However, I’m inclined to suggest that the answer is more straightforward. Put simply, Morchella, which re-imagines loosely Mediterranean dishes with both rustic muscularity and a sense of visual drama, traffics in the sort of rare brilliance that it’s hard to keep secret for very long. Spanakopita is familiar enough to be sacred even in non-Greek families; the reliable ammonite-swirl of filo lurking on the counter in a neighbourhood café. So there is an enthralling heresy about the way it has been deconstructed, here, to just a two-bite log of spinach and feta, a thin scrim of shattering pastry, and an ephemeral surge of twanging garlic and lactic acidity.