“ And immediately, mixed with a sizzling sound, there came to Shasta a simply delightful smell. It was one he had never smelled in his life before, but I hope you have. It was, in fact, the smell of bacon and eggs and mushrooms all frying in a pan…"Now," continued the Dwarf, "sit you down. The table's a bit low for you, but then the stool's low too. That's right. And here's porridge—and here's a jug of cream—and here's a spoon." By the time Shasta had finished his porridge, t

My favourite Easter egg is one I found when I was around twelve. It was painted in Prussian blue and a dark ink green, in watercolour, so the colour sat lightly and you could still see the grain of the shell beneath it. In black pen, someone had drawn two small scenes: a basket of fish and loaves on one side, and on the other, a fisherman in his boat. I’ve found plenty over the years, but that’s the one I think of first. I remember thinking that my dad really outdid himself

The tomato’s story did not begin in Italy. It began in the Andes, small and defiant, growing wild long before it ever met olive oil. The Aztecs called it xitomatl — the navel fruit — for its rounded shape and the dimple at its base, and in the markets of Tenochtitlan it appeared in every shape and colour — large, small, serpent-shaped, nipple-shaped; red, very red, yellow, almost gold. The pulp was crushed with chiles and ground squash seeds, worked into sauces and ladled ov