I've been holding off from writing this post for a while now, keeping my fingers crossed that I'll eat a breakfast that beats this incredible morning feast I ate in Hoi An last week. So far, though, it's not happened, and to be frank, it would take something pretty bloody spectacular to top this one. So, here it is: The Best Breakfast of my Life.

As with all good breakfasts in Vietnam, it started early. Up and out of bed and on the streets by 7, I was rushing to the market when I encountered this: soymilk, Vietnam-style.

For me, this epitomizes all the differences between China and Vietnam's drinking cultures. In the former, soymilk is drunk hot or warm; in the latter, it's given the same treatment as coffee and tea - iced to within an inch of its life, which in China would be seen as a serious threat to one's health. Me, I adore it, and so nicely refreshed and ready for more substantial fare, I headed to the riverfront market, where, right on the edge of the quay, I found this:

The vendor was serving my quang, one of central Vietnam's most famous noodle dishes: springy rice noodles, beansprouts, herbs, shrimp, quail's eggs, chopped peanuts and a dash of lime juice.

Totally delectable, and even better with the beautiful view.

Most people would probably be satisfied by these two offerings, but predictably, not me. Feeling the weight of all Hoi An market's delicious foods on my shoulders, I felt duty bound to keep eating, and so headed next to a stall whose wares I had sampled the day before.

This is banh khaoi, and the stall came with a recommendation that did not disappoint. In the batter of freshly made pancakes nestles a piece of pork and half a shrimp, upon which is piled beansprouts, fresh herbs and green banana slices; the whole lot is then wrapped up in a sheet of rice paper, and dipped in a sweet and tangy sauce.

Though by this point I was pretty full, I figured I had just enough space for one more drink from a sinh to stall I'd spied just a few doors down.

And oh boy, was a glad that I did, for look what I got.

This wasn't your standard, middle of the road type sinh to, but a luxurious sinh to fit for a queen. Not only was it a blend of a number of different fruits (instead of the normal one), it had a topping which took the drink to a whole different level: crunchy, roasted slivers of coconut, a whole dried Chinese date, and juicy, lychee-flavour jelly cubes. Many different textures going on there, and for some perhaps too many, but I couldn't get enough of it - although, as you might imagine, I drank this last part of The Best Breakfast of my Life very, very slowly.

I couldn’t agree more. The above quotation is from ‘A Room of One’s Own’, Virginia Woolf’s famous treatise on women and fiction, which I’m currently re-reading. I first read this book some four or five years ago while at university, but having not fully given in to my foodie impulses then, failed to take much notice of this lovely passage:

'Lunch on this occasion began with soles, sunk in a deep dish, over which the collage cook had spread a counterpane of the whitest cream, save that it was branded here and there with brown spot like the spots on the flanks of a doe.

After that came the partridges, but if this suggests a couple of bald, brown birds on a plate you are mistaken. The partridges, many and various, came with all their retinue of sauces and salads, the sharp and the sweet, each in its order; their potatoes, thin as coins but not so hard; their sprouts, foliated as rosebuds but more succulent.

And no sooner had the roast and its retinue been done with that the serving-man…set before us, wreathed in napkins, a confection which rose all sugar from the waves. To call it pudding and so relate it to rice and tapioca would be an insult.’

Surely one of the most vivid descriptions of food you’re likely to find in literature. This lunch, at one of the male colleges, provides a stark contrast to Woolf’s dinner later the same day, at Girton, then Cambridge’s only college for women. This second meal is an altogether sparser affair, consisting only of ‘plain gravy soup’, beef, potatoes and greens, prunes and custard, and finally, cheese and biscuits served with water. Girton’s difficulty in obtaining funds, because it is an all-female establishment, mean that ‘the amenities' (ie. good food) 'have to wait.’

All this got me thinking about the food provisions at Sussex University, where I studied, and which were, to put it bluntly, pretty crap. There wasn’t even a canteen. At times, there was nothing to be found except tired, pre-packaged sandwiches. Anybody who cared about what they ate invariably brought their own food. It was, as I said, dire.

