I’ve been thinking about rules – the ones you should follow and the ones you can break. As a parent, you often wrestle with them when you attempt to civilise your offspring. Don’t talk with your mouth full. Say please and thank you. Don’t throw food at your brother.

There is one rule that we break regularly in our house, though: “Don’t fill up on bread.” Perhaps you’ve heard the saying, or a variation of it. But when we’re faced with fluffy pitta, crusty sourdough or parmesan-crusted crisps, alongside a plate of hummus or some form of whipped feta, why would we not keep dunking until we’re too full to bother with an elaborate meal? So today I’m making the case that dips can be dinner.

How did this rule come about? In the UK in the 1960s and 70s, it was a mark of middle-class manners not to use your hands. So when American-style cheesy dips arrived on British shores, they were embraced as a kind of cheeky informality. They were a break from knives, forks, meat and two veg, and from watching your manners. Even the word “dip” has about it a kind of informal and throwaway tone.

When hummus and guacamole came on the scene in the 1980s and 90s, they became an appetiser: food to be scooped up with bread and served before a meal to stop people getting too hungry. And thereafter, anything blitzed or mashed was regarded as a filler to put out for guests to pick at absent-mindedly while they waited for the “real food” to arrive (not least because we mustn’t “fill up on bread”!).

After growing up in Jerusalem, I found it rather surprising to see these rules in operation. If you were hungry while wandering around my home city’s market, you could sit down to a bowl of hummus – chunky or smooth, with a boiled egg and onion on the side, or simply finished with tahini sauce garnished with piquant pickles and some warm pitta. However it was presented, though, that hummus was in no way a cheeky appetiser – it was a bowl so rich and creamy, it didn’t need anything else to make it a full meal.

A dip, according to my test kitchen colleagues, shouldn’t be limited to just dipping, either. The perfect dip (it’s a verb) involves holding your chosen bread by your fingertips, dunking it in the bowl of something delicious and, with a flick of the wrist, getting as much of it in one delightful mouthful.

There was, however, some conflict about definitions. Is guacamole still a dip if you spread the leftovers on a burrito the next day? Is harissa still a paste if you use it as a condiment and have a spoonful with some grilled chicken or spread it in a grilled cheese sandwich? In the end, though, we came to a consensus: once something has been blitzed or mashed to a rough puree or thick sauce, you should be able to spread it on a platter as a dip for a crowd and keep the leftovers to serve as a condiment.

One of my favourite things about cooking is breaking those rules that are begging to be broken. You know the kind of thing: extra-virgin olive oil is for dressing, not cooking; don’t mix red wine and fish, or cheese with fish; be careful not to add too much garlic (I beg your pardon!?!). Breaking the rules are often when the best discoveries are made: yes, hummus makes for a fantastic sandwich filling, and yes, sometimes you can scoop up Branston pickle with your crisps.

In the summer, eating a feast every night is unnecessary: some bread, a fresh Greek-ish salad (again, no hard and fast rules apply to that, either) and a selection of tzatziki, labneh or beetroot puree will do. It’s just the thing to stop you from waking up in the morning feeling too bloated and full (unless you had too much, which is totally your own fault). Skordalia, for instance, is a regular feature on our dinner table: a potato and garlic dip, but without any offensive pungency. In fact, I think that’ll be on the menu this weekend.

So, try to break the rules that are begging to be broken in the kitchen. But follow this very important one: dips can be for dinner. Spread the word.

Old favourite | Guirong Wei has brought authentic Xi’an food, with its 2,000-year history, to the UK, and her restaurant, Master Wei, in Bloomsbury, central London, will always be one of my favourite bites in town (she has another place, Xi’An Impression, further north in Highbury). It’s the sort of laid-back place to fly solo and happily slurp away accompanied by a newspaper or headphones.

Liquid gold | Will Rolph, one half of Two Fields, joined us at the test kitchen to share their story – Two Fields is a social regenerative project that produces incredible olive oil. My colleagues Jake Norman and Neil John Campbell prepared a menu using lots of fresh produce harvested that very morning from our growing site up at Wolves Lane in north London, and featuring turbot pil pil with asparagus, lemon and goat’s curd, and fig leaf and limoncello ice-cream, all with lashings of olive oil.

What I’ve been eating | I spent an evening at Amy Poon’s new railway arch unit in Bermondsey, south-east London, for a fantastic summer feast. Stir-fried kohlrabi with wind-dried sausage and chilled tofu with avocado and Poon’s chilli vinegar dressing were absolute standouts.