La Croix

The Jouty farm at La Croix

Base-jumpers near Annecy, day after the Oz election

Everywhere small that attracts travellers from afar has a long story, and that of La Croix de La Rochette's claims on us is no exception. In short: it is the childhood and part-time current home of Yvonne, a wonderful friend who can still recall Andrew as an infant and who, along with with her mother Madame Jouty, plays a hugely significant part in the Foodivore "origin story".

Pre-dessert...for two

The region, Savoie, is a gorgeously diverse place in the foothills of the French Alps. To call them foothills rather understates things though - we're talking peaks of up to 2000m or so. Winding through these are various gorges and mountain passes - Col de la Madeleine in particular sticks in the mind. Pierre was in fine form, toplessly touring us under blazing sunny skies (it was a little incongruous to cast our votes in Geneva in 26 degrees, knowing that winter's grip was still firm on our home).

Moonrise from La Croix

When we weren't taking in the charm of Yvonne, her home and the surprisingly-full house there was time for a few other moments.....

• Our discovery of the wines of Savoie which, typically of French wines other than Bordeaux and Burgundy, are largely unknown elsewhere. Mondeuse is a grape variety we'd not heard of before which offers a beguiling balance between lightness and full-bodiedness. Can't wait to try some in Tuscany with homemade dishes!
• By accident (we and the others lost one another in a little town called La Cote St Andre and handily found each other in the town's best eatery, all having reckoned that if all else fails you should eat well while working out how next to proceed) we had a splendid 9-course meal that contained some new ideas for us (flavours & presentation....giving nothing away just yet). Check out the photos to see what a gratis "pre-dessert" for two consists of!
• An unexpectedly fine purveyor of malt whisky in Grenoble when we, yet again, tried to conclude our dealings with the French bureaucracy. Anyone who thinks that the Australian counterpart is inefficient and rigid really needs to get some perspective: it may be tiresome, but it's nothing compared with the inexpertise we've encountered.



Yvonne displays part of the pre-dessert

• Sadly, our final French market experience in Chambery. It was with some nostalgia and the sorrow of parting that we browsed the stands, seeking out the components for a cassoulet that we'd promised the crowd. (The cassoulet was pretty damn good, but without goose lacked the crowning component that we learned of in Najac).

Pierre and Andrew in the Savoie gorges

Tracey at La Croix

Yvoire on another unendurable mountain day

Tracey adding her own radiance

Yvonne and Andrew at La Croix

More base-jumpers (crazy buggers)

At the end of a wonderful, far-too-short week, we bade au revoir to Yvonne, and to France itself, and pointed Pierre uphill towards the true Alps...and Switzerland..

Lyon: where the Rhone meets the Saone, and the food is generous to say the least

We had heard Lyon referred to as the "food capital of France" and had for months been anticipating this stop. Much of what we'd been reading talked of the bouchons (an iconic local style of eatery offering local specialities), so we got brave and went an-eating. Having only two nights, we figured we could fit in a good four meals (dinner, lunch, dinner, lunch). As Brutus said of Julius Caesar, ambitious. Something we hadn't counted on was the fermeture annuelle (annual closure for several weeks to take holidays) - a surprising chunk of the town was shut, including some eateries we'd wanted to visit.

Unusual place for a meeting...

First up was Cafe des Federations, which proved a unique experience. No printed menus: a single 19-euro menu with a verbal list of options (ordering in French can be challenging enough at times, even when you can read it, but when you're being offered exotica such as calf's head, breaded tripe, blood sausage and the like there's a good chance you weren't taught this in school). Staff who, while perfectly helpful and professional, were keen on banter with customers (more tough French moments), as well as bagging each other out at high volume. A single squat toilet....shades of the Inca Trail. All in all this was a memorable occasion, but we wish that our French was better so that we could have joined in more. We waddled home and resumed research for the next day.
The day was glorious so we skipped breakfast and tried to earn lunch with a climb up the western hill to check out some Roman ruins. No-one said anything about Tracey having a work meeting that morning so we were most surprised when we bumped into Sarah, a work colleague (and Peter her partner), last seen in Hobart at Tracey's bon voyage work dinner. The UTas amphitheatre it was not!

