A Delightful Little Find - Strasbourg

As we bid goodbye to Salzburg and headed west across Germany, I realised we knew very very little of Strasbourg apart from it was highly recommended by my uncle to visit as "un recognised Gem of France." Our arrival in the city could have been a lot later as we grinded to a halt on the motorway about 16 KM out. However a very kind non English speaking truck driver directed us into a field and according to the GPS on a back road through to Strasbourg. As we were followed by numerous other cars in an Italian Job type scene, we sped across the lanes and popped up on the Motorway junction in the city within minutes.


Rather easier than every other city we had driven into we found the hotel, parked the car and headed off to the pharmacy to top the Bald Man up with anti man flu medication. Strasbourg has the most beautiful old town centre and we did what we do best and pottered around. On request the concierge has suggested a restaurant behind the hotel A La Tete du Lard. And boy what a recommendation! We started with a Tarte Flamme - a very thin pizza style base with a cream cheese and creme fraiche top. Ours had some beautiful Munster cheese with some bacon added. It was mouth watering, creamy, salty, savoury, delicate..... just devine. We quite honestly wanted more and had to through greed and gluttony aside to make space for the next course. My second course was a stunning confit du canard, much better than the one in Paris served with a very fresh salad. 1/4 carafes of local Reisling accompanied the meal and we finished with a fresh cherry tarte and coffee. On collapsing in bed we had a fabulous night sleep.


The following day we found breakfast in a cafe, coffee, croissant and pain au chocolate. You just can't beat it! The weather was foul but we sat outside under an awning and watched the world go by. I had read about a flea market i wanted to explore so we went in search and found a very cool couple of rows of market stalls. The difference in the butchery to Paris and Lyon was quite impressive. The scents of the charcuterie sections were fresh, fragrant and herbal. The cuts of meat were slightly different, redder and brighter, even on such a dreary day.


One of the stalls had a Spaetzle maker which is still in a container being shipped to me. Spaetzle it turns out, became something The Bald Man and I are slightly partial too. We had it in varying forms, fried, boiled, in sauce, plain. It makes a very nice alternative to pasta, chips and rice! I'd had Spaetzle in Auckland before but it was good to have it in such


The canals in Strasbourg are serviced by a tourist glass boat fleet which we decided might be a good idea in the rain. These boats packed the people on at least 100 each and were manned by two iPhone obsessed men who said nothing and pressed buttons in the appropriate places and occasionally steered the boat.


Our lunch in a restaurant called La Corde a Linge by the canal consisted of a very good carafe of wine and lots of spaetzle. I had mine with ham and cheese and the Bald Man had amazing meatballs with Mustard Sauce. Just fantastic! We watched the world go by for an hour soaking in the joys of Petit France. 
For the only time on the trip we went back to the same restaurant for dinner more out of laziness and shear exhaustion. Again we had a fabulous meal and fell into a wonderful sleep before our trip back to Paris.


The following day, we up sticks for the last time and drove the 4 hours back to Paris for our last night back in the cafe we started in, an early night and a trip back on Eurostar to London (along with 72 kgs of little bits and pieces I just  HAD to have!)


We had the most incredible few weeks and I consider myself extremely fortunate to have been given the opportunity to enjoy so much wonderful food. 

The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Beer Halls

Salzburg was enlightening. The tourist books warned of more tourists than Venice which sent shudders up and down my spine. After a somewhat fraught arrival and a 4 hour traffic jam we eventually arrive at Weisse Taube, a lovely little hotel just off Mozart Sq. It was brisk when we set off out to eat and after a walk around the old town we settled on a restaurant called K+K where out restaurant of the evening had only 6 tables in it. The waiter was lovely, very very attentive, funny, croatian and knowledgable. We asked him to choose a wine to go with out meal. The Bald man ordered potato soup while I had the very traditional garlic cream soup. Both were equally delicious. The garlic soup, I thought would become over powering but it was like meeting an old friend, someone you know intimately and yet until you have that first hug, you can’t remember what they smell like. The lovely waiter produced a local Riesling which was full of flavour, yet light enough to compliment the soups and cut the cream a little. I went straight for the Salzburg schnitzel which was full of ham and mushrooms and cooked perfectly. It was accompanied by plain old boiled tatties, which some may consider dull, but in fact it was nice to be able to taste the spud without it being flavoured with other ingredients. The Bald man’s steak was up to standard apparently and again disappeared rapidly. 

