The smoked salmon tartine from Pastars in Westminster is one of those things that’ll drive you crazy as you admire its good looks and try to decide whether to eat it with your fingers or a knife and fork.

I grab it with my hands and rush it toward my mouth. Next time I’ll know better. I’ve now got goat cheese smeared all over my face and mustard seeds dripping down my hands while a large hunk of bread hangs from my teeth because it didn’t tear apart exactly where I intended. But I’ve tasted just enough to know that I need another bite, and fast.