The food at the festival is these days so diverse and delicious that nobody would restrict themselves to just one thing. Food truck culture is firmly embedded in British culture these days – and Glastonbury replicates it on a gigantic scale.

The one thing that does unite the eating experience here, though, is the people you meet while scoffing it – all of whom embrace conversation and food-sharing in a way you would never experience in a Michelin establishment. People like Jessie, the smiliest ice-cream vendor in all of Somerset. Shepherds Ice Cream has been running at Glastonbury for over 30 years now and has built up a loyal following thanks to their niche use of sheep instead of cow’s milk, which produces a lighter gelato. While I demolish a Vietnamese coffee ice-cream with Biscoff topping, Jessie tells me how she has seen children who she once served return to the festival as adults.

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Does all this leave room for the fine-dining experience at Glastonbury? It certainly does – in The Rocket Lounge, not many hours after ska band the Trojans have brought their raucous set to a climax.

Cornish lobster ravioli with brandy bisque and crispy leeks? Lamb, sweetbread and morel wellington? Roasted sea trout with Devonshire crab velouté? It would, frankly, be rude not to try them. But although on Sunday they will be serving 436 roast dinners in 55 minutes, you still have to plan ahead. Unlike most of the food options at Glastonbury, diners can only eat here if they’ve booked the immensely popular tables in advance. The food is stunning, the accompanying Romanian folk band atmospheric, and the company divine – I am on a table next to Caroline and Steve, who have travelled from Amsterdam. They first ate here 10 years ago and have returned to The Deluxe Diner for every festival since. Head chef Andy and restaurant manager Leo tell me in the massive kitchen area how there have been frequent birthdays and engagements here. One punter even books in for each day of the festival so they can sample every item on the menu.

Does such swank fit in with the festival’s essential spirit (a starter and main is £45, two or three times the price you would pay for a similar-sized meal elsewhere on site)? Or is it all a bit like that time the Manic Street Preachers arrived on site with their own personal toilet? Having met the dedicated kitchen team – a brilliantly motley crew of old ravers and tattooed punks – and tasted the fruits of their labour, I’m an unapologetic convert.