Our decision had been to have an early night and not drink too much so we could have a full day the next. So when we rolled into our hotel room at 3am the following morning, having been discovered by an Irish bar and danced around the fountain in the rain with my phone stuck down my front to give us musical accompaniment, the only thing we could think about was bed. 

Unsurprisingly, the following day was a lazy one. We rose late and tottered off downstairs for our first Austrian breakfast. A lovely lady in traditional dress sat us a table and began to roll off a list of potential breakfast options after delivering fresh bread and a plate of jams and triangles of cheese. “would we like ham and cheese?” “ Yes please” “would you like yoghurt and muesli” “yes please” “would we like soft boiled eggs?” “ Yes please” Would we like tea or coffee?” “ yes please” “Which?” “ Oh sorry, both.” As we filled up, I had a feeling I would enjoy Austrian breakfasts. 

Part of our accommodation deal was a Salzburg card which gave us either free entry or very reduced entry to a number of different attractions. There is so much to utilize on it, I don’t think we scraped the surface. We did, go on a horse and carriage trip, take the river boat up and down the river and sat in it while it “danced” for us - that is spun in a circle to a Mozart Waltz, cliche but quite lovely. We went up to the top of the castle and looked down on the rest of the city - quite spectacular. Our lunch on the saturday was quite simply hotdogs. We wondered around the market which is glorious and shared various different hotdogs from 3 or 4 stands. In any other country I would despise hotdogs but these were glorious, meaty with the perfect combination of mustard and ketchup to enhance the flavours not over power them. The Salzburg market is on most days and had a great Foodie mix of treats. The butchers stall were amazing, full of delicacies I spent the rest of the afternoon reading up on. Giant meatballs and meatloaves took prize place in the middle of the display and the different cured meats, schpek and bacon were deep red and so appealing. The cheese counters had tasters of masses of different cheese on offer, lots of goudas and goats cheese, just yummy. Towards the back was a stall with herbs and spices in test tubes. One of the them has some gold nuggets in which when I enquired the stall proprietor asked me to hold my hand out as she shook some into my palm. “Taste them” she said, so I did. And there it was in front of me, George Clooney in a test tube!

Chocolate covered popping candy decorated with edible gold leaf! GEORGE CLOONEY IN A TEST TUBE! The chocolate melts away and the popping candy starts going wild in your mouth, making your tongue tingle and a very silly grin appear on your face. The stall proprietor smiled as I burst out laughing “ Good Yah?” “Bloody Good Yah” So I bought 3 George’s in the aid of research, and popped my way around Salzburg for the afternoon. 

Our dinner that evening was somewhere recommended by the barmaid from the Irish bar and right next door to the hotel, so not far to crawl home. Barry had my garlic soup to start which was slightly more pungent than across the square the night before, but still delicious. I had a beef consume with a large cheese dumpling in the middle - simple but yummy. More dumplings turned up with my goulash following the soup and by the end of it I certainly looked more like a dumpling than when we walked in. 

Sunday was Barry’s birthday and after a slap up breakfast and lazy morning in a horse drawn carriage we headed out to the Salt mine to be thrown down a wooden slide 300m underground in the name of Salt. Arriving a bit early we headed in to the closest town to kill some time and both wished it was the depths of winter so the coffee and hot chocolate we were drinking would be more appreciated. The mountain was so beautiful, bright blue cloudless sky, rich green trees and fields. Again I could have stayed for ever, it was somewhere I was very at peace with.  But instead of spending the rest of my life in an Alpine paradise, we went back to the salt mine, donned some overalls and headed on a little train into the depths of an Austrian mountainside. The little train takes you in, in, in and down the mountain until you get to  a big cavern with a very long wooden slide taking deeper down into the mountain. We sat on the slide, felt like we were dropping off the edge of a precipice and I screamed like a right Nancy until we got to the end of it! 

