I have written about the Regency, my favourite Brighton restaurant, before: every so often, when I am in funds, or someone else is paying, I stroll down the hill to this venerable seafront establishment in order to gorge myself on oysters or, if there is no R in the month, whitebait. Sometimes both. Portions of the latter are large enough that even as a starter there are plenty.

Now, everyone knows what an oyster is like, so I won’t describe them. If you’re serving fresh oysters, you can’t really muck them up. Whitebait, on the other hand …

The whitebait I had become accustomed to at the Regency were crunchy fish from heaven, coated in breadcrumbs and deep-fried, but never greasy. They were like fun-sized fish fingers, only… fish. There is something appealing about eating an entire animal in one mouthful, if you like that kind of thing. (Cf. oysters.) If you don’t then my apologies, and I hope I haven’t offended. But Brighton is very much a live and let live kind of place.

Or is it?

A few weeks ago some money miraculously found its way into my bank account and down the hill I went to the Regency. All the way down I was thinking about whitebait; so I ordered a plate. I did not think to ask how they were prepared, for I had been going there for years and knew what to expect; or I thought I did. For when the plate arrived, it wasn’t a plate of breadcrumbed paradise, but a plate of nude fish, with a dusting of paprika on top. I forked a few mouthfuls and then gave up. Imagine how disappointed you’d be if you’d gone to a fish and chip shop and found that your cod or whatever had been served without batter,

I tried to have a word with the waitress but she was new and hadn’t quite mastered the English language yet – when it comes to their waiting staff, the Regency’s policy seems to be to hire on the basis of beauty and a general keenness, not fluency in the language. And quite right too, I think. After about ten strained minutes of communication in pidgin and hand gestures, I was given to understand that this was the new whitebait situation, and that if I didn’t like it, then that was too bad.

Well, we are not put into this world for pleasure alone, and one must be philosophical. But when I went there a couple of days ago, with the very editor of this magazine, as it happens, I asked again about the whitebait, and it was confirmed that they were still the unbreaded kind. I gave a little pout and said that I had really liked the old-style way of cooking them.

“People didn’t like them,” said the waiter.

I find this hard to believe. The only explanation I can think of is that everyone has become coeliac and can no longer eat even breadcrumbs. But that can’t be right, can it?