I need you to sit down, because it’s time we had the talk. The Big Talk. It’s not going to be easy, and I might say a few things that will make you feel uncomfortable. But this talk has to be had, and really, we should have spoken about it a long time ago.

I’m going to introduce you to a very basic principle in my life, and I’m prepared to back it to the hilt. Next time you’re cooking with garlic, I want you to think carefully, very carefully, for at least 10 seconds. Take a breath, take a moment. Think about what it is you’re trying to achieve with that evil little nut. And, what I’m about to say may shock you, but please, put the garlic down. Put it down. Put it back. Take a moment. Try something else.

Now, before you all get your knickers in a twist, and come at me with your fancy microplanes and garlic crushers, let me try and explain something to you. There is nothing more uncomfortable, more anti-social, and more overpowering, than the way garlic sits on your palette. And no, this isn’t an article about garlic breath, it’s so much more than that. Garlic overpowers absolutely any other discernible flavours you might be eating. Raw garlic lies dormant on your chopping block, waiting to make everything else taste of garlic. Too often I have prepared a garlicky gin and tonic, or a garlicky chocolate mousse, by slicing lemons on a contaminated board, or whisking egg white with a deceptively garlicky whisk.

Raw garlic has left me lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, cursing the chef that did this to me, or the ineffectual rinse cycle on my dishwasher. There is nothing that copious amounts of raw garlic can possibly add to any dish that would not immediately be diminished by the way it evades courses, and sneaks onto your palate long after it is needed. Sure, that lovely garlicky caesar dressing was silky and flavourful, but was it worth not being able to taste absolutely any other element of that dish? Was it worth the stench that lingers on your fingers the next day? Was it worth your lover turning their back on you and saying, “not tonight darling.”

Recently, I even found myself disagreeing with one of my all time favourite chefs, Monica Galetti on one of my all time favourite shows, MasterChef, over this exact issue. During one of the challenges, Monica made an aioli simply by grating copious garlic gloves and whisking them with rapeseed oil and a little salt. I was shocked. All that raw garlic. Even Marcus Wareing seemed to be wincing at the thought of it, sitting there on your tongue, settling in for the afternoon with a paper and a pair of slippers. When he took a reluctant bite, his only comment was “wow, that’s powerful!”, which I believe translates as, “what the fuck, Monica?”.

Garlic has a lovely, sweet richness that many recipes require, but honestly, I can’t think of a recipe that wouldn’t be improved by either swapping the raw garlic for garlic that has been wrapped in tinfoil and roasted in the oven for 40 minutes, or, forego the garlic altogether and add a squeeze of lemon, hit of mustard, or just a little bit more salt and pepper.

What a lot of people are trying to achieve when they use garlic, and the reason why a lot of people get very defensive about their love of garlic, is that there is a general consensus that garlic = flavour. To forgo garlic is, to some people, as if stomping your feet, turning your head away, and declaring defiantly, “I just don’t like delicious food!”. This is simply not the case. It is true, garlic does add flavour. But often, we resort to garlic as an easy out when we haven’t really considered what it is that the recipe actually needs. It may be worth considering, before throwing a few extra cloves in, what exact flavour profile you’re missing. If you’re crafting an aioli, or studding your camembert with little white nuggets of pure astringent allium, I really must stress that this will only be improved by the addition of sweet, roasted garlic that cuts out the nasty, sharp smokiness that raw garlic inflicts, and compliments the rich, creamy base. If you just think your dressing, or your ragu, needs a little more pep — consider my other rule: most recipes can be injected with more flavour if you simply add a teaspoon of either marmite, honey or lemon juice (or sometimes a combination of the three).

As you can see, I am still in favour of soft, warmly roasted, tender garlic that is sweet and rich and can wrap its arms around your little mouth and smooch your little tongue. But I must also stress that if you wish to commit to a garlic-heavy dish, carefully consider the potential aftermath.

I remember all too well one of the worst hangovers of my life, a dinner party on a hot August Bank Holiday Sunday, where I was served a Sri Lankan 80-clove curry. It was, as you can imagine, absolutely delicious (the cloves were roasted for hours), but dear God — the hangover. 80 cloves of garlic, plus what felt like 80 beers, in 80 degree heat. The feeling of disgust and regret was indescribable. I’m shuddering whilst writing this. To make matters even worse, I had to drive to London the next day to start a new job. I spent the morning with my head over the toilet in someone else’s house, and it was only when I finally got into my tiny Nissan Micra, complete with a broken air-conditioning unit, for a 3 hour drive on the hottest Bank Holiday Monday in 15 years, did I realise that there was still sick in my hair. So there I was, sitting in stand-still traffic, crying real tears and shouting at the organisers of Reading Festival for blocking my route, covered in my own garlic scented sick. If that moment were ever written into a film, which by the way I really think it should be, it would have been the perfect moment to look the camera in the eye and say, “I bet you’re wondering how I got here, right?”.

So, please. Heed my warning. If you love your family and friends, yourself, food, your breath, please, just put the garlic clove down. Put the garlic clove down, so we can talk.