The Salt mines are pretty special, the lake cavern in the middle is magical. To show it off they light it up and play Mozart very loudly, just perfect. 

Our mission for the afternoon was to get to the beer halls of Salzburg. The Augustiner Monastery has a fabulous story behind it of the monks making beer that they then on sold. The beer hall is massive with a food court in the rooms around it. Outside the garden can take over 2000 and as we took our litres of beer and sat in the sun, I beelined towards some delicious looking ribs that were just the yummiest things. The shack selling them had  two options, neither of which were very vegetarian friendly - rack of ribs or 1/4 chicken.... OH YEAH!  Why oh why can we not have something similar in NZ? What was impressive was no one was plastered or racous drunk, it was great. We bar crawled our way back to the hotel stopping in various different bars along the way.  A fabulous evening.

Monday was a boat cruise up the river and a trip up the hill to the castle. It is another world up there, isolated, quite and rather special. We came back down via the cemetery where the Sound of Music was filmed. By chance at the end of the cemetery was a restaurant I had read a lot about, St Peter Stiftskeller. We decided to have lunch after falling in love with surroundings. Our lunch was in an open air courtyard though our seats were covered. It is delicately decorated with perfect flowers and amazing crockery and glass wear. We were adventurous in our meals The Bald Man having a dish of Lung which I was amazed he picked, but when I tasted it it was beautiful. The restaurant is very definitely worth a visit, I would go back in an instant. We finished off our last day in Salzburg with a recital of Mozart at the town hall, just lovely. 

As we packed our bags and left the next morning for Strasbourg, I was sorry to be leaving Salzburg and the memory of dancing in rain will stick with me forever. On the way out we stopped at the Hellbrunn palace to visit the Trick fountains and the gazebo that was featured in The Sound of Music. Perfect really, just perfect!

The People Meet the Movie Set

As I sit in Strasbourg writing about Venice the whole experience seems a very long time ago, when in fact it was only 7 days. Under the bitter disappointment of not finding George Clooney we left Lake Como, one of us somewhat subdued. Our drive south was rather quiet for the initial 20 mins as we pondered what could have been. The Bald man soon snapped out of it, I think he realized he was stuck with me whether he liked it or not.

The drive to Venice was reasonably easy, the amount of trucks on the road however wasn’t and queue after queue of trucks sat beside us as we made our way west. My directions were simple, follow signs for Venice and once we hit the water, it should be in front of us. And a couple of loops around varying industrial areas there it was, one huge Historians play ground. No matter how underwhelmed I was trying to be, it really is spectacular.  We parked the car in super huge garage, told the man behind the glass where we were going and a bloke in a babygrow with “Porter” on the back took our bulging suitcases, flung them on a sack barrow and took us to a waiting Daygo Whop in a very flash private taxi. The private taxi took us gently around the lesser canals, opened up on the Grand and within 15 mins we were at the prettiest hotel on the street and it felt like we were on a movie set.


80 Euro later he was after a tip, but was ignored. We checked in, was given some directions to restaurants, shown the sites on a museum map and the nicest concierge in Italy took us to our room. 20 mins later we got rid of him after he had expressly showed us how to use every gadget and device. Tired and somewhat thirsty we crossed a bridge and sat at the first bar we got to where our two beers were served in glass boots, don’t ask, they just were.

Our plans were simple, walk dinner walk and sleep.  So we walked to find some food and ended up on the waterfront (proper not canal) of the lagoon looking out over one of the other islands in a restaurant called La Piscina (or something similar) So imagine the setting, waterfront, caramel and terracotta coloured buildings all around, great domes over the top and boats everywhere. Stunning right? So in the restaurant we were herded in to a couple of seats and deposited with two menus. At that point we realized the staff were all in fact security guards and we were VIPS being treated to something amazing……….. or not! This was the start of the tourist debauchery that I was going to end up loathing about Venice.

The menus were read and discussed, some exceptionally dry bread was dumped on the table and 10 mins later  our wine appeared beside me courtesy of Grumpeo, our waiter for the evening. Grumpeo got up my goat pretty damn quickly when I was trying to put Olive Oil on my concrete bread.

