I like food. I don’t love food; that implies something unconditional, non-judgmental and frankly pretentious. I don’t feel personally wounded when a soup lets me down, I am not sentimental about keeping a treasured chocolate biscuit from my childhood, and I would not rescue a steak from a burning building. Not even a really good steak.

I do, however, like food.

A lot.

There’s a pleasing ambiguity: am I commenting on the magnitude of my fondness for food, or on my fondness for large quantities of food? Or perhaps on the wide variety of foods that I like? All of the above. I enjoy eating, enough that I frequently do it to excess. I take pleasure in a range of foods that would have baffled my ancestors, many because I genuinely have wide tastes, and many more because I also enjoy variety for its own sake.

This blog is emphatically not the memoir of a self-proclaimed gourmet (although the more pejorative connotations of gourmand may apply to some extent) and anyone claiming to be a “foodie” should look away now, lest they be polluted by the lack of sophistication of the recipes herein. For what it’s worth, they should also shoot themselves in the face as a preventative measure against irrecoverable smugness.

This blog is, simply, the notes of a fat man who likes food. It serves two purposes:

First, I intend it to become a repository of my favourite recipes, so that I can access them anywhere. Well, anywhere with a network connection, which these days is almost certainly a superset of the places where I’m likely to be cooking.

Second, I want to keep a barbecue diary. Smoking meat seems to be bizarrely temperamental activity, and when the expectation of tender, juicy meat, reinforced by the effort of more than a day preparing, marinating and smoking, crashes unceremoniously into the reality of a tough, charred carcass… well, repeating old mistakes is an extra source of error that I really don’t need.

Essentially I’m outsourcing my memory to the internet. Seems like as good a place as any.