But miraculously, magically, once or twice a week we were saved by Gordon and Elena. This middle-aged couple from nearby Lewes, sometimes helped out by their children or friends, would arrive on campus with two enormous paella pans, portable gas burners, spices, and dozens of boxes of chopped-up vegetables. In the hour or so before the lunch break, they would fry up the vegetables in one pan, and an accompanying bean and tomato sauce in the other. ‘Poor Man’s Potatoes’ was what they dubbed their cheap but delicious concoction, which was served in aluminum take-away boxes, heaped with fresh coriander and spicy pickles. I and my friends adored this food, and would always arrive early to ensure we got some before it all sold out (and it usually did).

In the end though, Poor Man’s Potatoes’ popularity proved to be its undoing. The university catering services realized that they were losing business to this outsider, and Gordon and Elena’s license to serve on campus was revoked. There was a brief campaign to bring them back, but in the end, faced with the brick wall of university bureaucracy, Gordon and Elena gave up and found other places to serve their food.

My friends and I have reminisced many a time about Poor Man’s Potatoes, which was fuel for much of our thinking, loving and sleeping while we were at university. Virginia Woolf would, I think, have approved greatly of Gordon and Elena, and so, in grateful thanks to them, here is my own interpretation of their legendary dish.

Poor Man’s Potatoes

For the potatoes:
Potatoes, cooked
Cabbage
Onions
Any other vegetable you happen to have lying around
Garlic
Coriander seeds
Cumin seeds
Fennel seeds
Turmeric
Any other spice you fancy
Cooking oil

For the bean and tomato sauce:
Any bean (kidney, butter, chickpea are all good), cooked
Tomatoes or tomato puree
Onions
Garlic
Paprika

To serve:
Fresh coriander leaves
Spicy pickles

1. Chop all the vegetables into bite-sized chunks.
2. In a pan, fry the onions and garlic. Once slightly brown, add the garlic and paprika, and then add the tomatoes and beans. Turn the heat down low, cover and leave to simmer.
3. In a large frying-pan or wok, fry the onions and garlic. Add the potatoes and all other vegetables, mix well and stir-fry until cooked.
4. Add the spices to the vegetables, mix well and cook for a couple more minutes.
5. Serve the potatoes with a generous topping of the sauce, fresh coriander, and spicy pickles on the side.

Ok, so maybe that's going a little far, but still, the two recent Sichuan cuisine feasts I cooked while in the UK certainly made up for in quantity what they lacked in flashy ingredients.

The first was during the　time I spent in my hometown, Hebden Bridge, when I cooked for 17 of my mum's friends. The menu for that evening was:

Cold Dishes
Steamed aubergines in a chilli-oil and black bean sauce
Belly pork slices in a garlic paste sauce
Cucumbers with garlic and vinegar

Hot Dishes
Mapo tofu
Dry-fried green beans
Courgette and egg stir-fry
Beef in a sweet-wheat sauce
Potato and green pepper slivers
Stir-fried spinach

Above is the table before everyone pounced. Because we were so many I decided to serve the food buffet-style; very un-Chinese it's true, but the assortment of dishes did look rather nice all on a plate together.

Clockwise from 9 o'clock are the potato slivers; green beans; tofu; rice; spinach; aubergines; pork; cucumber; courgette and egg; and the beef is in the middle.

To save myself the hassle of cooking 15 plus different dishes I just made double portions of everything; nonetheless, it did still take me almost 4 hours to cook it all, and that was with some help too! It was all totally delicious in the end though, if I do say so myself, and to my relief everyone seemed to enjoy it.

Thankfully the second Sichuan meal I cooked, about 2 weeks later in London, was far less high pressure, being only for 7 people. Same menu, more or less, lazy I know, but very nice it was anyway.

Mmmm...maybe if all else fails I can start up a Sichuan cuisine supper club when I move back to Britain...

