The result was quite clear: Guinness was the victor. There is something gratifyingly primeval about the combination of oysters (which taste of rock pools and sea breezes) and stout (which tastes of coal dust). In a matter of instants, the entire carboniferous era unfolds on your tongue. The lemon juice with which you make the oysters writhe, moreover, is deftly absorbed by the dark and bitter unction of the beer. Best of the wine combinations, surprisingly, was the New Zealand Chardonnay, whose richness helped foil the lemon. The Chablis wasn't a particularly good example, without the mineral silt which makes this wine under normal circumstances a good oyster match. The Krug was better than the Piper-Hiedsieck, but not a clear three times better, and both seemed almost too pretty for elemental engagement with a raw mollusc. The oysters themselves were well-opened and positioned on the ice, their all-important juices amply retained. The Loch Fyne beasties did taste more complex and more savoury than either of the others; it was almost as if they had secreted a little natural soy about their persons. The Dorset Rock oysters were a bigger and a tastier buy than the more expensive Cuan. It was a shame the bread had not been freshly cut. After that, we coasted downhill with potted shrimps (too much butter and not quite enough shrimp), dressed crab (appropriately plain, but of modest dimensions), and fish cakes.