I HAVE A confession to make. Some years ago, while enjoying solace in a café, a well-nourished white bloke accosted me by thrusting his newly purchased cookbook in my face and demanding an autograph. ‘I love your recipes,’ he gushed. I signed his book with a flourish: ‘Love, Kylie K.’

Just to be clear, the Chinese-Australian chef Kylie Kwong and I both wear glasses, but beyond that, we share few similarities. But I figured if this bloke is daft enough to think we Asians all look the same, why not bask in the fake celebrity limelight? What’s the harm in obliging him with a momentary mendacious act? (Apologies to Kylie of course, whose recipes I also love.)