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| Photograph: Alamy |
For many years in the 70s my family went on holiday to a Dorset hotel where, on Friday nights, there was a buffet laid out in the dining room. The centrepiece would always be a huge poached salmon, glazed with mayonnaise, and decorated with lobster shell appendages for colour and detail, as if the two creatures had met near some radioactive waste outlet and mutated. I remember that salmon very well, and the toqued chef standing behind it proudly. I do not recall ever having eaten it. Even then, with a childish indiscriminate palate and a hog's unceasing appetite, I was suspicious of the way the food was displayed. Could something so played with really taste nice? And were the salads surrounding it not just last night's leftovers coming around again to say hello?
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