I was hosting friends from Lyons, reputed to be the culinary capital of France, and I found all my latent passive-aggression, not to say sheer bloody minded competitiveness, came to the fore, as I did my utmost not to be outdone by the kings of cuisine.

I found myself getting up early to make full English breakfasts and devising dinner party-style menus even for a wet Monday evening, when normally, I would be reheating Sunday’s leftovers.

Very gratifyingly, our French friends were most appreciative of my efforts, which they said succeeded in demolishing all their prejudices about English food.

Funnily enough, though, what they liked best were the old-fashioned dishes we all ate as children: apple crumble, fruit Pavlova, cheese with grapes at the end of the meal (combining sweet and savoury: how very déclassé) and porridge for brekkie. One evening I even served them creamed swede, mashed potatoes and haggis, laced with whisky, naturellement, and they positively raved about it.

But their firm favourite, at least judging by the empty dishes, was toad in the hole with onion gravy and they even asked for the recipe.

Even so, I don’t imagine eateries across the Channel taking up the dish.

Somehow I can’t see my recipe for crispy crapaud dans le trou being served alongside cuisses de grenouilles (frogs’ legs) in restaurants in France, can you?