ALONG WITH CHEAP AIR TRAVEL AND THE WORLD-WIDE WEB, BEING ABLE TO GET A TAKEAWAY – EVEN BETTER IF IT’S DELIVERED TO YOUR HOUSE – IS ONE OF SOCIETY’S GREATEST POST-WAR PROGRESSIONS.

Indian, fish and chips, Turkish, Chinese, pizza, Thai, Lebanese, diner, modern British, sushi … or whoever else happens to have settled near you and set up a kitchen. As a Londoner, I adore having all of this at the end of the phone and, though I hate to admit it, take it for granted.

And that really is the point about takeaways in the here and now. Too many of us have lost the sense of it being ‘occasion’ food. Somebody cooks exactly what you ask them to cook right there and then – surely that’s a king’s privilege?

This Pandora’s box has been flung open for a long time: when I worked in New York more than ten years ago, I was so (naïvely) impressed when my flatmate got breakfast delivered from the corner deli at the weekend: that was the ultimate, and the ultimate in stupid. Some foods are just not designed to travel, and scrambled eggs, hash browns and toast are a few of them.

Like most things that seem glamorous, there’s a downside to them too. In the world of takeaways the image of the sad fatty in front of the telly is enough to stop most people overindulging. But if you do find yourself taking too much interest in the menus that flop through your letterbox (and vanity isn’t proving a deal breaker), then try these on for size: money, taste, health and freshness.

If it looks like I’m trying to position your local kebab shop on the axis of evil, that is not my intention, particularly if your local takeaways are small, independent businesses making nice food. I’m all for giving them your trade, but, and it’s a big one, takeaways are addictive … or, at the very least, habit-forming.

Back in the seventies, walking up to the Turkish kebab shop on Shepherd’s Bush Road with my dad was a big treat. Remembering that feeling and comparing it with when we order in these days, I feel as if I’ve spoiled the treat. Because takeaways have become a bit of an abused privilege.

Weirdly, it wasn’t till Paul and I came up with the recipes for this chapter that I properly went head to head with some of my favourite takeaways. And without sounding disrespectful to the people who’ve fed me for years, I was amazed how much yummier the home-made versions were.

But don’t take my word for it: gather your ingredients, make your favourite takeaway and taste the difference.

Consider the gauntlet thrown.