When it comes to food in literature, there are basically just two kinds: fictitious food, of the sort cooked and consumed by imaginary characters; which we wrote about here for grownups and here for children. And then there’s real food, of the sort prepared and eaten and revered by actual authors. The latter hooks us because, in a sense, it brings us closer to the people whose books we’ve come to love. Often, it also shows us how authors’ love of food finds its way into their books.

Charles Dickens, whose novels are replete with goose and plum pudding, loved multiple courses and overflowing tables; he was particularly partial to leg of mutton stuffed with oysters and toasted cheese. We know this