A pig's trotter is a fantastic thing. The first night of my honeymoon in Paris, my wife fell asleep in her steak tartare, so my trotter kept me company.

We live in a flat; my wife would be happy if we had a house with stairs. Or a little cottage in the country.

My first proper kitchen was this funny little club that we set up in Mercer Street in Covent Garden. It got shut down. Then I worked at a club in Notting Hill.

What worries me is that, because of the amount of media coverage of food, Britain seems to have become a foodie nation - but I'm not sure it actually has. I'm not sure there's been a huge change in the pantry at home or what we cook for supper.

We fell asleep at the wheel.

I've probably got lots of heroes. One is a chap called Charles Campbell - he is a wonderful chap. We cooked together in a nightclub in Notting Hill. He told me brilliant stories of food and life and generally put me on the right track.