“non, non, non, plate plate plate.” He snapped at me pointing at the table cloth

“well get me a plate plate plate then” I replied

Something Italian was spat at me, translations to be left to your imagination, but a while after a plate plate plate was thrust in front of us and the wired up waiter stalked off to get our starters. Mine was a mixed eraser salad which I mistook my school girl Italian in translation from Mixed Seafood Salad.  Some vinegar soaked sliced and curls of pencil eraser were delicately thrown over some gritty green salad with a similar vinegary sauce. The sauce unfortunately spilt a little of the plate plate plate….. shame. The Bald man can’t remember what he had so it can’t have been any good.  My main was rabbit parpadelle, of which I have had better in Auckland. The sauce from the pasta however splashed a little on the tablecloth too…. Shame. The Bald man had “meat on potato I think” memorable obviously.

We discovered why everyone was cabled up to the 9’s when our starters were cleared and the mains were called away into the waiters collar where a mic was placed. So there we were in an industrial restaurant of crap food and rude waiters. Welcome to Venice.

The following day after a good sleep we enjoyed a slap up Venetian breakfast of hard boiled eggs and ham and decided on a visit to the Murano glass factory on one of the other islands which was an easy and free trip on a taxi boat from our hotel. And free it was. The hard sell on some stunning glass however wasn’t free and as the salesman told us explicitly that we couldn’t afford the pieces we were interested in and showed to a seconds room I was beginning to lose my rag. As we missed the shuttle back to Venice we were politely (not) shown the door to the rest of the island as it was slammed behind us.

Murano is a beautiful island, with equally lovely canals and much better value food. We sat next to a canal for lunch and I enjoyed the best plate of spaghetti Vongole I have ever had. The Bald man went for Lasagna and a mouthful later, I agreed it was pretty fantastic. An English couple sat next to us and as we recommended what we had they ordered it and were equally as enthused. They were both journalists and he worked in Khabul. I felt a little humbled as I listened to their exploits.

After a lovely morning we felt fed and watered enough to brave San Marco, which we did. And then left. 40,000,000 tourists in one square with 1,000,000 Nigerians selling knock off Louis Vouis’. “Fuck you and thanks” was their phrase du jour if you paid no attention to them, bloody charming.

We ate next to our hotel that evening in a little restaurant which served simple food with simple flavours. Calamari that tasted of calamari and prawns that tasted of prawns, no accompaniment just that! We had booked the Venice Jazz club that evening which was absolutely brilliant. A bottle of Chianti, amazing jazz and beautiful surroundings, who could ask for a more perfect evening. A little wobbly we had a great nights sleep!

Day two what to do! Well we were bloody lazy and spent half the morning in our room catching up on the joys of email and work. By 11 it was time to head to the Rialto bridge and the markets in order to find some of the much raved about delights of the Cichetti bars. It took a while and then we found one on the corner of a couple of streets. Cichetti is a little like Tapas and Mezze, little bites to be eaten, enjoyed and move on. The first we found had about 25 different options from big crumbed meatballs to lots of different bruschetta type nibbles. We had a combination of Tuna, anchovy, ham and chicory with cheese along with one of the meatballs. Individually they were sublime, tasty mouthfuls that were light yet filling, washed down with a small glass of wine or beer. It was a sophisticated and simple experience and even though we were there less than 20 mins, people came and went quickly – satisfied and off.

The second one was a little more tucked away, but one of the oldest in the area. Big barrels of house wine sat on their sides waiting with bright copper lids. The food was behind glass or on top of the counters, morsels of taste bud explosion just waiting to be picked. My favourite vegetable, globe artichoke hearts were sliced and marinated in a little olive oil and vinegar, enough to taste but not to over power. Luckily the Bald man curled his lip up at them, all the more for me.

I was jealous as all hell of these places, little glasses of beer and wine, enough to wash the food down and some light meals…… could we reproduce in NZ? I don’t know.

Next on the tourist trip was the Bridge of Sighs……… covered in scaffolding and not viewable, waste of a trip and meant to a backwards and forwards through San (“would you like a fake handbag? No! thanks and fuck off”) Marco Sq. Back to the other side of the Grand Canal and a quiet beer. Dinner a bowl of crap Bolognese and a pizza, the service was good though!