A little vaudeville in Lyon

Lunch was at Aux Trois Petit Cochons (the three little pigs) which, as you may guess, specialised in pork dishes (Jews, Muslims and Ingrid may prefer to dine elsewhere). This was a cracking experience, with a pair of waiters that reminded us of some famous actors (a camp Dominique Pinon, and Nicolas Cage if you're wondering which). Salad of pig's ears, poultry liver parfait - and those were the starters.  The really serious stuff involved gratin de andouillete and the most succulent, jaw-droppingly delicious oxtail (parmentier de queue de boeuf)......fabulous, and certainly one we'll be trying to replicate. The waiters forced dessert on us. We tried so hard to resist....really...but the virtues of the Mousse Chocolat had not been exaggerated.
Lunch defeated us. There was no dinner.
Having learned from the previous day, we again skipped breakfast, packed and checked out. We'd agonised about lunch, but the oxtail had been too fine and the service far too agreeable: it was back to Aux Trois Petit Cochons. We were greeted like old friends and the tale of the meal was similar: attentive and agreeable service spiced with a touch of familiarity and, of course, wonderful food. Salade Lyonnais and a lovely sweet onion tart started us off, pig's trotter with olives and the oxtail (again - it was equally superb the second time) provided the main entertainment, and while a little fruit salad plus chestnut gateau absolutely finished us off. One of the finest compliments we can pay is to say that the menu (of which we only took a low-priced option) still has plenty on it that we want to sample, and we will definitely return.

Le quatrieme cochon (the 4th little pig)

With heavy hearts we returned to Pierre who, like the little champ that he is, hauled our replete selves out towards the French alps...and La Croix de la Rochette.

Chateau Showdown: Versailles vs Loire Valley

The 7th Great Lady of Chenonceau?

Mucking around in the Hall of Mirrors

The queue starts here, and finishes just above
Tracey's head (and this was a short queue)

Cheverny - but for inheritance laws, all this could be yours

Chenonceau, sans sheeple

Amboise (lousy food omitted)

Having returned from our summer escape to northern cooler climes, we embarked upon a serious chateau-hopping few days. We’d been to the western Loire Valley earlier (see here), but this time we were ready for the really heavy-hitters.
Versailles: it’s got so much speaking in it’s favour…history, the zenith of French absolute monarchy, the Hall of Mirrors and so on. Stacked up against this however are a few unspoken truths: it’s overrun with hordes of sheeple, you’re required to queue roughly 900 times in the course of a visit, the exterior is rather bland and homogenised, the interior didn’t in the main survive the Revolution, and so on. We did manage a pleasant row in small rowboat amongst the ducks and swans on the main central canal, and strolling the grounds is pleasant – but no more so than many other parks. If it weren’t for the fountains (which on this occasion weren’t turned on, making us grateful for the earlier visit) the grounds would be nice, but unexceptional. All in all, the anticipation far exceeded the actual event.
Chambord: best roofline by a mile and the largest chateau in the Loire. Despite also hosting large flocks of sheeple, Chambord disguises them in a number of ways – a market, large grounds with good views of the magnificent main building, and a very pleasant terasse bar in which you can sit peaceably to take in the view. Large trees add to the ambience, which comes highly recommended. We were not welcomed in the same manner of Charles V during his visit in 1539. He was greeted by nymphets in transparent veils tossing wildflowers in his path…
Chenonceau: smaller than we realized, but very graceful in design. The hordes were here in large numbers as well, but the main gallery over the river was relatively clear and permitted a spot of quieter contemplation. The kitchens (tucked inside the main supporting arches) are quite cool and full of many bits of original equipment, sometimes of perplexing purpose. Additionally, for those who are into 17th- and 18th-century art, there are some big names hanging on the walls. It’s also worth noting that the presence of donkeys was a big plus (as keen readers will already know, everything can be improved with a donkey). Also highly commended.
Cheverny: for Tintin nerds, this is a must-see. Used by Herge as the model for Marlinspike, this more mansion-like chateau is still occupied by descendants of the original owners (Henri Hurault), and chock-a-block full of fancy interior furnishings and decorations. Suits of armour, used to humorous effect in various Tintin books, are recognisable as is the main staircase. Admittedly tastes differ, but you’d have to concede that some of it is flat-out crass. However, the grounds are pleasant and there’s a (cheesy) Tintin exhibition. Not bad overall, but you get the feeling that you’re being gouged for cash to permit the owners to continue with their 17-century lifestyle. This wasn’t the original chateau that stood on these grounds. When the first wife of Henri was found to be having an affair with a page, she was given the option of a sword through the heart or drinking poison…she chose the less messy option. Following her death Henri tore down the old chateau to rebuild for his new wife, hopefully she lived a little longer. Also notable about this place are the hounds, who languish in a very unappealing concrete enclosure (with a big V shaved into their flank to denote ownership) while awaiting the hunts that the old-money owners perpetuate. From the sounds of their baying, we suspect some of the roving children of disregarding the signs which ask you not to tease them.
Amboise: not a bad fortified castle overlooking the Loire. Just don’t eat the food in the town. Not a great Foodivore moment (who chills both cheese and the plates on which it’s served??...the barbarians). A particular highlight of the town was the spacious old tunnel that goes under the chateau and currently houses wine tasting of the regional drops. Handily the tasting included a couple of glasses, so our picnic experiences will no longer feature plastic cups.
Chaumont-sur-Loire: another impressive pile overlooking the Loire but, in this company, just not in the same league. When Diane de Poitiers was evicted from Chenonceau after Henri II died, his widow threw her out (understandable given that she was his mistress), she was given this chateau instead, and apparently she was less than pleased about this. Helpfully for us, it’s not far upstream from Vouvray and its wonderful wines. Perhaps if these wines had been around back then Diane may have been happier about her new accommodation.

