I remember my mother's brass mortar and pestle, Mrrzy, but I'm glad I don't have it now; it was less well designed than these earthenware ones made by Mason Cash, and a damned nuisance to clean.

Since stonking heat has returned to Perth County, barbecue season is well and truly upon us. Finally, it's warm enough to leave the kitchen window open all night (hoping the burglar is out of town), and therefore to run the self-clean cycle on the oven. When cricking my neck at an angle I usually avoid, I observed that it is also time to remove the evidence of too many steaks, sausages and bacon rashers from the exhaust fan over the stove.

Cooking isn't all beer and skittles, damn it.