We finished the two days off with an evening of Vivaldi in a beautiful concert hall. Behind us was a stunning American with 3 perfectly dressed boys, the youngest of which was heard to be saying “Mommy, I don’t like this we have to leave immediately, do you understand? I don’t like this already Mommy I want to leave right now, do you hear me, right now!” Poor Mommy! They left (thankfully) after the first movement.

As we drove away from Venice, I know I’ll be back some day and will just have to accept the fact that the Venetians are abysmally rude and as I was warned, the restaurants do not serve great food. In all I thoroughly enjoyed our stay though and the amazement on the Bald man’s face made the trip completely worth it.

No sign of George at Lake Como

Our trip from Lyon had started with a couple of laps of Lyon and then onto the open road and a variety of cd’s we’d bought on a binge. The trip south east wound us through the low alps and in and out of more tunnels than I care to remember. Soon we were within Italy and on our way towards Milan before the big left hand turn towards to the Lake. We missed the left hand turn but thankfully hadn’t gone too far so somehow negotiated the most ridiculous off ramp and on ramp and headed back in the right direction. There is a little part of the journey as you come around a hill and spot the Lake for the first time that takes your breath away. In NZ we have some spectacular lakes though there was something about the colours of the villages around that make you melt in moments. We dumped the car in Como town and headed off in search of lunch. There were times when we pinched ourselves initially to make sure we were there and then after the most revolting  Italian meal (our first in Italy) as punishment for making the wrong restaurant call. A quick walk around and we were on our way up the left hand side of the lake to Tremezzo. An hour winding through little villages and not hitting pedestrians later our hotel popped out of nowhere sitting on the side of the road pretty and proud right on the lake. 

La Darsena has been a find on tripadvisor and we couldn’t have got better. Our room was up in the attic space but was the most spacial room we had had on the trip so far. With Prozy’ell’hole still quite ripe in our heads La Darsena was total paradise. A little courtyard to the right was the perfect setting for a couple of Campari’s and a good few chapters of Michael Caine’s new autobiography. It’s been lovely on this trip so far, Michael Caine and Barry White, my mission now was to find George. 

We chose to eat in the restaurant in the hotel on the first evening and the loveliest hotelier ever reserved us a table on the water. Showers and a potter around the town later and we sat down for one of the best meals I have had. My starter was smoked guinea fowl with goats cheese and roast veg. So delicately light but full of flavour. The bald man had green pea risotto which burst with freshness, I was being looked at for diving across the table at his plate every other mouthful. 

I chose some “caramelle” pasta for main course to obliterate the microwave crap we’d had for lunch. The pasta was sweet shaped and full of fabulous ragu. Light, tasty and the best pasta i’d ever had. The lake fish the Bald man had was also exquisite. Our meal finished off with a shared white chocolate and strawberry parfait, cognac, grappa and espresso. 

A brilliant sleep later and we woke up to a gorgeous breakfast back out on the water the next morning. Our plan for the day was very simple, walk, boat, lunch, boat, big house, wine, dinner, bed. And we did all of it. The boat trip to Bellagio was stunning and while my eyes were clued to the shore line in search of George, The bald man was absolutely stunned at the beauty of the lake, the surrounding countryside and the incredible architecture of the buildings that decorate the lakes edges. 

Our lunch was in a little trattoria full of locals. I had a veal ragu with polenta which was a little heavier than I needed but thoroughly delicious. The bald man tucked into a bowl of pasta which lasted very little time in his presence. Coffee and onwards back to the cobbled streets of the stunning town. Our afternoon was spent in a house called Villa Carlotta which was built for a woman a million years ago who promptly went and died. Complete waste I thought, but we enjoyed getting out of the heat and looking around what she could have had. I had read about a cantina in Tremezzo called Cantina Folli which we discovered tucked away off the beaten track. The owner was so lovely, chose a bottle of wine for us and provided us with a very large lump of parmesan and some honey and pear to enjoy with it. Nothing was too much trouble. As the two of us laughed our way through plot lines and potential story lines I could have stayed in the vine covered courtyard forever. It was a little piece of paradise. 

