Stand by for some foodie tales based on recent experiences in France and the UK. The first part deals with the French follies. Lean pickings in England to follow ...
A first offence of leaving the table after a superb lunch, but feeling a shiver of self-disgust at not having realised how much it would cost, already suggests carelessness. To repeat the misdemeanour in most of its detail goes beyond recklessness.
Sauveur, the beaming owner of L'Anse de Port-Cros, greets landlubbers as they disembark from the boats bringing them to the island, one of a trio occupying a small patch of the Mediterranean facing the Var coastline.
It is an intoxicating welcome, and the sight of the morning's catch is mouth-watering indeed to serve as further enticement.
There are plenty of ways of eating at L'Anse without breaking the bank. Opting for a specimen from that catch is not one of them, unless your group is big enough to spread the cost. And we did again what we'd done once before (but with interest), naively assuming a meal for two in high double figures and ending up with no change out of 225 euros.
And all we'd eaten were smaller sea creatures as starters (must look them up), followed by one of Sauveur's alluring fishes, a beautifully cooked filet de Saint Pierre. Beautifully cooked, but enough of it to feed a battalion of the French squaddies who share the neighbouring island of Levant with naturists. We hadn't even been extravagant on wine: just a bottle of rose chosen from the very bottom end of the list.
No fault attaches to Sauveur. If only we'd remembered that the specials from the catch had nothing to do with set menus, or rather the implications of that detached status, we'd have made a point of asking what the likely impact of the "price by weight" method would be on l'addition.
Twice bitten, though, third time we'll be more shy about ordering a sort of blind a la carte.
Reflecting on my distinctly unsmart approach to eating chez Sauveur, I decided to make it feel better by regarding the meal as a special celebration, but couldn't at first think of much to celebrate. Successfully making it across the choppy stretch of sea from the Var somehow didn't seem a compelling reason to splash out on a gourmet and gourmand lunch. Then I came up with the most appropriate raison d'etre: it would be in honour of, and seize a chunk from, my very last pay cheque for the newly departed newspaper columns. Sante!
In the second part of this little foodie expedition, I will describe two very different meals taken in London during a visit home to report on the elections. Before then, I may added the missing details of lunch - and a few accents.
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