Every summer from the age of 11 to 18, my parents and I went on holiday to the Lot in Southwest France. I hadn’t been back there for almost 6 years until this summer, when I went to help out with the catering for the week-long singing holiday, Chanson Combard, that my mum organises and our friend Krista holds in her barn. Inevitably, this trip became a long and evocative walk down memory lane, and one stormy night, watching the lightning approach from the horizon, I, my mum and Krista reminisced about our most favourite restaurant in the area, the Unicorn.

The Unicorn was a single-room restaurant in an old building on the side of a busy road. The interior had probably not been altered since the sixties or even earlier – the wallpaper was stained with decades of cigarette smoke, and mice and cockroach sightings were not unknown. The old couple who ran it (Madame and Monsieur) were delightful, but if you peeped into the miniscule kitchen you got something of a shock hygiene-wise. One wall of the dining room was flush with the roadside, so you were serenaded by the sound of trucks roaring past as you ate.

None of this mattered in the slightest however, because the food was absolutely incredible. For nine and a half Francs, you got five courses – salad, a starter, a main, cheese, and dessert – and all of the most fabulous rustic French cooking.

The portions alone made the Unicorn amazingly good value – they were enormous. Piles of fresh prawns, stewed in Ricard, reached almost level with one’s nose; the duck baked with prunes in an earthen-ware pot was so huge it was nicknamed ‘Bucket o' Duck’; and the cheese course was encyclopaedic. The food was so copious and delicious, in fact, that my father would go on little walks between courses to recover and build up his appetite for the next onslaught.

We ate countless times at The Unicorn, and even though the menu hardly ever changed we never got bored, and came back year after year. I can remember the food there better than any other restaurant we ever ate at in the Lot – perhaps just because the menu stayed the same, but perhaps also because it was so unbelievably tasty.

When I was about 17 or so, we heard that The Unicorn had closed down, due to the death of Madame. Since then, every trip to the Lot has felt incomplete in some way, lacking in excess and indulgence. So, in honour of The Unicorn, in honour of over-eating and in honour of immoderation, I offer you the menu of this year’s Chanson Combard; not quite as luxurious as the Unicorn's, but still in the same vein nevertheless. Bon appetite!

Sunday
Dinner: Melon and grapes with vinaigrette; Roasted Vegetable Lasagne and Salads; Chocolate Tart.

Monday
Lunch: Courgette Bake and Falafel
Dinner: Tomato and Mozzarella Salad; Homemade Pizzas and Salad; White Chocolate Cheesecake.

Tuesday
Lunch: Provencal Pancakes and Potato and Tomato Bake.
Afternoon Treat: Chocolate Brownies
Dinner: Lentil Casserole with Raita; Spinach Pie and Salad; Pain-au-chocolat Pudding with Hot Fudge Sauce and Ice-cream.

Wednesday
Lunch: Stuffed Aubergines
Dinner: Caramelised Onion Tart; Courgette Bake, Olive Bread; Cheesecake and Chocolate Tart.

Thursday
Lunch: Lentil Bake and Chinese Aubergines
Afternoon Treat: Chocolate Fudge
Dinner: Bruchetta; Pasta with Tomato, Goat’s Cheese and Salads; Peach Clafoutis.

Friday
Lunch: Caramelised Onion Tart; Pasta Bake; Couscous Salad.
Afternoon Treat: Banana Bread
Dinner: Stuffed and Roasted Red Peppers; Spinach and Ricotta Lasagne; Charlotte Aux Fruites.

In a country where you can eat so well for cheaply, you may wonder why you’d ever want to pay much for a meal. In fact, until quite recently, I considered it a little crazy to pay more than the absolute minimum to fill one’s belly; the cheapest food is the best food here, I thought, so why should anyone spend any more of their hard-earned cash than they have to?

