Mr Valentine Warner – writer, broadcaster, chef, hunter, gatherer and champion of the natural world – is ensconced in the corner of an urban chain restaurant, telling MR PORTER about his latest book The Consolation Of Food. “I feel if I ever feel slightly anxious, it’s because I sense my kitchen’s low on anchovies. Anchovies and dijon mustard.”

Despite the dour title, much like its author, who initially caught the public’s attention via acclaimed BBC series What To Eat Now, it’s jolly good fun. It’s also tender, considered, oft-sage, and very much not a regular recipe book – as partially evidenced by the abundance of anchovies. “When many people write cookbooks, they say, ‘Oh, I can only use anchovies twice’, or, ‘The aubergine has been left out, I need three aubergine recipes’. I wasn’t going to do that. So, this is what you get, because this is what I cook at home, which is normally inspired by a recollection, or something I’ve seen in a market or read somewhere. They’re very personal.”

Beyond the trove of cherished dishes, all of which might be gathered under the provincial style of cookery Mr Warner is known for, The Consolation Of Food is a story book masquerading as a memoir cum edible miscellany. “I love stories. When we’re feeling odd, we read stories; we console children by reading them stories,” he says, before disavowing the notion that a consolation must always be a cure for an ill. “It got to the point where I thought: ‘Am I going to write another cookbook?’ Well, there’s a lot of them around. How many recipes do we need?’ And I realised that with four of my previous books, each story wasn’t necessarily about the following recipe. In short, it was always the stories I enjoyed writing, because those had been the great adventures in my continual quest for the next meal: hanging out with boar hunters or trying to get an octopus recipe from a Greek widow.”

This time, as well as entertaining, Mr Warner wanted to offer succour and emotional solidarity. As he puts it, “I wanted to say many of the things I’m feeling. There’s a big divide going on. In a way, it’s between nature and this mad consuming environment. I live in both, so it’s a constant conversation.” By openly sharing his own concerns, “idiocies” and missteps, and discussing his beloved father’s death and his divorce, Mr Warner hoped to assuage readers fears, “…to say – don’t beat yourself up too much, because we all have strange mental twists and turns. But you’re not alone… we exist in this world where we [imagine] everything will turn out perfectly, and it just doesn’t.”

Sombre as that may sound, The Consolation Of Food frequently proves hilarious and life-affirming. “It’s really about the joys of life,” says Mr Warner. “There’s nothing more wonderful than sitting around with people and laughing… [Still] the hardest things taught me more than the great joys. The joys are my children, but it’s actually going through a divorce and living separately from them that taught me to think and cope in a different way. Otherwise, you don’t move forward.” Thus, as he relays, he decided to crack on, cheer up and write about “all those wonderful times, punctuated with the more serious things… I’m a ridiculously hopeful person. I find everything quite funny, partly because the world is so incredibly contradictory.”

Indeed, while Mr Warner rejects the notion his book has a cohesive theme, he’s crafted a subtle yet persuasive public entreaty to better care for the planet – not least the parts of it we eat. “We cannot exist without nature, but we behave as if we can… So, please, let’s look after all of this, because it’s very beautiful, and do we know what we’re tampering with?”

He’s also scathing of Britain’s convenience-centric food culture: “I’d be as extreme to say that generally we know less about food than we ever have. Because we’re cooking less and less, falling into these vanity and diet traps, and we don’t actually understand our countryside.” Mr Warner depicts his evolving relationship with hunting in his new book. “I know how to find that animal. I know my way round it with a knife. But then I’m responsible for that gap in nature so I use everything very carefully. [Whereas] I think many people don’t even turn a chicken carcass into soup, the whole lot goes in the bin. The value of food’s been lost.”

These days, apart from visiting his children in the Pyrenees, he most enjoys spending time in the great outdoors with expert collaborators from the realms of hospitality and craft. In Northumberland, he’s partnered with master cocktail creator Mr Nick Strangeway, spirit specialists, Messrs Chris Garden and Cairbry Hill and experienced land cultivator and keeper (and owner) Mr Walter Riddell. Together, they run the Moorland Spirit Company, which is set in a rare, serene sanctuary. In addition to making award-winning Hepple Gin and Douglas fir pine-infused vodka, the friends facilitated one of Europe’s biggest propagation of juniper.

