It was me feeding just the youngest daughter this evening and she had put in some orders. Either it was to be noodles (just noodles that’ll be fine) or a plate of potato waffles and some spaghetti hoops and then Dad something sweet to go with it – something like chocolate yogurt.

So on the way home there was a half tin of spaghetti hoops and a small box of potato waffles in my basket when I spotted some ribs going cheap. There was enough in the house to make up good gloop to go with them so the waffles and hoops went back on the shelf and I came home with the ribs.

The gloop was made up of an odd assortment of condiments scattered around the cupboards in the kitchen all loosened up with some beer stirred up with grated onion and garlic and then stirred in amongst the ribs.

After an hour in the oven at too high a heat they were eaten with chips and declared the best ribs ever.

After an hour spent cooking at too high a heat in the oven they were de

There was a careful calibration to the tone of his voice. He took it on as the pints got a hold.

There were other men for whom the words would get lost in a slur but he slowed them down and took his time to pick over each word, treading carefully around its proper pronunciation until he got it out right and could move on to the next one.

My mind was almost as tightly wound as his tongue and as each word came out I tried to piece together its constituent parts and keep them together for long enough so I could take on the meaning of the next one. It was a bad combination and over the evening our conversation slowed down until he tried to explain something of his bad behaviour towards the mackerel.

‘There’s nothing in it’ he said. ‘A fish like that can come over a man until all there you need do was take the feckin’ thing off its bones and cook the two pieces in some butter and bacon fat.’

‘You’ve seen how they are in the light and their colours and how the skin will go hard and paperlike after a few hours. They are not a fish for waiting around and the fecks who try to put them in a deep freeze and eat them then are more fools than I can put a name on.’ ‘

Out of the water with the wet still on them there’s no grip in your hand to be had against them. And then if you try hold to take it off its hook.’

It is funny how a recipe can stay with you.

Almost twenty years ago I was given as a birthday present Sophie Grigson’s Meat Course. I am not sure I have looked at it much since then but one of things that I have made on a regular basis is her receipe for Mango Salsa to go with some spiced grilled chicken breast.

I made it last night again and looking back at the recipe this morning it was good to see that I had followed it exactly.

• 1 ripe mango peeled and chopped into small cubes
• 1 small red onion finely sliced
• 1 red chilli finely chopped
• a crushed clove of garlic
• juice of a lime
• olive oil
• salt
• a handful of finely chopped coriander leaves

Mix all together in a bowl and leave to stand in the fridge so the flavours get to know each other.

In the meantime cook your chicken breast – or for last night – pork chops and veggie burger all done on a small BBQ.

Eat with the salsa piled on your plate with some basmati and wild rice as the sun goes down and you listen to your youngest daughter tell you tales of Cornwall.