My first memory, at three or four, is of a huge old sow falling from a trailer in front of us on a Pembrokeshire lane and my mother bursting into the folk song Mochyn Du [Black Pig] – “Oh how tasty a bit of pig meat, with potato as a rare treat”.
When they lived in Sheffield, before I was born, my parents’ neighbours were Gujaratis who taught Mum to make proper curries. They remain my favourite meals, preferably with smoky Indian wines full of lovely delicate tastes. I remember Mum preparing her masala dal mix in her coffee grinder.
At five, after discovering how a piece of a plant will grow roots when placed in water, I tried to grow a chicken foot using the same method and hid it behind the shaving foams in the bathroom cupboard. My parents discovered this after sourcing the atrocious smell. Later I ate a Chinese chicken foot dumpling during a stopover in Tuvalu [in the Pacific] and didn’t enjoy it.
I associate church with rhubarb. The Tabernacle Baptist church in Cardiff is where I went as a child – twice on Sundays – to sing hymns, and where family are buried. The cemetery was allowed to grow quite wild and it had rhubarb which I’d eat during recess.
I should watch what I say, having schoolchildren of my own now, but I never liked school food and unknown to my parents I survived on Mars bars.
As a student nurse in London, at 18, I practised giving injections to oranges. But of course people have bones. I was living in a nurses’ home and making one-pot-wonder soups to the soundtrack of Play That Funky Music on a one-ring electric hob I’d bought from Argos.
I’m blowing my own trumpet but my soups are delicious. Although sometimes, when I’m programming a radio show, I’ll be cooking a soup at the same time and forget until it’s almost burnt dry. I dislike waste, so I’ll try to scoop the remains from the smoky pan into a clean one and hope the children don’t say anything
I’ve spent a lot of time, as a parent of messy young children, on my hands and knees getting food off my favourite records. I make them, say, pasta and broccoli and then discover it on my music collection and think, “Oh man, the fingerprints.”
I’ll tell you what’s best for teething children – chucking them a lamb chop.
Just before I left [the band] Catatonia in the late 90s, I lost my appetite. It was the end of a chapter and things had to change and I just wasn’t happy, basically. Now I’ve got a wonderful life and incredible job and family – so there’s people to cook for. I’m enjoying food more than ever before. OFM
My rider as a performer is fresh chillies, good cheeses, great brown granary bread, nuts and fruit, and maybe honey. It’s really basic, because I think as soon as you get too fancy you’re into the wrong side of rock n roll.
One thing I won’t stand for is Doritos. When you’re a musician and especially in the provinces, Doritos always sneak into your dressing room, so I’m often heard shouting “Get those Doritos out of here”. They’re disgusting.
Food hell is also cheesy Wotsits. It’s the same with anything cheesy or cheesy saucy. Either give me cheese or no cheesiness at all.
The Good Life Experience Festival, 18-20 September, Hawarden Estate, Flintshire
