Every morning, I eat the same thing. Every morning I make myself (or more often than not, order some unsuspecting and innocent family member to make me) two slices of toast, each with a light spreading of taramasalata. With black pepper ground on top. The last time I had something other than this was when we ran out of taramasalata. I'm not sure what the stuff really is, apart from that it makes me chew my knuckles madly and kick the fridge when even the most furious of scratching-out of the pot yields only very very tiny amounts of taramasalata. Cod roe paste, maybe? That sounds horrible, but I promise you it is possibly the only thing I will eat for breakfast for the rest of my life.

It's getting to the stage where I consider putting a pot of it in my overnight bag when I sleep anywhere other than at home.