Comfort food isn’t only about nostalgia – it’s a way to embrace who we’ve become

The past few weeks have been one long, Great British railway journey as Helen Goh, Verena Lochmuller, Tara Wigley and I have travelled the length and breadth of the UK talking about our latest book, Comfort. Between all the signings and Q&As, we’ve also found ourselves doing what we do best: eating.

When you’re on the road – or, rather, on the rails – things can get a bit out of hand. With our packed schedule and all that talk of food, our appetites seemed to grow by the minute. Pastries were our main target, so we squeezed in as many bakery visits as possible between all the talks and meet-ups. One notably decadent train ride from Edinburgh to London turned into a memorable mini feast, as we toasted each station along the way with a different baked good courtesy of our delicious raids on the Scottish capital’s Lannan Bakery and Hobz Bakery.

Each place we visited and every dish we ate was a gentle reminder that food is profoundly tied to where we are. A stop at Bettys Tea Room in Harrogate, for instance, was non-negotiable. Nobody knows why there’s no apostrophe in Bettys, or why the “fat rascal” is called a fat rascal, but oh, those pastries … crisp, spiced and unforgettable. It all felt so quintessentially English: delicacies with names that baffle, signature teas from Taylors of Harrogate (what is it with Harrogate and apostrophes?), delicate finger sandwiches and scones with clotted cream. There was, of course, the inevitable debate about what goes on first, the cream or the jam (it’s cream first, obviously), but the fondant fancies we brought back were as delightful as promised, as was Bettys’ Yorkshire gingerbread. It was everything you’d hope for from England’s most famous tea room: good grace and good cake.

Yet, beyond nostalgia, the food we enjoy also reflects who we’re becoming. Much of what we associate with British cooking – comfort, sustenance, preserving for the winter – has always spoken to a kind of necessity. But things have changed in the past 20 years. The old cliches – vegetables stewed into submission, canned goods and figgy puddings – have faded away, and British food is now gloriously welcoming of international and regional flavours.

Consider the Cornish pasty, once a miner’s staple, and now brimming with spiced lamb or Thai chicken. Or the Eccles cake, which still holds its traditional charm while sitting proudly alongside sourdough loaves or slices of Basque cheesecake. In Bath, meanwhile, we stumbled into Píntxo, a tiny tapas bar, and had some of the best gildas – chilli, olive and anchovy – I’ve ever tasted: a delightful surprise in the heart of the West Country. We went in exhausted and left refreshed, buoyed by the fantastic food and friendly service. It wasn’t traditional British fare, but perhaps that’s what makes this country’s cuisine so special nowadays, namely its openness to the unexpected.

And that’s exactly what our new book is about. Between Helen, Verena, Tara and myself, we’ve woven together recipes from all our histories and travels. From my own childhood in Jerusalem to Helen’s Malaysian roots, and from Verena’s time in Scotland to Tara’s deep knowledge of Levantine cooking, every recipe in Comfort reveals not only where we’ve been, but also who we are today. Comfort isn’t just in the flavours – it’s in the stories, the traditions and the memories.

As I sit here on yet another train, watching the countryside roll by, I can’t help but reflect on how much has changed, not just in British cooking, but also in how we think about it. Yes, traditional British food is simple, but simplicity leaves room for nuance, for the quality of the ingredients to shine, and for care in their preparation. At its heart, British food is still about comfort, but it’s also about possibilities – what happens when we look beyond the familiar and take on the new.

Crusty character | I’ve got a new favourite pizza: it’s topped with lamb merguez, spiced sweetcorn and zhoug, and is served with a pot of toum on the side for dipping those lovely crusts into. If you’re vegetarian, swap the spicy sausage with some harissa aubergine (or whatever other slow-cooked veg takes your fancy, really, so long as it features that classic-for-a-reason Moroccan spice paste). In fact, I like it so much, we’ve teamed up with Yard Sale Pizza, who are now offering it as an Ottolenghi special at all of its sites across London until 29 October.

Pasta inspo | During Team Comfort’s recent trip to Edinburgh, my co-authors had the pleasure of being interviewed by Jess Elliott Dennison, the founder of Elliott’s and a talented food writer. Tara was so in love with her tomato pasta with fennel and chilli that she rushed home after the trip, drenched from her cycle from the station, to recreate it.

Britain’s best sourdough | In Bristol, meanwhile, we made a pitstop at Hart’s Bakery, just a stone’s throw from Temple Meads station, to pick up some classy snacks for the road. The selection on offer was hugely impressive. The cinnamon buns, cakes and pastries were delightful, but the standout for me was Hart’s famous sourdough. And I have to mention their sausage roll, which is perhaps Britain’s best.