Like most greedy folk, I navigate my life by meal times. One of the most memorable was a lunch at The French House Dining Room in the early 1990s. The restaurant above a Soho pub was run at the time by Fergus and Margot Henderson. They were yet to open their offal-lovers’ paradise, St John, but they were already conjuring winning dishes from the bits of animal most people throw away. The deep-fried lamb’s brains with salsa verde I had that day is still one of the most unexpectedly delicious things I have ever eaten – creamy clouds encased in a sunny breadcrumb crust.

It’s nigh on impossible to get your hands on lamb’s brains these days, but I wonder how many of us would eat them if we could? The mere thought of offal sends many people into paroxysms of revulsion, with the result that the “fifth quarter” of many animals goes straight in the bin. It’s a pity, because it can be extraordinarily good. In the 1950s, kidneys sold for the same price as rump steak: now, you can hardly give them away. So this week, I’m doing my bit for the inner beast – or what the Americans euphemistically call “variety meats”. I’ve steered clear of anything too alarming, confining myself to what is known as entry-level offal. Do please try them.

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