Pea and mint risotto, gourmet cats, cremated glasses, and orange dust

Our cat, ‘Minou’, is feral. When he first came to stay, he, conveniently for us, caught mice to eat. Luc quickly decided he was easy on the eye, and useful (possibly the same appraisal as when he met me), so started to buy him cat food to encourage him to stay. (I feel I should point out here that he didn’t entice me to stay with cat food.) Minou quickly went off the original cat food, so we upgraded to premium tinned cat food, which appeased him for a little while. When he went off that, Luc thought that home-cooked things ‘in a sauce’ would probably please him. Which they did, and still do. Which means that I spent yesterday evening, after having made and served human dinner, cooking Venison Bourguignon for Minou. I think the next logical step will be starred Michelin restaurant fare, because the only way he’s going to even consider a mouse now is served ‘en croûte au foie gras’…

Apparently some people are NST (not safe in taxis); I’m NSG (not safe with glasses). I have always had issues with glasses, and we frequently part company. Unfortunately, searching for glasses is boring, time-wasting, and difficult because you can’t see properly because you’re, err, looking for your glasses. Last Friday I lost them properly. Whole house upheaval, everyone involved properly. Luc inadvertently found them on Sunday evening in the embers of the fireplace. WTAF? It would seem I’d had a rare tidy freak moment, and thrown everything of a combustible nature within reach into the fire, glasses included.

Last week everything in our area had a pinky red tinge from dust blown up from the Sahara; this week we’ve got fluorescent yellowy green from pine pollen dust. In our case everything is orange, a combination of the two, as I still hadn’t got around to removing the Sahara when the pines put in an appearance.

Ingredients (serves 4)

40g coconut oil (you could use olive oil)

400g Basmati rice

4 shallots, finely diced

2 cloves of garlic, crushed

200ml dry white wine

800ml vegetable stock

300g garden peas

100g garden peas, pureed

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Handful mint leaves, finely chopped

4 tablespoons grated parmesan

Heat the coconut oil in a large frying pan, then add the shallots and garlic and fry for about 8 minutes until soft is soft. Add the rice and continue to heat until translucent. Add the wine and keep stirring.

Add a ladle of hot stock and turn down the heat. Keep adding ladlefuls of stock, stirring constantly and allowing each ladleful to be absorbed completely before adding the next. Add the peas when there are a couple of ladlefuls left. Stir until the rice is soft but still has a slight bite, then season with salt and pepper. Remove from the heat and add the freshly chopped mint and the Parmesan.

French onion tart and a budding winemaker

Léo, who is studying Viticulture/Oenology in Bordeaux, decided very recently that our life was incomplete without 200 grapevines in the garden to water, weed, feed, protect from potential bad-vine weather, fret about, protect from digging dogs, and generally mollycoddle. Grapevines are also very useful for further knackering already-knackered backs.

Our house was originally a farm (it still is I suppose, albeit slightly non-conformist), and the owners grew grapes to produce wine for their consumption, and for the farm labourers. The soil in the Landes is extremely sandy, and the climate very hot and dry in the Summer months. We chose (actually Luc and Léo chose; my ‘wine abilities’ stop at knowing how to neck it) the varieties of grape best suited to these conditions: Tannat, Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon, Petit Maseng, Gros Maseng, and Chardonnay. One of the major advantages of growing in a hot, dry climate is it’s much easier to grow organic (less risk of mildew etc.).

Wine has been produced in this area since Gallo-Roman times. There is a vinyard in Capbreton right on the Atlantic coast, La Domaine de la Pointe, that produces wine with iodised undertones, that come from the sea air and salty soil.

I receive instructions from Léo every day as to what I need to be doing vine-wise. I’m about to go outside with a magnifying glass to check for budding buds, and then stick my fist in the soil to make a totally uneducated guess as to the degree of humidity. Spot the neophyte!

I tend to eat a lot of quercetin-rich onions and apples in the Spring, as I suffer from allergies. Studies have demonstrated that quercetin acts as an antihistamine and lessens the respiratory side effects of allergies by reducing inflammatory response in the airways. It is also a zinc ionophore (transports zinc into the cells) and, as such, is being studied as a potential treatment for Covid-19.

Ingredients (serves 6)

Pastry (I used this one)

10g butter

1kg onions (peeled and cut into thin rounds)

100g smoky bacon

3 eggs

30cl cream

Sea salt, freshly ground black pepper

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 180°C. Fry the onions in butter (or olive oil) until softened, and slightly caramelised (approx 20-25 minutes). Prepare the tart tin (or individual cases) by greasing and lining with pastry.

