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?