Every now and again, there is an exception to the rule generally applicable in France that you eat better at home than when eating out, especially when the qualité-prix balance is taken into account.
You'd naturally expect to dine like a king or, this being France, president if spending hundreds of euros in a posh or acclaimed place. And sometimes, you'd be disappointed.
Certainly, I know of few restaurants in the area around Le Lavandou where the rule does not work perfectly well (and I accept that I am fortunate in terms of Mme Salut's culinary skills).
The exception I came across in Savoie at the weekend is not, strictly speaking, a home dining versus eating out contest. It is worth mentioning all the same.
One of my favourite cheeses is Tomme de Savoie. Rarely, however, do I come across a supermarket shelf stocking one that lives up to the promise. In the village of Saint-Ours, high above Lake Annecy, I put matters right.
Once she'd finished flirting with a couple of local lads, the serveuse at the Fromagerie Entre Lac et Montagne couldn't have been more helpful, cutting open two full cheeses, carefully slicing off the rind and presenting morsels for sampling. The first was divine: creamy, with plenty of body and a smoky after-taste. At well under four euros - I forget how "well under" - it compared favourably with the costlier, blander supermarket versions of similar size.
Is it healthy? Perhaps not, since few things that taste so good are. But it's all gone, the compelling gout just a memory, leaving me bitterly regretting that I didn't buy the whole cheese.
I loved Annecy. It was a longish drive, the GPS annoyingly taking us up the Autoroute du Soleil when a quick look at the map might have suggested the slower but prettier and more relaxing route through the Alpes-de-Haute-Provence via Sisteron (the way we came back).
And I would not say we ate with any great attention to health.
On the way up, we stopped - once off the A7 - in the old part of the little town of Romans-sur-Isère, where we stumbled across the Punjab. It started well, with friendly service and tasty papadums served with pickles but the main part of the meal, which for us meant a shared plate of assorted starters with pillau rice and spinach, reminded me of my ill-fated search in 2005-2006 for a good Indian restaurant in France. Just a pichet of wine so €49.40 seemed steep, though we both had coffee.
The meals we took are already starting to merge into one in the memory, agreeable but unspectacular. But on night one, we both went for fondue savoyarde, served with charcuterie, at Le Beau Soleil, a restaurant on the Quai de l'isle opposite the old prison, probably the most photographed building in Annecy. We didn't bother with starters, only I had coffee and, with a bottle of Côtes du Rhône my brother-in-law would call a very French correct, the damage came to €58.70. Fair enough, I felt.
Next day, we found the Bœuf Patate in rue Perrière and, after waiting half an hour even to order, found ourselves served our meat and potatoes promptly - a burger for me, carpaccio for Mme Salut with Weightwatchers' portions of chips presented din tiny cornets. The bill came to €59.60 for two, but with only a small glass of wine each, so pleasant but pricy.
And that night, the busy September tourist traffic denying us access to our first and second choices, we ate modestly in terms of quality but copiously. The details are barely worth recording. Two nights at the well-placed Hotel du Nord, though, represented excellent value at €159.
There was time to drop into Geneva next day before the drive home. The Swiss, outrageously, welcome new arrivals at the border by demanding 40 francs (about €33) for use, in our case for a few minutes, of their motorways, there being no tollbooths. We could of course, have gone back to France and found a non-motorway road but it all seemed too much bother.
The last time I was in Geneva was to look for Ernest Saunders, then under suspicion as one of the Guinness Four. I remember being rather pleased with the results of my efforts to locate his Swiss retreat - though not him - until the news editor, a strong union man, told me that on no account should I file a story as a one-day strike had been just called. He added that I should nevertheless find a decent restaurant on expenses before flying home. Twenty-seven years on, I cannot remember how that search went. Sunday's ended at Le Lacustre, a reasonable place on the edge of the lake where we ate pasta and enjoyed the view. At €63.35, it wasn't cheap for a single course and only a very small carafe of wine, but it set us up for the journey home.
Back to the Var in time to be asked by ESPN for a quick piece on the sacking of Paolo Di Canio by Sunderland AFC. But I'd had time to polish off a fair bit of the Tomme de Savoie by then.
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