And the winner? Naturally it depends on what you want to see, but Chambord wins this showdown.

Nice spot for a row

But what, we hear, about the food? Streets ahead of the western Loire Valley is the answer. A very enjoyable (and reasonably priced) meal at Le Bouchon Lyonnais in Blois gave us a preview of our next destination – tete de veau (calf’s head), sapeur (breaded tripe), sabodet (a sausage made from pigskin and inner bits) and so on. If that wasn’t good enough though, by happy accident we chanced a look at a menu at the Auberge du Centre in Chitenay (a tiny out of the way village where only locals appear to dine) and immediately booked for Sunday lunch. Nine varied courses later (magret d’oie – goose breast; carpaccio of rabbit) we were happy to declare: the winner is…Chitenay.

Chambord: Tracey's favorite pretty

Tintin wasn't around...

Chambord, from the terasse bar

On the Fringe (Edinburgh)

Nice place to stay...

When we first planned to spend a few days in Edinburgh we gave no thought to the timing of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.  However, as coincidences have it, it just happened to be on while we were there.  Another fortunate coincidence was the tail end of the Jazz and Blues festival at the same time.
As luck would have it, with said coincidences, our time in Edinburgh differed from our initial thoughts.  We didn't end up doing all the standard tourist sites...the Castle for instance.  We spent our 2 days between comedy, jazz and whisky; hard life we know...to gain some sympathy back, it did rain a little and there were more sheeple milling around than we could poke a stick at...and believe me I wish we'd had a stick on various occasions.  For some quiet and solitude (that's all...really) we discovered the bar in the basement of a place called "The Scotch Whisky Experience".  They have around 300 whiskies to taste, most of which you could then purchase upstairs in their bottleshop.  Some friends (they'll know who they are) have twice tried to visit the castle but haven't gotten any further than this bar and we can now understand why...and no, it's not why we didn't get the castle...we didn't have really enough time...not due to the aforementioned bar...really.  This place also does a tour of a distillery which we also didn't have time to do but we did believe we had learned enough at the comedy show we'd been to on a previous night called "Whisky: an idiots guide", very funny.  We followed that up with a more civilised Jazz Sextet (Laura MacDonald Sextet) with a superb trumpeter and tenor sax player.  The only thing on the standard tourist list we did do was climb Arthur's Seat (well, mostly)...if there's a hill we always seem to have to climb it. Great views over the city but like all of Edinburgh during the festival, full of people.  We also managed to eat a bit of decent food.

...herds of sheeple on the Royal Mile

We've been surprised by our time in England and Scotland, just how good the food is, though admittedly we didn't really eat the standard fare much of the time.  On our first night in Edinburgh we went to the Michelin star restaurant "The Kitchin".  We had the Chef's Land and Sea Surprise, which wasn't a surprise as they told us what it was  ;-) .  There are a few ideas we'd like to try cooking when we get home, though not all would be easily accessed ingredients.  Our favourite was the boned and rolled pig's head, served with roasted tail of langoustine (like a hard shell prawn) with a crispy pig's ear salad...anyone want to come round for dinner when we get home? We also ate some very unScottish Turkish food and some excellent spicy Thai...all the flavours we won't get when we head back to France.

Great food: rolled pig's head, crispy pig's ear and langoustine

We can also highly recommend our accommodation where our host, Eric, provides stylish accommodation in his spacious apartment filled (literally) with art over every wall, and most of the flat surfaces. Super comfortable (great bed, footrests, etc) near enough to the old town, and a very congenial host.

Ness is more

By the shores of Loch Ness is a small town called Drumandrochit, where we stopped nearby for a few nights. Apart from location the central attraction (for us, not being monster-seekers) was Fiddler's, a very pleasant pub-style restaurant boasting a selection of hundreds of malts. In fact, it was named the best whisky bar in all of Scotland for three years running (2007-2009). Haggis, venison, Stornoway black pudding (a recurring favorite of ours in Scotland)....all delicious. The opportunity to sample from such a wide range of malts was an excellent chance to learn more about our preferences (Tracey - malts matured in sherry vats, Andrew - malty & peaty numbers generally from the Highlands).
We also liked:

• Glen Affric  a pleasant little glen not far from Drumandrochit with a picturesque walks (towering trees, waterfalls etc)
• Finding pewter clan McNicol crests (did you know that the MacThomas crest involves a cat holding a snake in its mouth?)

