Slop it like it’s hot: the rise of build-your-own takeaway salad bowls

Few things have killed the leisurely lunch like capitalism, but to really see this in action, the food court of London’s financial shadowland, Canary Wharf, is a good place to start. Wandering the warren of Prets and Itsus are Deliveroo riders and suits-on-the-clock. And they’re usually carrying the same thing: a nice big bowl of slop.A slop bowl is the universal term for a mishmash of pick-your-own dishes assembled and sold in fast-casual spots that have become the de facto working lunch. The contents vary (they tend to feature Asian and eastern Mediterranean dishes) but as the name suggests, it is always served in a bowl, and by the time you’ve got to your desk, has usually become slop

Osteria Vibrato, London W1: “Worth singing loudly about” – restaurant review | Grace Dent on restaurants

Osteria Vibrato appeared last month on Greek Street, Soho, feeling to any passerby just like any other neutral-fronted Italian restaurant in this pasta-swamped part of the capital. Not much to see here. Pushing your face against the window wouldn’t achieve much, either, apart from an unsightly smear.Meanwhile, all the in-the-know people – that bunch of infuriating, generously paunched “foodies” who keep London restaurant gossip alive – understood that this particular osteria is the latest opening by Charlie Mellor, former proprietor of the Laughing Heart in Hackney, which opened in 2016 and very quickly became favoured by chefs and industry media types alike, because it took food very seriously, stayed open late and danced a dainty line between debauched and old-school cosseting. It sold pumpkin cappelletti with sage, and chicken liver paté with crisp chicken skin and jellied walnut liqueur

I lost my love of cooking after 12 years as a chef. Moving to a pig farm restored it

I was a keen-bean 15-year-old when I got my first job in a commercial kitchen in Canberra, raised on a diet of Jamie and Nigella and bursting with a passion for food. I dived headfirst into an apprenticeship and eagerly put my training into practice on my days off, cooking elaborate meals for friends and creating plenty of dirty dishes.But as the years went on, my love for the kitchen was dulled by a series of toxic workplaces, bullying bosses and long hours. Eventually, cooking for myself became a chore. I was more likely to eat cereal on my kitchen floor than do anything creative that would result in dirty dishes

Lamb shanks with orzo and rhubarb galette: Anna Tobias’ Easter recipes

Easter for me immediately brings to mind two things: cracking dyed red eggs together in the style of conkers (a Serbian Easter game that we play every year) and lamb. We always eat lamb at Easter lunch, and I suppose that simply harks back to religious tradition. Today’s lamb shank dish is a wonderfully straightforward and moreish take on a popular Greek recipe. I’ve gone for rhubarb for pudding, because it’s just so representative of this time of year – it’s also very pretty on the eye and a treat to eat, too.Prep 15 minCook 2 hrServes 650ml olive oil 6 lamb shanks Sea salt and black pepper 3 sticks celery, washed and finely chopped2 onions, peeled and finely chopped3 garlic cloves, 2 peeled and finely chopped, the other peeled1 tbsp dried oregano200g tinned chopped tomatoes (ie, ½ tin)375ml white wine 300g orzo 1 lemon 1 small bunch flat-leaf parsley, leaves pickedHeat the oven to 185C (165 fan)/360F/gas 4¼

Best thing I ever ate? My first In-N-Out burger in LA

They say you never forget your first time, but for most of us, this doesn’t apply to cheeseburgers. We can’t really remember our first cheeseburger, because we start eating them at such an early age, before the memory centres of our brains are fully formed. In fact, in Wisconsin (“America’s dairyland”) babies are traditionally weaned on a fortifying diet of cheeseburgers, bratwurst and fondue, along with little sips of lager, just to make sure we acquire the taste.But while I may not be able to recall the particular details of my very first cheeseburger, the sense-memories of them are embedded deep within my subconscious. The perfect flavour-chord of ketchup, mustard and pickles on molten cheese and juicy beef occupies the same psychological space as the peppery cinnamon-and-clove aroma of my father’s Old Spice and the warmth of my mother’s hug

Reheated rivalry: why I’m the champion of leftovers

There is nothing lovelier than seeing a cook do their thing. By “doing their thing”, I do not mean just going about kitchen work – that is often excruciating to watch (why are they cutting onions like that?) I mean doing their thing: their culinary equivalent of a Mastermind subject, that one dish or process that they do so well, and with such evident pride, that the most crotchety backseat cook is forced to shut up.Take my partner’s method for making fish-finger sandwiches, which involves frying the fish fingers in butter, then creating an in-pan sweatbox to melt artisanal cheese on to them and custom blending condiments. It creates, on average, as much washing up as a full cooked dinner. Others have a special pancake hack or carrot cake recipe, and people tend not to let these things go unnoticed – it’s always my salad dressing, possessive, but we forgive their hubris, because each of us has “A Thing” of our own