After my mental health struggles, I turned to the kitchen to heal

A year after my last cookbook, East, came out, I told my editor that I wanted to write another one. But then I had a baby and a breakdown, and things were put on pause while I shattered into pieces and painstakingly put myself back together again (in a much better, stronger way – breakdowns are great for that).

One of the most bewildering things that happened was that I lost my love for food, both cooking and eating. But cooking was how I made a living, fed my family and navigated the world. I knew I had to find a way back to it, and fast.

I took a break from my Guardian column, not knowing whether that break would be indefinite, and then, after many months, something wonderful started to happen.

I set myself the task of cooking a simple dinner, every now and then, the only criteria being that I had to be led by my stomach – it had to be something I really wanted to eat or cook. If it was good, I wrote it down in my orange notebook. Slowly, the orange notebook filled up. And slowly, I started to feel the life in my bones and the hunger in my belly. I realised the power this simple act of cooking and eating dinner with my friends and family had in my life.

Four years on, I am finally ready and wildly proud to share my next cookbook with the world, an extended version of my own orange notebook – Dinner: 120 Vegan and Vegetarian Recipes for the Most Important Meal of the Day. (It will be out in August and you can pre-order it now.)

It’s also my most personal book yet, with stories, essays and, unnervingly, photos of the inside of my cupboard and fridge (spoiler alert: lots of vegetables).

It’s my most useful book so far, because I’ve abandoned snacks, small dishes, starters and drinks in favour of things you can put on the table and call a proper meal (pictured top, my kimchi and tomato spaghetti). Inside, there are dinners you can fashion out of just a wink, a nudge and some store-cupboard ingredients, plenty of weeknight meals, some slow-cooking things for pleasure, or meals you can prep in five minutes and bung in the oven. Then there are all the sides you’ll ever need, puddings to write home about and a few extra bits, such as pickles and breads, because I just couldn’t help myself.

All the recipes are vegan and vegetarian (this is largely how I love to eat),many are very simple.Some you’ll recognise from my Guardian Feast column, but many are new. Most importantly, perhaps, each recipe has had a part to play in getting me back to a place of feeling good about life.

Swim and sourdough |My base on a trip to Bristol was Clifton Lido, where you can swim, chat away to strangers in the steam room, be smooshed for an hour (voluntarily, if you book a massage) and then eat puffy sourdough flatbreads with any number of vegetables and cheeses fashioned into deliciousness. I enjoyed the tomato and goat’s curd and the delica pumpkin caponata on the menu this week.

Birthday food requests | Both my husband Hugh and daughter Arya have had birthdays recently. Hugh asked for the crisp and dip combination I mention below, followed by my aubergine katsu curry and Delia’s delightful blueberry muffin cake to finish. Arya asked for chow mein noodles and my banana cake (above) for afters.

Food TV | I’m heading to Brittany later this year and in preparation have been watching Anthony Bourdain eat his way across the region. What I loved most is the passionate stubbornness with which Breton producers refuse to scale up or modernise with machinery for fear of losing the quality they can produce at small volumes and with their hands.

The best crisp and dip combo|During a recent conversation at the pub, I was excited to hear that one friend had done a rudimentary test with – and on – friends at home to find that sweet chilli crisps with soured cream dip came out trumps. Now I can’t stop eating this combination (thanks, Issy). I also love poppadom crisps with Geeta’s mango chutney, but the sweet chilli and soured cream pips it.