Judging by the title of this adaptation of his memoir — perhaps a show to book for after Pesach — celebrity chef Nigel Slater has apparently yet to discover the delights of matzah brei. But then in 1960s Wolverhampton, where this whimsical serving of nostalgia is set, even spaghetti was considered exotic.

The action takes place mainly in a period, pastel-coloured kitchen. Here, our narrator, nine-year-old Slater (played by Giles Cooper in schoolboy shorts) and his mother (Lizzie Muncey) cook staples such as mince pies and jam tarts, Unimaginative they may be but it was this cosy, seminal experience that led to Slater becmoing one of today’s best-loved kitchen creatives.

It’s a world of small “c” conservatism, seaside holidays and delicacies that are all too easy to forget — such as “hotel toast”, those rubber, cold triangles that were lined up on racks and which really couldn’t get anywhere else.

Meanwhile, Nigel’s emotionally remote, factory-owning dad (Stephen Ventura) views sweets in feminine and masculine terms, much like French nouns.

Parma Violets are for girls, Gobstoppers for boys, so when Nigel declared his penchant for Love Hearts it came as an unwanted clue to his son’s sexuality.

Such observations form the tastiest morsels in this nostalgia fest. Certainly Slater’s writing — adapted by Henry Filloux-Bennett (a shame his double barrelled name doesn’t end in Pastry) leaves a better taste in the mouth than many of the sweets doled out to the audience in Jonnie Riordan’s production. Only now do I realise that I have moved on from Walnut Whips, although the lemon meringue pies are delish.

Dramatically it would all be too saccharine were it not for the quietly moving subplot that sees Slater’s mother succumb to asthma. Meanwhile, the charismatic Cooper is good company throughout, managing to convince both as man and boy simultaneously. My only gripe is that you want this meal to end some time before it finishes. The musical interludes are not well choreographed enough to justify their inclusion and a little like a badly timed soufflé, the show slowly deflates after its peak.