I love Delia. I love the way she has introduced the pleasure of cooking into so many people's lives. The way she has quietly given millions the confidence to cook something for themselves and those they care about. She has opened up a whole world of possibility for so many who would otherwise have never known the joy of taking a home-made cake from the oven or of putting a handmade plate of food in front of someone they love.

I am honestly not sure that cooking should ever be edge-of-your seat television, and I find Delia's calm, no-fireworks manner both pleasing and reassuring. Just as half an hour of watching Jamie leaves you feeling inspired, uplifted and energised, so 30 minutes with Delia fills you with a certain quiet confidence and a feeling that you can do it.

Delia is just hitting our screens and bookshops with How To Cheat at Cooking, an encouragement to cheat a bit on our everyday cooking, using ready-made pastry and ready-cooked onions, bottled tomato sauces and commercially made basics. It's a recipe for trouble and her critics are already sharpening their knives. Whereas she has in the past been called the 'missionary position of cooking' she now seems to want to take the foreplay out of it as well.

I have been known to take a few short cuts myself (and no, I can't always be bothered with foreplay either). I almost never make my own puff pastry, and will often open a can of chickpeas on a weekday when I probably should have soaked them and cooked them from dried. I don't use bottled dressings and ready-made sauces simply because I love the physical (and mental) act of cookery and all the touchy-feely tactile pleasures it brings into my life. I find time spent in the kitchen truly enriching. But then, let's face it, I have all day to play.

The way I look at it is this. There is a whole world of cooking that lies in between soaking your own beans and the microwave-head's instant chilli con carne. Somewhere along that line most of us will probably say 'No, I'm not going to do that - I don't have the time' or 'No, I'm not skipping that bit, it would be cheating the very people I am cooking for'.

Somewhere along that line lies Delia's How to Cheat. No, I won't be buying her suggestion of ready-sliced and cooked onions, even if they are in pure olive oil and are used by a million Spanish housewives every week. I actually enjoy watching the slow transformation from raw white onion to sweet, honey-coloured nugget. But I know that there are many people who will find that those canned onions in olive oil and a packet of frozen pastry will mean the difference between making their kids a lovingly home-made pie and giving them a defrosted one from Iceland.