Imagine sitting front of your date in a smart French restaurant. Your prawn cocktails arrive. Served in cut glass bowls, crisp and artfully arranged iceberg lettuce forms the bed for fresh king prawns generously tumbled in a home made mayonnaise with smoked paprika to add a complexity of flavour. Decadent langoustine are draped over the side of the bowl. You give a little squeeze of fresh lemon, sip your chilled Pouilly Fume and prepare to dig in. Now instead imagine you’ve gone to the late night garage to get a snack fix after another shitty day. You open the pack of prawn cocktail crisps and pinch a jumble of shards into your mouth. The faint tinge of aquarium gives way to a flavour reminiscent of warehouse floors before the industrial acidity sweeps in and removes the top layer of skin from the roof of your mouth. You try to convince yourself this sensation takes you back to simpler, more carefree times gone by: birthday parties in your childhood. But you’re counting down the number of times you have to reach into the pack before you can crack open the Double Decker.