Meanwhile, in Norway, Mr Warner is heavily involved in the Kitchen at the Edge of the World project on the remote isle of Holmen Lofoten, which is “one of the places I enjoying cooking most, because it’s an incredibly visceral place. The elements are beating you up. Your boots are covered in mud and your hands are covered in blood, because you dealt with the cod when you got it into the boat, or had your hands inside a hare that’s been shot… It teaches you huge respect.”

As for the story of just how Mr Warner came to be involved in this seasonal venture, well, you’ll have to get your paws on The Consolation Of Food, and then choose which accompanying recipe to cook at that very moment, for as Mr Warner says: “Books, like food, are very much to do with mood.”

Excellent companionship for a biting weather with a cruel nip in the air, this is originally a Swedish dish called Jansson’s temptation, which is normally made with potatoes only. It’s “Val’s Temptation” because I’m using Jerusalem artichokes and celeriac, which I think makes it even nicer. I would urge anyone making it to do that little bit of legwork and buy the Swedish tinned fishes, but it is nonetheless a pleasure if using anchovies. As with a lot of Swedish food, the saltiness will leave you thirsty. Do not cut down on the salt, just drink more cold beer or a really good bottle of white wine.

• 75g butter
• 2 medium onions, halved and sliced thinly
• ½ tsp celery salt or sea salt
• 4 large good, hard garlic cloves, very thickly sliced
• 250g celeriac, peeled and chopped into 5cm matchsticks
• 250g Jerusalem artichokes, scrubbed and chopped into 5cm matchsticks
• 250g waxy potatoes, scrubbed and chopped into 5cm matchsticks
• Freshly ground black pepper
• Heaped ¼ tsp ground nutmeg
• Heaped ¼ tsp ground cinnamon
• 6 juniper berries, chopped
• 1 x 125g can salted sprats (Abba brand), juice reserved. (Or 2 x can anchovies, drained of the oil)
• 1 bay leaf 500ml double (heavy) cream
• 80g stale sourdough breadcrumbs, or Peter’s Yard sourdough crispbread crumbs
• 1 tsp fennel seeds
• Crispy onions (Top Taste brand), to serve

Preheat the oven to 220°C

In a heavy casserole or cast-iron pan (approximately 25cm across) melt two-thirds of the butter and add the onions. Cook them with ¼ tsp salt until golden and becoming well browned. Do not confuse this with burning, as it’s very important not to blacken the butter.

Add the garlic and cook for a further minute or so.

Put all the matchstick vegetables in a large bowl.

When the onions are done, add them to the bowl (keeping the pan to one side) and mix everything together well for a nice even distribution with a good grind of black pepper, the nutmeg, cinnamon and the juniper.

Return half the mix to the pan and spread it evenly across the base. Lay half the sprats or anchovies in a clock formation, ends facing to the centre and pan edge. Chop the bay leaf in half and put them among the veg.

Put the rest of the mix on top and repeat with the remaining sprats and bay leaf. Pour the juice from the sprats all over. Glug the cream all over.

Dot with the remaining butter. Wrap in foil and put on a tray to catch the dribbles. Bake for an hour or until the veg are soft.

Meanwhile, in a saucepan, toast the breadcrumbs in the remaining butter with the fennel seeds and the celery or sea salt and a good grind of pepper until dry and crispy.

Once the vegetables are done, remove the foil (reserve to finger well or lick) and put back in the oven to colour the top of the temptation. Finally, scatter the breadcrumbs on top and give it another 5 minutes in the oven. Remove and scatter heavily with crispy onions.

Eat with lots of cold beer and aquavit, then retire for an evening of naked axe-throwing.

The Consolation Of Food (Pavilion Books) by Mr Valentine Warner is out now