My favorite detectives have always been foodies. Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe, in spite of the fact that I forgot how much he weighs, has to be my first favorite. Although some of the food described or merely mentioned as being part of his diet--if diet is the word I want--make Little Miss Picky go "ewwwwww!", I would deeply resent a Wolfe novel or story without any meals. Or at least beer. Wolfe is a beer drinker, and very particular about it. I like Killian's Red, myself.
My second favorite is Walter R. Brooks' Freddy the pig. Freddy and his barnyard pals at Farmer Bean's place can talk, as can all animals, if people just act sensible enough for the animals to think they'd be worth talking to. Freddy and his pal, Jinx the black cat, solve mysteries for animals and humans. It isn't surprising that Freddy's mind often runs to food, even to the point of his writing poetry about it on occasion.
Michael Z. Lewin's Albert Samson sometimes lives over his mother's diner, Bud's Dugout, and Albert sometimes cooks for himself and sometimes goes downstairs for some of the finest short-order food around. In Albert's latest book, EYE OPENER, he goes on a series of restaurant dates--or attempted dates--with a new acquaintance. The food always seems to be good, although he doesn't always get to eat any of it. The same author's Leroy Powder series has more coffee than food, but Lewin's Lunghi family series, about a family-run detective agency in Bath, England, features regular Italian/English family meals that make me want to hop a jet and invite myself over.
Okay, I'm making myself hungry. My mother gave me some chicken cacciatore last night. I don't care what time it is--I want some!