But though I still love the inexpensive basics of Sichuan cuisine (Mapo Tofu, Gong Bao Chicken, Fish Fragrant Aubergine etc), my attitude towards fine dining in China has recently undergone a bit of sea change. Perhaps it's because having eaten the classics so many times, I now appreciate the variety of dishes on offer at more expensive restaurants; or perhaps because now, being able to cook these dishes myself, I want something else when I go out – whatever the reason, I am currently on a mission to try out some of Chengdu’s more fancy restaurants, and have recently been to two excellent ones.

The first was at Rong Jin Yi Hao, where Cam and I went for our friend Clare’s birthday. Situated next to the river in the west of town, the restaurant is only 1 floor tall, very unusual for Chengdu, and even more unusual, made almost entirely out of glass. As you enter from the main road, it’s a bit like stepping into a rather glamorous greenhouse: lush fabrics drape from the ceiling, ancient-style furniture lines the walls, and customers lounge on plush purple sofas.

But enough about the decorations, on to the food! Almost everything we ate at Rong Jin Yi Hao I had never had before – particularly memorable were the ducks tongues, served with peanuts and deep-fried quails eggs…

…and these tangy, crunchy Strange-Flavour Broad Beans.

And though I wasn't exactly full when I left Rong Jin Yi Hao (a unfortunate side-effect of fancy restaurants, where rice is almost never served unless you ask for it), I would certainly recommend it for it's unusual and modern interpretations of Sichuan cuisine.

The second fancy restaurant I went to recently was Baguo Buyi. Established in 1996, Baguo Buyi has built a reputation for serving high-quality, authentic Sichuan food, and with 25 restaurants across China, is one of the most famous Sichuanese restaurant chains in the country. The Chengdu flagship branch, originally right in the downtowm, has changed location several times but is now settled in a huge, purpose-built complex (also housing a boutique hotel and tea-house) in the south near the airport expressway.

If all this makes Baguo Buyi sound a little forbidding though, think again – the staff are incredibly friendly, and the interior, though not exactly cozy, is beautiful. The mutli-story building, decorated in a grand-cum-rustic style, contains private dining rooms of various levels of sumptuousness, and tables for all group sizes in the public dining room. The best tables here have a view of the stage for the nightly face-changing, dancing and fire-breathing show, which, although a little noisy, was fun and of a pretty professional quality (the show is free for diners, lasts about 20 minutes, and starts at about 7pm).

Given all that I'd heard about Baguo Buyi my expectations were naturally high, but on the two occasions I ate there it didn't disappoint. Pick of the cold dishes was rabbit with green peppers, the meat strips lying on a bed of wood-ear mushrooms and draped in an aromatic sesame oil dressing swimming in green peppers;

and the pea jelly, the spicy sauce nicely offset by the crushed peanuts.

The hot dishes weren't perhaps quite a good as the cold – the chicken with chillies was, I thought, stingy on the meat and overpriced to boot (though my American co-diners loved the addition of fried potatoes). But the disappointment of that dish was more than made up for by two gorgeous pork dishes: belly pork with green beans was totally sublime, the chunks of meat meltingly soft, the beans cooked yet crunchy, the sauce satisfyingly sweet; and the twice-cooked pork with bread rolls was a nice twist on an old favourite.

So, would I want to eat at Rong Jin Yi Hao and Baguo Buyi everyday of the week? Of course not - even if money were not an issue the food at these restaurants is far too rich for everyday eating. Nonetheless, I will be sure to go them both again - both when I want to linger over my meal, and enjoy some very high quality Sichuan cuisine.

Baguo Buyi 巴国布衣
55 Shenxianshu Nan Lu (the branch I ate at)
神仙树南路55号
Tel: 028-85551168
Also another branch in Shuang Nan:
8 Guang Fu Qiao Bei Jie
广福桥北街8号附19号
Tel: 028-85095777

Rong Jin Yi Hao 容锦一号
Song Xian Qiao Tou 送仙桥头
Tel: 028-87337726

(Some parts of this post first appeared in Chengdoo Citylife Magazine, Issue 23)