Our supper that evening was in a restaurant called red and white which I should have known better and not gone, but the bald man enjoyed his meal and I shoved too much pizza in my direction, while we listened to a couple of english bus drivers talk rubbish at each other for an hour. The general patronage of the restaurant was only there for pizza’s and spag bog so I was quite surprised at some of the tripadvisor reviews of it. 

As we drove away the next day towards Venice I vowed to come back and spend longer with my bald man in a very very beautiful area. 

p.s on another note, George wasn’t available at the time of writing. 

Loved Lyon

On the Friday morning we woke to the task of getting out of Paris in a rental car also named Margaux. Why? because they are as ugly as each other. To cut a long story short, we got lost on the way to Gard De Nord to get the car, then narrowly missed a near death experience as the Bald man turned into some oncoming traffic, we only went round in a circle once and somehow we hit the open road to Lyon with the BBC world service on the radio. Apparently professional cricket stars are getting depressed when they retire - who would have thought. It was fascinating to hear John Kirwin talking about his experiences though and as we drove south both of us did some thinking and some actions were noted.

After a quick coffee in a truck stop we swapped and I drove us into the traffic jams of Lyon and to a rather spectacular city. As I discovered in Winchester, the Bald Man is not perfect and can not navigate which led to some abrupt words and a little longer trying to find hotel and parking than necessary. However, we checked in and made our way to THE MOST REVOLTING square whole of an apartment room in Lyon. A room with a sofa bed is not an apartment and so the Bald Man told them, so we moved up 3 floors to a room with not only a sofa bed but the first double bed we had slept in in weeks. The “balcony” was a filthy mossy mess but it was better than the hell whole downstairs. Downstairs, we discovered the next day was also the abode of a rather glum looking prostitute and as we discussed the pro’s and con’s of prostitution, it dawned on me her abode was a sofabed in a hell whole. Nothing glamourous there.

Our first meal was on the Rue Mercerie, a street of restaurants which was touristy but good for dinner. We were squeezed into a table and had two English menus dumped in front of us. Determined to eat Lyonnaise the Bald man had eggs cooked in red wine with lardons and crutons (which is French sounds much more appealing but they only gave us the English option so english it is) They were devine and he was in heaven. Not a heavy dish, but one I am going to master. I had sausage and lentils (again better in French) delicious and simple. My main dish was crucified duck which was my own fault for mixing instructions up and ordering well done, the Bald man had a chewy steak. Not brilliant, but ok. We went back to La Appartment Prozy’ell’hole via a bar and lots of red vino!

Lyon is the easiest city to get around. The Metro is quick clean and efficient. We headed in morning to the best place in the world http://halledelyon.free.fr/ Halle de Lyon. It can only be described as food heaven, aisle upon aisle of French Cuisine, delicious French Cuisine. My eyes popped out, my ears rang and I wanted to run up and down shouting loudly “I’m here, I’m here.” However, I didn’t! We had breakfast, got ideas, ate chocolate, shopped, snapped and left. You can fill the rest in yourself!

A little walk later and we were back where we had dinner the night before. In search of the open top bus stop, we stumbled across a homewares shop and yes reader you guessed it, Elle is a happy chappy with some stonking new oven gloves and a rose scented drawer liner..... the Bald man bought a clock! Our simple lunch of salad and a burger washed down with some beer held us in stead for the afternoon of avoiding the gay pride march blasting YMCA around. We escaped to the hills, a cathedral and some amazing views via a cable car (he was a happy bunny) As we got back down we discovered the complete delight of Old Lyon, where we shopped, pottered and oooh’d and ahhhh’d at buildings before our afternoon beer. It is an absolutely beautiful city.

We headed back to freshen up and return to Old Lyon for dinner. In the hour we were at La Appartment Prozy’ell’hole her downstairs was a busy girl. I have to say I’m impressed by the use of her blackberry for bookings. Dinner was at a little restaurant where the Bald man tucked into terrine and a scrummy fondue while I devoured onion soup and discovered Quenelles. Quenelles are a poached mixture of creamed fish, meat or chicken in said shape, that in my case was served with a gorgeous cheese sauce. I will be investigating and making. A yet again simple, but delicious meal.

