Fashion-friendly men are known these days as ‘metrosexuals’, and now there’s a new buzz-phrase for guys who like to cook. Andy Richardson sets off to find out if he’s a true ‘gastrosexual’ . . .

It’s time to come out of the closet. Those close to me have suspected it for years and, I suppose, the signs were always there.

While work colleagues enthused about last night’s takeaway, I got into a froth over chorizo foam.

While most blokes dreamed of a night with Angelina Jolie, I pictured myself in the kitchen with Ferran Adriˆ.

Women lust for diamonds, I crave truffles. Men dream of football, I dream of pecorino.

So, finally, I’ll come clean. I’m a gastrosexual.

I’m not alone. Superstar chefs like Gordon Ramsay and Jamie Oliver have made cooking a macho pursuit.

Stereotypical gender roles are being reversed, with men heading for the kitchen and women taking the sofa.

When alpha women arrive home from a hard day in the office, they expect their dinner on the table. Men like me are happy to oblige. Releasing our creative energy in the kitchen is our form of domestic contribution.

So, who are the gastrosexuals? And where did they get that name?

Gastrosexual is a new term that describes men strongly connected to food. Typically, they spend plenty of time in the kitchen, buy ethically sound produce and need no intervention from a fishmonger when filleting lemon sole.

The word gastrosexual is a tongue-in-cheek play on words. It mimics the voguish moniker ‘metrosexual’, an adjective describing heterosexual men who are dedicated followers of fashion.

Both gastrosexuals and metrosexuals are men who engage in gender deconstruction; they adopt roles that were historically – some might say, stupidly – associated with women.

But does the reality match up to the theory? We decided to put it to the test and descended on The Hundred House Inn, a two-AA-rosette-rated restaurant at Norton, near Bridgnorth, where chef Stuart Phillips put a gaggle of gastrosexuals through their paces.

Stuart runs Masterchef classes, where enthusiastic amateurs can learn how professionals serve up such dishes as lobster and tomato salad with pesto mayonnaise and new potatoes.

Joining Stuart and I in the kitchen were Roger Edenborough, 56, of Stirchley, Telford, and Jon Hyde, 38, from Coalbrookdale.

Roger, a semi-retired engineer, described himself as a keen amateur who worked wonders in small spaces on his 28ft yacht.

Jon, a carpenter, meanwhile, was our dark horse. He described himself as a once-in-a-blue-moon cook unpersuaded by the gastrosexual idea. “My wife cooks,” he said. “Though I’m willing to be persuaded.”

Stuart took the three of us into his kitchen and presented us with two Gressingham ducks.

“Take these,” he said, proffering three ultra sharp knives. He showed us how to de-wing, de-leg and de-breast the bird before crushing the carcasses and making a stock with rough-chopped vegetables and herbs from the Hundred House cottage garden.

Roger was the first to fall, cutting deep into his finger as he missed the duck. Jon, meanwhile, was a revelation. His dexterity with a knife was awe-inspiring. We imagined he’d soon be using his carpentry skills to cut a dovetail joint in his Gressingham.

Stuart showed us how to confit duck legs before making a rich, complex cherry sauce.

The sauce comprised caramelised sugar, cherry stones, a deep mellow stock that we’d made from the duck carcasses, wine, vinegar and herbs. It simmered and bubbled into a rich sticky sweetness before we added cherries, cinammon and other ingredients to it.

Meanwhile, we peeled potatoes from Market Drayton before salting them, to reduce their water content, and pressing them into perfect circles in searingly hot duck fat. We browned them on one side, cooked them off, then browned them on the other side. As we were pressed for time, vegetables were provided by the Hundred House’s kitchen and we were left to sear and oven cook our duck breasts.

Stuart was busy plating up his finished dish. He arranged a collection of immaculately trimmed vegetables, sliced his tenderly sliced and pre-rested duck breast, sat a confit duck leg atop then spooned cherry sauce to the side.

We copied him, with reasonable success.

Jon was converted to the joys of cooking. “My wife loves this,” he said. “I might cook it for her. I do enjoy cooking, there’s a lot to be said for it.”

Roger, similarly, had learned new skills. “I’ll be cooking the rosti,” he said. “I’ve learned a lot. The Masterchef class is great.”

Stuart graded our efforts and offered additional words of encouragement. Then we walked from the kitchen, feeling six inches taller; three proud gastrosexuals ready to impress our respective spouses with our newly improved culinary skills.

Food facts:

According to a study by food company PurAsia, 60 per cent of British men now regularly cook, favouring complicated foreign dishes over British food.

Over half of the men surveyed prepare meals using separate ingredients every day, spending 41 minutes cooking.

The number of families where men help in the kitchen has risen from 27.5 per cent in the post-war period to 66.5 per cent in 2008.

A fifth of women say their partner is a better cook than them. That rises to a quarter in women under the age of 34.

Men’s new found enthusiasm for the kitchen does not mean they are interested in other household chores, like cleaning, washing and shopping for groceries. Men spend just four minutes a day washing clothes, less than a quarter of the time spent by women.