Tuesday 26 February 2008

22nd - 24th February 2008 - Bonjour St Cezaire, the Sequel




It’s funny how rituals can develop. These usually unwritten but strictly adhered to rites can establish themselves almost immediately or they creep in almost un-noticed until it dawns on you that on a day you go to the dentist you always put your blue underpants on. Or on your wife’s birthday you always buy her the same card, take her to the same place for dinner and order her the same “Happy Meal”. Sometimes it’s just down to lazy habit, often it’s because of an irrational superstitious fear that something terrible will happen if you do something different. Sometimes though it’s because you really like that particular ritual so much that you look forward to it almost as much the event that triggers it.

Enter the West Cornwall Pasty. This humble and ancient fare is for me right near the top of the culinary tree. It couldn’t be more basic – pastry, meat and a few bits of veg – but assembled in the correct proportions there are few things tastier and filling that leave you with such a warm, contented feeling. Forget the dietary argument I say. Everything in moderation combined with a moderate dose of statins has got to be the healthy option.

The best thing about having our trip to the South of France cancelled last month was that by re-booking it for last weekend we had the excuse to buy yet another batch of pasties for Bryan, Sandra, Lynda and me to enjoy during the pre-flight wait in the airport departure lounge. By special request we’d even managed to get hold of some sachets of HP sauce. Mmmm…they wouldn’t win “Masterchef” but they didn’t half go down well, especially with a pint. And as easily as that, a ritual is born. Now we won’t be able to fly together without first filling our faces with one.

Having caught the late flight out, by the time we arrived at the house we weren’t really fit for much more than a quick beer in a nearby bar - unusually busy and pleasantly raucous because it had been a bank holiday – before heading for bed. It was a cool night by St Cezaire standards but Sandra made sure that wouldn’t trouble us by providing the most wonderful hot water bottles. If ever Lynda & me are forced to dive into a nuclear bunker for a period of time it would be in Bryan and Sandra’s. Sandra is always prepared for anything, Bryan keeps a splendid cellar and both are excellent company. Their wonderful house is available as a holiday rental. Go to http://www.holidaylettings.co.uk/rentals/saint-cezaire-sur-siagne/14581 for details.


Our perfect hosts
Church bells and warm sunshine woke us on Saturday morning and we gathered downstairs to plan breakfast and the rest of the day. There are loads of reasons why the house’s location in the village and indeed the whole area is so perfect, one of which is its proximity to some great little shops – especially bakeries - and it was to one of those that Sandra nipped out and came back a few minutes later loaded with amazingly fresh and tasty bread and croissants.

After breakfast we strolled the ten yards to the weekly market that takes over the village centre each Saturday morning. Even on a freshly breakfast-filled stomach the mixture of sights and smells of all the different foods is a delight. Slowly roasting chickens, olives, garlic, salamis, cheeses and much more, all combine to make choosing the ingredients for lunch and dinner a real pleasure. We interrupted the shopping to have a coffee with Fred, a friend of Sandra & Bryan’s. Fred isn’t your typical Fred because unlike previous Freds I’ve met, this Fred’s a she, and we spent a pleasant few minutes chatting to her and her daughter before resuming our hunt for dinner ingredients.
Dinner is prepared......
....and served !




Sunny Sunday in Cannes
Bryan is a master of converting a carrier bag full of vegetables, tins and cartons into a truly memorable meal, and lunch was no exception. Equally splendid was the bottle of rose that helped to wash the food down, after which we were only good for stretching out on sun beds and reading the papers from cover to cover. When we were sufficiently red-faced – sun & wine – we took on the Scrabble Challenge. The biggest challenge was remembering the rules. Sandra was given the game as a christening gift or some other event very early in her life and whilst all the bits had survived – the game’s not Sandra’s, although of course hers have too – the rule book is long since lost. Didn’t spoil the game though, which by common consent was an honourable draw between Sandra and me. All that thinking though had made us very thirsty so it was Kir Royales for the girls and potent drink-cupboard-ingredient cocktails for me and Bryan. After a fine dinner with some more fine wine, a DVD about some shameless hussy who prefers sex in toilets with young Frenchmen to the more conventional sort with her husband Richard Gere, we were ready for bed. Bryan was obviously ready even earlier than the rest of us as two thirds of the way through the film, presumably having seen enough, he decided to boot the remote control across the room, simultaneously turning off the TV and DVD. I hadn’t realised how much he dislikes Richard Gere.
Being very silly in Cannes


Sunday was once again bathed in beautiful sunshine. We breakfasted, packed, cleared up the house, loaded up the hire car and headed into Cannes. It was a perfect day for strolling along the “Croisette” – the main coastal drag – taking in the sights and window shopping the designer boutiques. After walking around one of the marinas drooling over the amazing boats we pulled up four chairs near to the beach and took in some sun whilst marvelling at the mad people braving the sea, which even by South of France standards must have been pretty cold. Hunger eventually got the better of us and the Café Roma proved to be an excellent choice for sorting that out. The food, wine and service were fantastic and it was four very happy and full chappies that got back in the car and moved off further down the coast.



Leaving St Cezaire, calling at Cannes en-route for Nice
What a wonderful lunch !
First stop was Antibes, which looked lovely and definitely requires some further investigation, then on to Nice itself. The coast road is a delight in the good weather – to be honest we haven’t seen it in any other sort of weather. Lots of people walking, cycling, jogging, roller skating, smooching and sunbathing, all against a back drop of the bluest sea, golden sand and a cloudless sky. Not for nothing is it called the Cote D’Azur. Was it really time to go home? Sadly the lottery had let us down that weekend so it had to be work on Monday for the four of us once again.

Who wants to go home then ?

We were back at Nice Airport in good time and only had to put up with a twenty minute delay, which our fine flight deck crew made up anyway. Back at Luton I turned on my phone as we got into the vast queue snaking its way through immigration and the first thing that popped up was a message from Amy taking the mickey out of me for Chelsea’s footballing disappointment that afternoon. We’d had such a perfect weekend it would have taken something a lot worse than losing to Tottenham in the Carling Cup to spoil any of it – despite Sandra being a Spurs fan! I like to think of it as Chelsea doing some charity work in one of London’s more deprived areas.

Thank you to Lynda, my ever-present travelling companion, for being her usual brilliant self; no trip would be fun without her. And as always a special “thank you” to Sandra and Bryan, whose company, logistical skills and hospitality made a great weekend even better.

Now then, where did I leave that pasty…………………?


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