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There are as many attitudes to cooking as there are people cooking, of course, but I do think that cooking guys tend - I am a guilty party here - to take, or get, undue credit for domestic virtue, when in truth cooking is the most painless and, in its ways, ostentatious of the domestic chores.

There's a battle between what the cook thinks is high art and what the customer just wants to eat.

As I grew steadily more comfortable in the kitchen, I found that, much like gardening, most cooking manages to be agreeably absorbing without being too demanding intellectually. It leaves plenty of mental space for daydreaming and reflection.

Usually, one's cooking is better than one thinks it is.

There are people who claim to be instinctive cooks, who never follow recipes or weigh anything at all. All I can say is they're not very fussy about what they eat. For me, cooking is an exact art and not some casual game.

Cooking is an art form, a creative thing.

Unfortunately, I cook for two boys, and they don't care what it looks like on the plate, and neither do I.

Cooking is the showy side of domesticity.

I might cook occasionally, but I'm not a good cook. That's not my passion.

Let me start with a confession: I don't enjoy cooking. The reason I usually do it at home is not because I'm a New Man or Jamie Oliver disciple, but because my wife's cooking is so bad. In fact, to me, cooking is less a pleasurable pastime than a defense against poisoning.