As we said goodbye to Lyon, I promised to be back and after doing various laps of the city trying to get out, I thought we would never leave. Our next stop beckoned, with cheap cd’s and impressive views to see. We were off to Lake Como.

Gay and very full Paris

So I’m way behind on this and will fill the rest of Devon in later.

We were met in Paris by my uncle and his friend’s exceptionally ugly Bulldog, Margaux. We had been warned that she was the ugliest dog and true to form she is, but when you are lugging your entire 8 weeks of wardrobe up the hill to the top of Montmatre a rock solid bulldog is as good as a tugboat. Margaux is in fact the sweetest dog, desperate to play at any cost and with expressions film directors would pay big money for.



My uncle’s apartment is high in Montmatre with a beautiful view that includes a glimpse of the Eiffel tower and wide open spaces around him. Down the street is a little terrace with a rather fab little restaurant we had lunch in one day. The view from the terrace is surreal and made me want to don a beret quickly and become fluent in the language.



As it was Chris’s birthday we, being Chris, the bald man, Margaux’s owner Faith (stunning american) Chris’s girlfriend Ann and I cabbed it across town to a restaurant called La Closerie des Lilas where having already drunk a large amount we got stuck into Martini’s and some rather fantastic red wine. My love for Fois Gras didn’t let me even think about what else was on the starter board and while the others tucked into fish and langoustine I tried my very best not to lick the plate. The Bald man and I both had steak as a main which was unfortunately not cooked to perfection and where we had all gone for medium rare it was mainly blue and disappointing. The Fois Gras was beginning to dominate the space available for anything else, but again gluttony prevailed and a cheese board was deposited at speed in front of me. I am just going to recap here....... red wine, champagne, martini’s, Champagne, Fois Gras, red wine, steak, red wine, cheese, champagne, coffee and petit fours. Now this is not an exercise in gloating or making anyone reading this feel in any way green with envy. In fact the only thing slightly green here was me by the time I had finished. My Dr is forever telling me I am a half pint and should not keep trying to fill myself up with pints, in this case Dr Twaites, I well and truely yard glassed myself.



We had prebooked a Paris food tour on the Wednesday morning at 9am. Had I know I would have chronic indigestion, a cold and the biggest hangover I would never have booked it, but we got up and headed with Chris and Margaux to the metro in time to get to our meeting point, a cheese shop the other side of town. Hungover and snotty, the smell of cheese which would normally excite me was making my stomach curdle. An American doctor called Sarah was flapping the same booking form in front of us and after introductions and numerous tissues we met up with “Yves” our guide for the morning. Over the next 4 hours, he took us around the Latin Quarter and I took a million photo’s in between nose blowing.



By the afternoon we were back in Montmatre and took to the streets to explore and look for a dinner venue. If you haven’t been to Montmatre and Sacre Ceur, you should, it is one of those breath taking little moments in life that should be remembered. Our restaurant for dinner was Le Poulbot, recommended by the other tour guide on our trip. Tiny, quaint, unassuming and cosy, we shared each others onion soup and escargot (“which were bloody good too” Bald Man) and Caseolet and Confit du Canard. Chris joined us for coffee and desert and when I lost the bald man to the phone and NZ, I decided it was time for bed. Margaux was later sent in search of the Bald man with success.



Day two, not hungover, our mission was to dance on the top of the Eiffel Tower and 2 hours later we were up there. However my insecurity and perfect capability of making a complete tit of myself stopped me dancing with my lovely man and instead we gazed at the view and each other with a little pinching going on to make sure we were both there! We took a boat to Notre Damme, ate lunch at a little cafe in a square, bought shoes and aged coffee grinders and headed back to the great cathedral as the bells tolled. It really is an amazing building. “I didn’t realise the Supremes were on tour” said the Bald Man pointing to 3 microphone stands next to the alter. This resulted in me getting a fit of giggles just as the 5pm service was starting. With shopping bags and memories we headed back up the hill for a pretty lousy dinner at a restaurant and some well needed sleep.

Heading South

Part of this trip is about reading, writing and spending time not on a computer…… so I am handwriting this! Well almost. We packed on Saturday for our week in the West Country.  My visions of packing with heavy suitcases of novels and magazines got obliterated by new purchases and extra bags for all the laptops and power supplies that have come with us.

