My uncle Avie thinks it’s uncouth to count calories at the table. Says it’s generally understood that the civilised man has bigger fish to fry. Incidentally, his daily fish looks pretty well fried to me, and as for its size, I half expect it to slide off the table and into the back of a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce, down to the bank to secure a mortgage on the mansion overlooking the river in which it spent its youth.