Famously, George Bernard Shaw put it so: “There is no love sincerer than the love of food”.
Quite so. But when best to ignite the love affair? First thing, with black pools of espresso and eggs all ways? At lunch, over clouds of pastis; or at supper, when there’s no work to worry about? Or perhaps the most joyful meal of the day is not really a meal at all, but the stolen moments after a night out, when food arrives without judgement and is eaten the same way?
