One Flame Cooking Chapter 3 and a Bit

With Sternest Critic absent at a party I will be able to indulge a culinary passion that he frowns upon - kidneys. Sunday breakfast sorted.

Joyce's famous line: 'grilled mutton kidneys with a fine tang of faintly scented urine', is frequently quoted, but is no advert for what is one of the best things you can eat, and I'd always go for lamb's kidneys fried.

They fit the austerity bill - especially from a butcher's shop where they can often be had at bargain prices - and the health bill too, low fat and full of vitamins. If you go to some supermarkets you'd think that sheep had stopped growing kidneys.

Kidneys are ideal one flame cooking candidates too: sliced open and white gristle removed, fried gently in butter, the red juices mixing with the fat to make a simple sauce to which a good dab of mustard is added, with a spoon of stock and/or cream if available. Something more substantial evolves if quartered mushrooms are fried with them, their grey juices adding to the reddy-brown ones from the offal.

Served on toast (another of Alan Bennett's somethings on toast) or bread to soak up the gravy this is a dish for those who enjoy forthright tastes. Tunes can be played with paprika, Tabasco, or chili sauce providing extra layers of taste to the jus (I hate that word but it's useful), though plain and simple is good. One of my abiding childhood food memories is of eating kidneys on toast on my knees while watching the kids' cartoon Jonny Quest, the moment fixed by the flavour and scent.

And kidneys are very special too as regards texture, something we tend to ignore or relegate to an afterthought in British cooking. The Japanese and Indonesians cook with texture as much in mind as flavour. The feel of teeth penetrating a meaty kidney is about as good as culinary texture gets, for me at least.

Something on Toast

One of my favourite pieces of food criticism was an off-the-cuff remark by Alan Bennett. It is said that years ago when he saw the fancy salads and international cuisine in the BBC canteen he remarked in exasperation: "You don't want that, you want something on toast."

As with his plays there are layers of thought behind simple words. Simplicity is good; toast is comforting and provides a carb boost (though he would never stoop so low as to use the non-word carb); and there is something very British about 'something on toast.' Sardines, beans, egg, cheese...

My wife and I - before we in contemporary parlance 'hooked up' - both spent three months in what was then the USSR. She was in provincial Voronezh where food was scarce and facilities limited: the thing she still talks about craving was toast - bread, generally the black bread beloved of the Russians, was available if you looked, but no means of toasting it. She claims that dreams of toast haunted her sleep.

This morning, our youngest hen having kicked in at last with an egg, we celebrated the fact with scrambled eggs. A dash of milk, a lump of butter, and five eggs whisked together in the pan. I won't do them now in the microwave, as these invariably end up as a solid mass. So creamy scrambled eggs on wholemeal toast, and all is right with the world for a few minutes of satiety. It does not take much. Just something on toast.