I find that most cafes in airports are like hi-carb, homogenised shit holes where diabetic coach potatoes go to grow another layer of fat, in their lifelong mission to physically emulate Jabba the Hutt. They are dank, depressive and dark. The staff epitomise reluctance. That’s why ‘Not Always Caviar’, in Stansted Airport, felt like some kind of oasis. Inside it was light and airy. They played La Ritournelle. They served a perfectly proportioned salad. There was no skimping and no sogginess. It should be the future but it will be the past – in contrast to everywhere else in the airport there was empty tables. It felt a bit like John Lewis cafe in Westfield’s – a safe space away from the crowds. They played 808 state. Life needs to be a celebration of healthy food, not a constant obsession with whether you are loosing weight, and a snobbish nose turned towards junk. ‘Not Always Caviar’ helped me achieve that.