Does this most British dish require anything more than good butter? Is there ever an excuse for turning it into a pizza? How to Eat is putting the kettle on and the world to rights
Is there any food that better evokes a certain kind of genteel, middle-aged resignation than the crumpet? It is the edible embodiment of rainy midweek afternoons frittered away indoors in well-worn armchairs, the central heating cranked up to nuclear, over endless cups of tea and Countdown. It is the kind of scene Alan Bennett would get a Bafta-winning monologue out of (working title, A Crumpet Down the Back of the Sideboard), and one that, as summer turns to autumn and the nights draw in, has an undeniable appeal.
Amid the angry frenzy of Britain 2.0 (or 3.0, it’s difficult to keep up), who does not occasionally dream of drawing the curtains, turning phones to silent and losing oneself in stack of hot buttered crumpets? It is the ultimate in carb-based self-care.