My friend S who lives in Brighton has an even tinier kitchen than me. He has put up with its diminutive size for about eight years and has finally had enough: he’ll soon be moving house. I’m so very jealous (in advance) of his bigger future kitchen. Over the years, even though his current cooking space is the size of a matchbox, he has produced some amazing feasts from its depths. Just after Christmas, he invited us down for a bit of a festive blow-out – a marmalade/mustard-glazed ham and Christmas pudding ice cream.

Behold the ham:

Roast potatoes cooked in goose fat, rosemary and garlic:

Sweet Jesus – the world’s best festive ice cream (Christmas pudding flavour, containing booze-soaked fruits and crunchy ginger biscuits, then the top is set alight…)

This was a legendary feast and everything was totally delicious. There was nearly a fight to get the remaining crispy bits from the roast potato bowl. I nearly wept at how yummy the ice cream tasted – like an uber-posh version of rum ‘n raisin. All of the above combined with my other three weeks of festive gorging and appalling gluttony now mean that I can barely fit into my jeans. But thanks S for the beautiful grub!