... of travelling. And of course food is always a major focus whenever I visit a country. Which country's food would you like to eat? Whether for the first time, or again? And why?

From FB friend Ben Trovato. I look forward to your comments! ‘One of the benefits of living on your own is that nobody is trying to force-feed you home-cooked meals every night. Sure, we don’t live as long as married men do, but that’s a good thing, right? Look around you. Of course it is. There is a good chance I have been spending too much time on Facebook, because I would like to tell you about my supper. It is a three-course meal. I have lit the candle (a crude wick embedded in a block of Mr Zog’s Sex Wax) and set the table, which conveniently straightens out into a pair of legs once matters of a culinary nature have been concluded. The starter is a 250g packet of nachos chips. On the front it says beno fido. This could mean it is for dogs. I care less. Any product that has the word “whateva” on its packaging deserves to come home with me. It dovetails nicely with the general state of dispassion in which I currently exist. It is a starter that makes no demands. Eat me, don’t eat me. If a nacho could shrug and turn its mouth down, it would. I find it far more appealing than a starter that sits up on your plate all perky and pretentious, clamouring to be devoured. There is nothing worse than food that is anxious to please. To accompany my starter, I have engaged the services of a sweet chilli dip. Since I have sold my books for beer money, I entertain myself by reading the ingredients. My chips contain sulphur dioxide, silicone dioxide, oleoresins and unstipulated flavour enhancers, which could be anything from powdered donkey hooves to dried yak vomit. Yum yum. My dip contains anthrax, ayahuasca and cat bile. That’s what it looks like, anyway. The print is too small for the human eye. The packaging on my nachos advised, in no uncertain terms, that I was to use immediately once opened. The instruction jarred with the mellow vibe the chips had going. I felt pressured. Emptying the dip into the packet, I stuffed handfuls into my mouth. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but when a man lives alone he quickly adopts the habits and mannerisms of a spotted hyena.