One of my favourite sounds is the silence that flops onto my table when heads bend over plates and forks get to work. The attention to the cook’s labours, the answer to hunger’s rumble. For a while the belly filling is the only thing until someone remembers that we’re not animals allowed to respond to our urges. We’re civilised and able to put polite conversation ahead of replying to our instinct shouts. It may be that our compensation for this is a dish of fine food created with diligence and sophisticated ingredients.