Surrender your square plates and we can dine in dignity

Not since the Northern Ireland weapons amnesty of 1997 has there been such a contrite offer of reconciliation. Yesterday I let it be known that at the forthcoming Towcester Food Festival on June 7, I will be holding a square plate amnesty. At last, every chef who cherishes these affronts to culinary decency, every home cook with their misplaced idea of what will impress their friends, can bring their square plates along. They can hand them over without fear of retribution, retaliation or repercussion. My announcement has caused a tidal wave in the food world; a ripple in the real world. Square-plate-gate is ablaze on Twitter, the views as charming and direct as ever.

It started with a few choice words of mine on Masterchef recently. There I was, in the steaming cauldron that is Britain’s most popular food contest, brought, for once, out of the critics’ room and into the kitchen. The cooks could then proffer their dishes and stand there while Gregg Wallace, John Torode and I gave them our honest opinion. I did, of course, discuss the actual food, but the comments I made about the procession of square plates is what was remembered.

Needless to say, I savaged the square plates. I think I even threatened to throw one at a particular contestant. But not convinced that the entire nation has heard my message, I’ve decided to turn up the volume.

Square plates are an insult to Mother Nature whose offerings are many shapes but never square. So whatever is put on the offending plate will clash with those sharp edges. And those who offer food on square plates, thus sinking into a quagmire of style over substance, are actually holding back the progression of gastronomic culture in this country.

A serious love and appreciation of food will give you a fuller – dare I say, more rounded – and healthier life. Children who learn about food and cooking and where their food comes from tend to eat better, which means they then sleep, play and study better. It’s why I believe free meals are so vital in primary schools. Because when a child eats well, he or she learns well and has a greater chance of improving their literacy and numeracy skills.

And anything that diverts from that goal can cause dire consequences. The square plate is one such heinous diversion. The chef who dispenses food on a square plate shows too much interest in the ephemeral; they want to impress the diner with their food fashion statement, overlooking the fact that nothing is more important than the food itself, its flavour and its texture. Chefs who use square plates are simply attempting to divert attention from their own inadequacies. They think the plate will illicit a sage nod from the diner impressed at this stylish sleight of hand. Except, of course, that such plates are firmly out of fashion. Especially if they are black, or rectangular or, God help us, in the shape of a heart.

There is, though, another more mercenary reason why some chefs like square plates. Because of their shape you can get more square plates on to a table than round ones, which means you can use smaller tables for the same number of diners and thus fit more tables in the restaurant. Which can mean more income.

Nor is the square plate the only offender when eating out. For who has failed to be puzzled, if not appalled, by the square scourge beloved of so many gastropubs: the wooden board. Burgers, steaks – who knows what else – are increasingly presented on boards that were actually invented to carry bread. Not only are they unhygienic – imagine what foul bacteria lurk within the grooves of the wood – they are surely too heavy for the poor staff to carry in any great numbers. And, let’s face it, you look silly eating off one. Diners should not be made subject to the experiments of crazy chefs. They’ll have you churning milk in the corner next, like some Polish Eurovision contestant.

But it’s not just chefs who are breaking the laws of plate etiquette. Square plates have been spotted in kitchens across Britain, too, and not just in the sort of homes where you are likely to find black sheets and mirrors on the ceiling. One can only assume that, like the professional chef, the domestic cook in these kitchens hopes their fancy crockery will divert their friends’ attention from the fact that they have overcooked the asparagus.

So, readers, do not be shy; bring these plates to my amnesty, along with any other pointless culinary accessories you have acquired over the years – Philippe Starck lemon squeezers spring to mind, or indeed any juicing machine that requires twice as much time to wash up the dozen component parts than it does to make the teeth-rotting smoothie in the first place.

And if we add to my list of banned dining fads any froth, smears or foam, micro-herbs, tapioca tea, popping candy and deconstructed apple crumble (or, indeed, deconstructed anything), then Britain can, once again, continue on its gentle and flavoursome path to food purity.

William Sitwell is editor of Waitrose Kitchen and author of 'A History of Food in 100 Recipes’ (Collins, £20)