I love sausages!
‘Sausages,’ my son says to me, leaning forward from the back of the car, with the authority and confidence only a three-year-old can truly muster. ‘Sausages?’ I reply distractedly, while navigating a particularly awkward roundabout. We’ve been talking about my job, but I assume his train of thought has taken a lunchier direction. ‘Yes, sausages. You write about sausages. And… things like sausages.’ He sits back, satisfied in his career analysis, probably contemplating whether lunch can indeed also feature sausages. I briefly consider explaining to him the craft of writing, the wider implications of food on politics, race and class, maybe even clarifying that at one point I was in
