The Last Food of England
Yarmouth herring were 'every man's money'. The salted silver darlings go in. The doors, solid and painted red, close. The banks of oak sawdust smoulder on the floor below. The smoke drifts up and around the fish in the galleries above. The walls, pitch black, are embalmed in a century of tar. Vents in the roof let in shafts of Dickensian light. Days or even weeks later the fish come out with complexions likened to 'Glasgow magistrates'. A museum tries to tell you what life was like. A works like this, and food to match, tells you more.

East Coast December 2004