As you might imagine, I spend most of my waking hours talking, writing or reading about food. Recently, a new word seems to be sneaking into the conversation. I’m hearing people commenting that a restaurant, dish or chef either has, or lacks, “soul”. It’s an odd idea which, though it might be difficult to pin down, is obviously expressing a widely felt need. That food is getting better in this country is no longer news, but people are still searching for a “special something”.

In 1960s America, “soul” was commonly used to indicate African-American culture. “Soul food” restaurants launched, serving food with African origins or re-appropriating the dishes of the poor American south. The soul food movement gave a name to an indigenous American cuisine of marginalised cultures and, in doing so, became a powerful political statement for them. Eating soul food could be an expression of pride, protest or occasionally “radical chic”.

“Soul” meant something else in Paris around 2000, with the emergence of Le Fooding, a group of young food lovers who’d grown tired of the rigidity of classical French restaurants and sought something more exciting. They spoke of food in metaphors of rock ’n’ roll, they espoused a punk-like ethos (albeit a chic one) and they sought food with “soul”. One only has to look at Johnny Hallyday to realise that the French were always a little confused about musical genres, but the basic idea shines through. Le Fooding wanted a free flow of new ideas, to cross-pollinate with diverse food cultures, to inject a little something into the sclerotic bloodstream of the world’s pre-eminent food city.