fine English sparkling Gusbourne, which filled me with such bonhomie that I might blame it for my idiocy.Because, perusing the menu, I spotted the words ‘Cornish whelks’.
And while I know whelks are horrible rubbery things, I take the mantra that one should order in restaurants that which one won’t get at home, so I went for them.
I reassured myself that the chef behind this venture is the brilliant James Knappett. Jimmy surely wouldn’t put something so rubbery as a whelk on his menu unless he could render it a thing of seafoody heaven?But no.
Out they popped, slithering from their shells, bulbous and beige, looking pretty on ice and served with curry mayonnaise. And they were chewy.
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