There are few culinary experiences like the first bite of a Domino’s pizza. The finest N25 caviar or a perfectly seared lobe of foie gras surely can’t compare to the ecstasy that comes from that mouth-cutting cornmeal that they sprinkle all over the base, or that sweet, cloying ‘cheese’, or those tart, dancing cups of pepperoni. In these moments, resistance is futile. It’s not a question of whether this is the best takeaway pizza there is, or even the best food there is. It’s a question of whether this is the best thing there is.

Of course, we know how it ends. Fifteen minutes later, caked in sweat, parched, filling yourself up like a swimming pool. And then, if you’re unlucky, an awakening in the middle of the night. You wheeze against the table. The sight of the final two slices makes you feel like you’re in a car going up a windy mountain. You have to have Domino’s only once a year, to remind you of why you haven’t had Domino’s for a year.

Still, it’s a great, great tradition, deserving of the cliche ‘iconic’. It’s perhaps the quintessential takeaway, a single, circular dinner in a box. The fact that they still use their own fleet of drivers, rather than palming it off to Deliveroo or Uber Eats, adds to that Nineties feel.

But there’s signs, sad signs, that........

© The Spectator