They arrive as a welcome, before everything else: little fish shapes made of butter, white, soft, a green celery powder on top. They set them on the plate and that's it, no explanation.
The butter melts at once, and here's the surprise: it isn't sweet, it's savoury, full, it tastes of fish. It's sardine butter, the fat of the butter carrying the intensity of the sardines inside it, and the powdered celery on top cutting through with its green, fresh note. A small thing, two bites, but decisive ones, the kind that set the mouth in the right direction straight away.
Starting a fish lunch with a butter that already tastes of the sea is a statement. It says at once where you are and how they think here: even the fat, even the welcome, has to taste of what the place is.
