatter, Angela (3 November 1996). "Is it time confessional man shut up?". The Independent. London. But now they had their first child, a pregnancy which had encouraged in Cassie such a profoundly sweet tooth she started making fudge (stay with me; these things will all tie up eventually). Off to the West Midlands they went in search of affordable housing. Cassie set up Sweetmeat Inc, a fudge-making business on the high street in Stirchley just to the south of Birmingham city centre. James took cheffing jobs, but also cooked his Chinese food at pop-ups.

Soft, with an encouraging outer crunch’: slow-cooked pork belly. Photograph: Sophia Evans/The ObserverI am encouraged by various waiters to have their spicy wonton, which they all tell me is their speciality, and the sauce with that is a belter. Our waiter spoons a little of it over the taut-skinned dumplings, filled with a fine dice of unidentified but crunchy vegetables. It’s a deeply flavoured and inviting bowlful. I could do serious damage to a lot of those. I end up drinking the sauce. Jay Rayner combines personal experience and hard-nosed reportage to explain why the doctrine of organic has been eclipsed by the need for sustainable intensification; and why the future lies in large-scale food production rather than the cottage industries that foodies often cheer for. From the cornfields of America to the killing lines of Yorkshire abattoirs via the sheep-covered hills of New Zealand, Rayner takes us on a journey that will change the way we shop, cook and eat forever. And give us a few belly laughs along the way.