A journey home to Skye

Hefting the caber

Caber coming right at you

Apparently the breeze is cool...

These days one needn't go "over the sea to Skye" (as the old song puts it) as there's a very modern bridge available. Off we went, headed for the old homeland. Portree was our destination, and very lovely both it and the isle were.
We were wowed by the rugged coastlines. Cliffs of volcanic rock plunging hundreds of metres to the sea on the one hand, and narrow sheltered fjord-like inlets on the other. One memorable stretch of coastline boasts Kilt Rock, the shape and colours of which can be seen to resemble a kilt, and a nearby waterfall where the falls plummet seawards....and in windy conditions never actually reach it. This is all just up the road from The Old Man of Storr, which perches precariously on a rocky ledge like a supersize menhir.

Old Man of Storr

Scorrybreac seen from the south side of Portree harbour

The sign points the way home

The rugged terrain offers some stunning walking, of which we had time for only a little. The Quiraing is a mountainous meadow in which locals hid their sheep and cattle from raiding Vikings (on that point, it's worth commenting that some Vikings stayed behind or left children behind - and this could be thought evident in some family members who sport blonde rather than ginger hair). Anyway, very dramatic (could that be the Scottish adjective?).
The northern head of Portree's harbour is a piece of land called Scorrybreac (spellings vary, but this was on the signs), which was historically the seat of Clan Macneacail (ie Clan McNicol). It's been repurchased by a trust established by clan members and can be freely roamed by all. It's a rugged chunk of rock overlooking the harbour, with a trail winding round the shoreline (map here).Its hills are home to wild raspberries (delicious), hazelnuts and sometimes (apparently) sea eagles. We spent an emotionally resonant while wandering the paths after dinner, marvelling at the raw beauty of the land and the splendid views across the water that if afforded.
We were fortunate to be in Portree for the 133rd Isle of Skye Highland games. These very traditional games included Throwing the Hammer (a rock on the end of a long stick), Putting the Stone (like shot put), Tossing the Caber (visualise two-thirds of a telegraph pole being hoiked about by big laddies in kilts), Hill (Hell) Race in which the brave (insane) entrants have the top of a nearby sheer hill pointed out and are told to get to the top and back using any route they choose (shoreline, back gardens, cliffs, you name it), Throwing a 56lb weight (both distance & over a bar a bit like high jump), Highland Dancing (including Hornpipe dances in embarassing sailor suits) and Piping Competitions. Fabulous. The officials in kilts had dirks stuck in their stockings, which were in turn snug inside modern Scarpa walking boots :)
As you'd hope on one of the Hebridean islands, seafood is the main game. Oysters are fresh and luscious, succulent large scallops that are hand-dived rather than dredged (memorably served with black pudding on a cauliflower puree base - yum!), fresh fish, etc. The beef, too, is good as we discovered during a meal at the island's oldest inn (1790) the Stein Inn. Many a malt (126 or so) behind that bar, and fine real ale brewed on Skye.

Tracey's Scottish castle on the Isle of Mull

Leaving England we headed north to bonnie Scotland.  Pierre changed identity again this time to Percy McPeugeot. By now regular readers should be aware of Tracey's weakness for a "pretty" (castle, chateau, manor, etc). The remote Isle of Mull drew us to Glengorm Castle where we stayed for two nights.  From the ferry we drove for around 40 minutes along single lane roads resembling Swiss cheese with boggy moss on the verges. As we neared our destination we had glimpses of what would be our home for the next couple of nights.The setting is magnificent: a Victorian castle set on a large private estate on the water's edge. Flocks of highland sheep and a herd of highland cattle ("woolly coows") graze the verdant pastures, which contain a small ring of standing stones. Yachts and fishing smacks (boats) ply the nearby waters. A friendly cat was resident and napped on Tracey's lap in the formal library as we sat there sampling some of the eighteen complimentary single malts on hand for guests' pleasure (we didn't quite get through all of them...though we gave it a good go). For breakfast, which were included, you are given choices ranging from velvety smooth smoked ocean trout, black pudding, kippers (Tracey could taste nothing but all day after that particularly choice one morning), smoked Haddock, omelets with anything, bacon, sausage...the list goes on. Too much of a good thing can spoil you, but two nights wasn't too much: we shall return.

Tracey (and Percy) in front of the pretty

Relaxing in the library

Standing stones (and sheep)