Our first visit was with the Jimjam’s brother Andy in Winchester, half way on the journey to Devon and in time for a slap up early lunch.  A fellow foodie and all round good guy, Andrew had chosen the rather superb Chesil Rectory for lunch which according to the Maitre’d was the 3^rd oldest building in the city.  The option of starters left us all wondering what to have. Claire and I had a fabulously rich squid ink risotto with chilli calamari on the top. We were both much mocked for the Goth appearance the squid ink gave our lips. The bald man devoured a huge helping of smoked mackerel and whisky pate while Andrew had enjoyed the ham hock. The only thing on the menu we didn’t try was the asparagus soup. I have to admit defeat with the risotto. It was gloriously opulent and bursting with flavour and I don’t feel I did it justice really, but I was trying to leave some space for the roast Pork belly I had drooled over the menu for.

The main course didn’t disappoint by any stretch of the imagination. The Roast beef was piled high and succulently pink accompanied by a huge Yorkshire pudding. My Pork was stunningly cooked, moist with slightly crisp layers of juicy fat full of flavour.  Now I am slightly disgraceful in that I love horseradish with roast pork and the dollop of creamed horseradish that melted into the gravy did nothing but enhance it. My other accompaniment was an apple sauce which was almost a mousse. So light and fluffy I would have asked for ladles more if I had the courage and space! Crunchy roast potatoes and red cabbage lit up the plate and a sweet puree added some more textures. The bald man and Claire both had a fish pie which was piping hot and full of fish and bright green peas with a piped potato top. Neither of them left a morsel.  We opted against desert as we were losing time and had absolutely no space anyway. It was not a cheap meal, but it was certainly a memorable one and I would thoroughly recommend a visit to the Chesil Rectory any opportunity.

From Winchester we headed badly toward Devon. When I say badly, neither of us had studied a map and spent 25 mins driving around Winchester until we were out on the open road when the car broke down. Thankfully the car broke down in the car park of a French Restaurant and cooking school in the pouring rain. We were rescued and plied with coffee by the waiter who added a couple of exquisite truffles and refused any payment. Within the hour and thanks to the most friendly RAC man in history we were back on the road, slightly soggy but with much better directions on how to get to Devon.

You always feel better once a sign post announces you are going in the right direction for your destination and once the Brixham signs started appearing we were a lot more relaxed. The cottage we are staying in is light blue, perched on a hill looking right out over the harbour. Brixham is a really beautiful fishing town with a bustling harbour, pastel coloured cottages and a view to die for. We dumped our bags and left for town at speed, clambering down some lethal stairs to get to the harbours edge. A brief walk around the town and we decided a G&T and pint was definitely in order. So to a local pub we went and straight into the nosiest gaggle of Scousers. Not just the noisiest gaggle, but the most foul mouthed, butt crack showing, shell suit wearing gaggle I’ve seen outside of Liverpool. One of them proudly boasted how he’d been thrown out of every pub in his neighbourhood “’Aven’t I” and promptly misaimed his pint to his mouth and threw most of his lager down his front.  Obviously more than one drinking problem!  We left pretty damn quickly as I was sick of hearing how overweight his wife was declaring to be and another “gentleman” was busy stuffing Roger Rabbit down his trousers….. don’t ask, it happened.

Our haven was a little restaurant called Beamers where we were welcomed, seated and given menus by now the politest waitress in England. Traditional fare was on the menu with not a hint of spice. We chose to share a bowl of mussels which when they arrived and we tucked in, both had the look of “damn, should have ordered one for myself” Little local mussels drowned in cream and garlic sauce, richer than the traditional mariniere, that neither of us could get enough of it. So beautiful!

The Bald man was in need of meat and ordered an 18oz sirloin while I stuck with the reliable fish and chips. By the end of our meal we were both full to the gunnels and the Bald man declared that had been the best steak he’d had all year! Very high praise indeed! We collapsed into bed exhausted, full and happy and left the windows wide open for a while, filling the room with fantastic sea air and not a single Scouse sound in earshot.