A trolley of tofu wieners

There are many reasons why health food stores offer a superior shopping experience. Here's one of them.

Grillside Angst (or 'How Magic Cheese Saved My Social Life')

Retrograde thinking make a strong link between meat and manliness. Hasn't this attitude reached its expiry date? Is there anything macho about flouncing down the meat aisle and plucking out a chicken kiev? You're hardly bringing down a wild boar.

Let's kick shapism out of foodhalls

Look at me. What do you see?

A willy?

An obscenity?

Or a vegetable.

Courgette Episodes

My earliest food memory involves courgette - the young Cereal Killah choked on one as a classmate shat himself. It was a tough day at the nursery.

Food Files: Steve

In my hood, all beers lead to this boy.

Casareccia with Broccoli Arrabiata

If you believe the adverts, Italian mothers prepare their boy's favourite dish for his every visit.

Not so in the post-feminist scrum that is Britain.

I can barely drop my knapsack before mother points me to the kitchen. There, under a bombardment of dubious style tips and flying Kettle chips, I grind out her favourite dinner.

This is it.

The Bushies' Broccoli Beef

It's not often you'll catch me disagreeing with George Bush, but he got it wrong on broccoli.

Sicilian Rings with a Moorish Medley

Good pasta's simple: drop it in the pot and wait ten minutes. Unless you lose yourself in the Archers or overdose on heroin (or both), dinner's ready.

Italy ain't all good

Shortly after Pavarotti branched out to the plebs, everything Italian was suddenly brilliant. Bland wines, flappy suits and shite films all won Joe Bloggs' heart simply because their producer's name rhymed with Gino Ginelli.

Food Files: Gideon

Some people eat on the hoof. This guy just eats the hoof.

Food Files: Charlie

I clocked Charlie's sporty silhouette en route to a guerrilla sports day on London Fields. Leap-frog relays, frisbee-discus, thumb-wrestling.... how does this kind of athlete maintain peak condition?

Food Files: Hector

Meet Hector.

I found this Spanish lad-about-town recoiled furtively on a curb in Old Compton Street. There was something outrageous about him... his piratical appearance... his pride in his socks... his decision to park that well-toned butt on a double-yellow line.

Pea and Broad Bean Risotto with Goats' Cheese and Za'atar

Making risotto for guests is sweaty, miserable and lonely. Like many people in late-capitalist society, that's how I feel most nights – I don't need it for a dinner party.

Griddled Asparagus with Truffled Balsamic and Old Winchester Cheese

Griddle me this, griddle me that

But the flesh needs colour

The chars bring black

- The Griddler

The end of the asparagus season is nigh!

London Fields farmers' market greeted its patrons with an apocalyptic boarding:

"The end of the asparagus season is nigh!"

The asparagus woman stood at her sales altar in the usual state of grace, sheltered from the blazes by a steepling green tarpaulin. I drifted toward her as though she were my high priest and I had but moments to ready my soul for doomsday.

Why I don't dig on flesh

Why am I a vegetarian? How did I discover a carnivorous diet was not for me? The hard way, baby....

The story starts in 2006, when I embarked on a mission. My mission? To create the Ultimate Male Body (UMB).

*