One of the treats of eating in tavernas in Greece is the trip to the kitchen. The owner or waiter eagerly invites you into his premises where, behind a glass counter or sitting proudly in the fridge, is the day’s catch. Actually it’s probably a frozen import from Japan, but let’s not destroy that holiday magic.
Various fish are proffered, gleaming in their skin, the tale of the little kayak that brought the red mullet or the bream to shore sealing the sales pitch. Back in Blighty and the idea of tramping into the kitchens of restaurants to approve raw ingredients before they are cooked is not part of our culture.
Until now that is. For Britain is in the grip of a new food