Hallowe'en seems to get bigger and bigger every year - some people appear to have made more of an effort for October 31 than for December 25. Even food is being influenced, though as a menu obsessive I struggle with the idea of ghoul-ash, severed finger food and devil's food cake that seem to appear on every other restaurant's bill of fare at the end of October.

I love writing menus, it's what I’m best at. I might not be able to cook it but boy can I write it. Ask my chefs and they'll tell you that "you cook it, I'll write it" is one of my regular refrains. There's less washing-up my way. The mid-1990s were a trying time for me as we were offered poetic flowery descriptions of food with pools of this, nestled in a succulent bed of that and next to a perfumed cloud of the other. It was entirely possible to read a menu without a clue of what you were being offered. There’s nothing remotely enticing about menus presented this way but, heavily influenced by the nouvelle cuisine movement, we all became a bit too clever for our own good. The blackboards advertising 'meat and two veg' were well and truly banished as eating out became an 'experience'. Chefs began to think of themselves as artists and the plate became the canvas. Most chefs I know are artists of a different kind - let's put it this way, you wouldn’t want them to paint your house let alone a picture on a plate.

A few years ago the backlash began, with menus becoming mere lists of ingredients, rather like a recipe without measures. They were stripped back, often without the cooking technique specified so diners had no indication as to what they were ordering. At the same time, a number of operators became so trendy that they even eschewed the normal pricing system instead choosing to write single digits, because they were too cool to use the £ sign. A dish costing £10.50 was suddenly priced at 10.5: it grinds my gears.

The latest fad is to give dishes crazy titles. I recently had a wonderful burger at the fantastically-named Half Man Half Burger on Hastings seafront. It was unbelievably good, despite the embarrassment of ordering the Bacon Mother Frickle Guest Burger (it's a fried pickle, if you were wondering). One of my favourite restaurants, Terre a Terre at Brighton (we're always being told that Norwich is becoming the new Brighton, hopefully that means Terre a Terre 2 will be here) has the best vegetarian offer in the country and menu descriptions that are worth the three hour journey alone. Sneaky Peeking Steamers anyone? Or shall I go for the Bigger Bangkok Balls or the Better Batter and Lemony Yemeni Relish?

As ever, there's a fine line between being clever and looking stupid. As an avid menu collector, I have some corkers in my collection, but pride of place goes to a Norwich hotel who held Elvis-themed suppers in the early 80s. I didn’t make it along to the dinner, but how I would have loved to sample their Love Me Tenderloin of Pork, Old Shep-herds Pie and finish with the In the Ghetto Gateau. Pure Genius. Never mind the quality, look at the script!