Saturday morning is the foodie’s Sabbath. Who hasn’t lost hours, even the whole day, tracking down a particular purveyor of pickled lemons? In the case of food writer Andrew Webb, his days of devotion number ten score and counting.

Webb’s new encyclopedia of British food, Food Britannia, is guaranteed to elevate the naturally febrile state of the true foodie to one of frenzy. And already I have fallen victim.

As soon as I read his description of the nearby Caribbean takeaway, Smokey Jerkey, I became obsessed with desire to check it out. And so in the heat of last Friday night, while the rest of London was enjoying Prosecco and Pimms in the capital’s beer gardens, I found myself trudging down Queens Road towards New Cross. I was in search of what Webb refers to as “lip-tingling jerk action”.

My rucksack weighed heavily as I stood in sweaty sandals in the long queue of the small, steamy takeaway. With the devotion of a zealot, I waited 35 minutes to be served. And although a salad would probably have been more appropriate to the tropical conditions, the jerked meat was indeed delicious.

Yet, my sense of victory was far deeper than any mere taste sensation. I had faithfully carried out the rites proclaimed in the scripture of a new master. And I felt blessed.

Webb’s book is wonderful, but dangerous. Take note of your vulnerable slavish nature before worshiping at his pages.