f you ask me what my favourite food is, on any given day I would probably give you a different answer. It’s really down to what mood I’m in at that particular moment.

I’m not really that discerning. The French would definitely not describe me as a gourmet (a person who cultivates a discriminating palate for the enjoyment of good food and drink). They would more likely classify me as a gourmand—one who is fond of good eating, often to excess.

Like all gourmands, I particularly enjoy accessing my food through the medium of the buffet. I love a good buffet, because you get to have a bit of everything.

Or, in my case, a lot of everything.

My mum always laid on a good buffet. When I was younger, she made me wait until all the other guests had had an opportunity to get to the table first. She knew my plate-loading capabilities.

I like to think I show a little more restraint nowadays.

I’m probably deluding myself.

I attended a family gathering with an excellent buffet today. There was plenty of food to go around—arguably too much, as there was no shortage of leftovers at the end. It’s always the sign of a well-stocked buffet when even I am unable to make much of a dent.

But I gave it a good go.