I was drawn to this book, not by the slightly alarming photograph of the author on the the front cover (he reminds me of Mr Tumnus, another person not to trust), but by the recipe for churros and chocolate that are the first and second recipes. I love churros but whenever I go to Spain seem drawn to the oldest, saddest, cardboardiest specimens that country has to offer. When I make them at home they will be crispy and light and delightful. My house will stink of grease and I will have tiny blisters on my face where the boiling oil has burnt it. Piping batter straight into a pan of of oil seems like an episode of casualty waiting to happen. Still, in the great British tradition of do or die I'm going to have a go. I'm also going to cover the book in brown paper.