We have a systemic problem with the way we interact with food in this country. The Waste and Resources Action Programme (WRAP) released a report last year that explains in blunt reality just how much food the UK has wantonly disposed of in the last few years, how it has been wasted, and by whom. It quickly reveals that in 2018 we as a nation wasted 6.65 million tonnes of food.

There is no hot drink as pleasurable to sip than a cup of tea at its perfect drinking temperature, but getting tea at its best needs a certain degree of patience. It can be lip scaldingly hot at first, so timing is crucial here. Wait too long and it will be disappointingly cool, but there is a perfect temperature for each of us. For me, it is 57.3C precisely. I know this because I am a sad tea anorak and have measured it.

I woke up to my complacency, maybe even entitlement when queuing outside Sainsbury’s in March 2019. Overnight, shelves were stripped of old faithful fusilli, and passive-aggressive loo roll disputes broke out. Before Christmas, freight out of the UK was blocked by European countries after the emergence of the super spreader Covid-19 strain, triggering concerns over fresh food shortages.

It is an inconceivable privilege that in some parts of the UK we can sample Ethiopian injera one week and Georgian khachapuri the next.

Nothing brings back those nostalgic memories quite like dumplings. Specifically, Slovak pirohy. Stodgy, potato-y, fatty dumplings that hug me from the inside and make me feel like everything’s going to be okay.

If there was a book called The Coolest Things You Can Do To Help the Planet and You, it would say the latest thinking is to start eating more plant-based foods.

The average spud is about 100 calories and highly nutritious as they contain vitamins B and C, potassium, iron, protein, fibre and are 99.9% fat-free. They are reckoned to be the food of choice, should you suddenly decide you only eat one type of food.

I christened the different stages of lockdown ‘chapters’, a way of differentiating between those bewildering phases of eternal time. Nestled somewhere between the Loving Furlough Chapter and Missing The Colleagues you Hated Chapter - there was a national movement. We rushed to support independent producers.

If the government haven’t written into law that they must ensure all food coming into the country is produced to the same standards as our food is, then realistically, will they do it?

I am a chef. I have difficulty saying that. I'm already picturing you thinking about me working long hours for no money in a grubby basement kitchen, unable to string a sentence together without punctuating every other word with fuck.

It is not fundamentally expensive to be vegan; if you think of it in its most basic form, the husbandry, slaughter, preparation, preservation and cooking of meats is far more of a task than growing fruits, vegetables and cereals on your land. So why do I say that veganism is not cheap?