Yesterday, I smoked beef ribs in our new Kamado cooker, to universal (well, Himself and the neighbours) acclaim. The process took six hours, not counting the time required to prepare the meat, and I must have dashed out the back door at least a dozen times to check the thermometer, even though I could see it quite clearly from the kitchen window.

The butcher was inordinately pleased to learn about this change in our cooking habits. “Brisket next?” he said eagerly, the gleam of opportunity in his eye. I rather doubt it; a brisket starts at four to five kilos, and we aren’t allowed to entertain a crowd big enough to eat all that.