Posts

The Emperor’s New Milk

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  The Emperor’s New Milk There’s a particular kind of nonsense that only becomes obvious when you set it against something honest. And nothing exposes the nonsense of the recent Oatly legal saga quite like looking at how things are done here in Suffolk: quietly, properly, without the theatrics. Because while Oatly is busy stamping slogans on cartons and marching into courtrooms claiming oppression, the law has remained exactly the same as it’s always been: milk is defined in UK and EU regulation as the normal mammary secretion of a mammal. Not a grain. Not a nut. Not anything that needs soaking, blitzing, straining, and stabilising before it vaguely resembles something white. If it doesn’t lactate, it doesn’t make milk. Simple as that. And this isn’t a dairy‑lobby invention. It’s the same definition used in Sweden, Oatly’s own homeland. Sweden’s National Food Agency has applied it for decades. Oatly grew up under that rule. They know it inside out. Yet after losing at the Intellect...
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  ☕🌊 Movement Monday: A Brisk Walk, A Sea Breeze, and a Proper Treat at The Dip, Felixstowe Movement Monday rolls round again — that weekly ritual where we all pretend we’re outdoorsy types who love fresh air, rather than people who would happily stay indoors with a brew. Still, Old Felixstowe’s promenade does make the whole thing easier. Big skies, salty air, and the promise of something warm and caffeinated at the end of it. Now, I should confess something. I have a perfectly functional beach hut. With a kettle. And coffee. And a chair that doesn’t judge me. I could have made my own drink and sat there like a smug seaside hermit. But in the true spirit of Movement Monday realism, I walked the full 100ft to The Dip . A heroic effort, I’m sure you’ll agree. Practically an expedition. Someone alert the Ramblers Association. I’ve been visiting The Dip ever since that fateful day my wife bought a beach hut on a whim — a decision that still divides opinion in the household every tim...
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  Breakfast at Suffolk Food Hall – A Midweek Reminder of How Suffolk Should Feed Its People There’s something beautifully unhurried about a New Year breakfast. No paper crowns, no turkey politics, no pretending you enjoy sprouts. Just a table, a view, and the promise of a clean start. So, in the spirit of avoiding December nonsense, we took ourselves off for a midweek breakfast at Suffolk Food Hall — and walked straight into a masterclass in how Suffolk hospitality ought to be done. Obviously, as the hungry fat Yorkshireman, I arrived first. Partly because I’m punctual. Mostly because I was quietly hoping to squeeze in a pre‑breakfast breakfast before everyone else turned up. Sadly, the staff are far too professional to let me get away with that, but a man can dream. And let’s be clear: this place didn’t materialise out of a branding workshop where someone said “What if we did brunch… but rustic?” Suffolk Food Hall grew out of the Paul family’s land, their Red Poll cattle, and a ...
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CUTTING OUT THE TRUTH: Why Real Butchers Matter More Than Ever

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  CUTTING OUT THE TRUTH: Why Real Butchers Matter More Than Ever There was a time when every town had a butcher. A proper one. Mine did — my grandad at Dewhirst’s in Shipley. A man who could joint a carcass before breakfast and report for Home Guard duty after tea. Baildon Platoon, 1st (Otley) Battalion. A real‑life Corporal Jones, only with sharper knives forged from cold British steel by relatives in Sheffield. In fact, we’ve still got the family Sheffield Wednesday 1928–29 League‑winning bread knife at home, in daily use — proof that proper steel outlives all of us. Now? We’ve replaced men like him with meat factories. Not abattoirs — they’ve always been there. I mean the new “protein processing centres,” which is corporate for a big shed where meat goes in one end and comes out the other pumped full of God‑knows‑what industrial shelf‑life‑extending crap and water, looking like it’s been designed by a bored engineer with a CAD licence. We don’t cure meat anymore — not properly....
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Kitchen Hell: Why Suffolk Trains Chefs Only to Break Them

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  Kitchen Hell: Why Suffolk Trains Chefs Only to Break Them I’m no Marco Pierre White — let’s get that out of the way before anyone starts polishing a plaque. I’m self‑taught. Yorkshire self‑taught. Which means I learned to cook the same way we learn everything: by cocking it up repeatedly until it stops being embarrassing. If I can make it better than you, I’ll do it myself. If you can make it better than me, I’ll happily pay you — because that’s how skill works. That’s how respect works. That’s how food should work. But just like me, Marco ended up in Felixstowe. The difference is he arrived with three Michelin stars and a reputation that could part the North Sea, and still found himself running a hotel and restaurant in a county where even the greats have to wrestle with the same hospitality headwinds as the rest of us. And I’ll tell you this for nowt: any Yorkshireman charging ninety quid for a bit of cow has changed. Marco might still have the accent, but that price tag’s pur...
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Suffolk’s Hospitality Problem: Glitter Isn’t a Substitute for Flavour

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  Suffolk’s Hospitality Problem: Glitter Isn’t a Substitute for Flavour Suffolk ought to be one of the easiest places in Britain to eat well. We’ve got the coastline, the farms, the markets, the chefs in crisp whites at Suffolk New College learning how to actually cook. Ipswich, Bury St Edmunds, Woodbridge — on paper, we’re spoiled. Kent might have the official “Garden of England” badge, but let’s be honest: Suffolk’s the bit of the garden where the good stuff actually grows. And I say that as someone who’s Yorkshire by birth and Suffolk by choice — I know a decent field when I see one, and Suffolk’s are almost as good as ours. Almost. And yet, walk through the centres of those towns and we could be almost anywhere. The same chains, the same menus, the same “seasonal specials” that seem to be in season all year round. The buildings change, the logos change, the PR gloss changes. The food, somehow, doesn’t. This isn’t because Suffolk has suddenly developed a deep suspicion of flavou...
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Coming Soon to The Suffolk Appetite

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  Coming Soon to The Suffolk Appetite Something delicious is bubbling away behind the scenes. Over the next few weeks, The Suffolk Appetite will be serving up a fresh batch of stories, guides, and local discoveries — all rooted in the flavours, people, and places that make Suffolk such a joy to explore. Think seasonal eats, hidden gems, comforting classics, and the kind of food that feels like home. If you love slow weekends, good coffee, honest ingredients, and the quiet magic of our county’s kitchens and cafés, you’re in the right place. New posts are on the way — and they’re worth waiting for. Stay tuned. The next course is almost ready.
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