At its pinnacle you get to the plutocrat excesses of the high-end sushi counter where no cooking may be involved at all, but prices can be scorching deep, smoking holes in any hopes you had for your family's future. It doesn't take massive insight to understand why this might be.
If you are doing very little to an ingredient, it has to be the best possible, because there is nowhere to hide. The raw bar is the cult of produce, complete with its own acutely delineated rituals.
When I think of the cult of the live fire grill, I think of Tomos Parry's restaurants Brat and Mountain, of Lita in Marylebone and the recently opened Basque grill Ibai.
Each time, I've blanched at the bill, paid it, told myself it was worth it. Generously slathered in a sticky, sweet-sour apple cider sauce: pork sausage.
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