Decades ago when I kept hens in the orchard of my Suffolk cottage, I recall a new girl friend gagging on the richness of the first real egg she had ever tasted - factory eggs from hens fed largely on fishmeal being universal in those days. Now, no child under sixteen has ever seen bacon rashers with rinds on them. Supermarket bacon is pumped full of water with brine and dextrose to blow it up to twice its natural size, but as the rinds don't absorb it they are discarded. Strange that we should spend so much Sterling buying Danish and Dutch bacon-flavoured water.
I mention this because I am shortly to eat the last of my real bacon for the week (below). This lot came from Borough Market, but there are farmers' markets and real food shops all over the place now so no-one should have the excuse of not being able to taste real bacon - for some younger ones, for the first time in their lives. And like the difference between real coffee and instant coffee, once tasted there's no going back.
And for those of you who like to stock up their store cupboards with tins, packets and boxes from the French hypermarkets but for whom the weakness of Gordon's pound makes a car trip unattractive, we've got French Click (no connection) - delivery free within London for orders over £35. If you can't cook without Knorr Pot Au Feu stock cubes or Sel de Guerande, and prefer real French coffee to the pale Tesco imitation, have the taste for a kilo of real garlic sausage or a wheel of unpastuerised Reblochon, this is the place for you.
Markets work. And not a Suricata suricatta in sight.