Beat the eggs in a bowl and add the cream and seasoning, mixing well. Place the onions on the pastry, with a piece of bacon on top. Pour the egg/cream mixture over the top and bake for 25 minutes for individual tarts, or 35 minutes for a larger one.

All-natural perfume making, or the new sourdough bread

One of my blogging friends in the US, Kristen Schuhmann, whose blog, Blossom Herbs, is a go-to for all things herb-related, has written a beautiful book: All-Natural Perfume Making, fragrances to lift your mind, body and spirit. Banana bread, sourdough starters, supermarket toilet-roll brawls begone! Natural scents are order of the day.

The title is actually slightly misleading because this a gorgeous book is about so much more than just natural perfume making; I particularly appreciated the chapter that explains the different essential oils, and their benefits to both body and mental health. In these difficult times, there are so many essential oils that help with stress, anxiety and depression: Sweet Orange, Rose, Jasmine, Ylang Ylang, to name but a few.

In Kristen’s words: ‘this book tells you how to create natural perfumes from natural ingredients that you probably already have in your kitchen, garden, or liquor cabinet, plus essential oils (though you don’t actually need them). There are recipes to play with and instructions on how to create your very own signature scent. Alcohol based, oil based, and solid perfume instructions are all there, and the mental and emotional benefits of the essential oils are discussed so you can create with your health in mind as well as your aesthetic sensibilities.’

There are inspirational recipes for blends for weight management, relaxation, antidepressant, illness prevention, digestive health, etc., and clear instructions on how to create them. Another chapter I found particularly interesting was ‘Chakra Perfumes’. I love crystals, but it had never occurred to me to combine them with essential oils.

This book is beautifully illustrated – you can smell the scents waft from the pages. It would make a thoughtful gift, either to yourself, or a loved one…

Courgette fritters and The Naked Mountain

I apologise for my lack of blog posts lately. I’ve taken on a full-time nocturnal job keeping the wild boar at bay, which means that I sleep all day, and don’t have time for my more intellectual pursuits. Many people — I would say fans if I were immodest — have asked after me, so here I am slaving away at the computer, and not snoring on the sofa. I just hope my return doesn’t break the internet.

Bossy was absolutely hell-bent on skiing in the Pyrenees this winter, although the odds were heavily stacked against. Due to the human pandemic, there aren’t any ski lifts this year, which means that cross country is the way forward (see what I did there? I’m delighted I haven’t lost my wit). She spent weeks studying the likelihood of further lockdowns, the best places nearby for cross country skiing, how to cross country ski (she tried it once before and ended up in a river), the necessary gear, and The Noisy One’s availability. The Tall One doesn’t buy into Bossy’s hair-brained ski trips anymore. Once was enough for him; he’s a sensible man.

On the morning of departure, Bossy started to flap like one of those awful pigeons her husband fawns over. All because she’d forgotten to buy chains for the car’s wheels. She decided to risk it anyway, and, thankfully, off she and Noisy went.

I’m not an unkind dog, and certainly not one that takes pleasure in other people’s misfortune, but when they came back exhausted and covered in mud and not snow, I confess that my inner laughter gave way to uncontrollable outer laughter. She’d ‘closely monitored’ many things before departure, but ‘snowfall’ hadn’t made it to her list; they arrived to sunny 15°C and stark naked green mountains.

They went for a nice hike instead and managed to get thoroughly lost (there was talk of ending up at the top of the wrong mountain). On the upside (I did it again!), at least they hadn’t needed to worry about snow chains for the mountain pass *snigger*…

Thankfully Bossy’s courgette fritters are better than her organisational skills. I’m not a fan of vegetables (I spit them out for Java to eat), but these are light, crispy and succulent all at the same time.

Ingredients (serves 3-4)

150g chickpea (gram) flour

1 pinch of salt

1/2 teaspoon chilli or curry powder

1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds

1 clove of garlic, crushed

1/2 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

150ml lukewarm water

4 medium-sized courgettes

Olive oil

Sift the flour, seasoning and bicarbonate of soda into a mixing bowl, and add the water, mixing well to form a batter. Leave to rest for about 30 minutes. If the mixture thickens too much, add more water.

Top and tail the courgettes and peel if the skin is tough. Cut in half and then slice lengthways, quite finely (1-2mm). Coat well with the batter and fry in olive oil until golden.

Whisky and ginger marmelade and indigestible books

Following my previous blog post, I had a message from somebody irked by my flippancy, with recommendations for, amongst other things, dog training books. Many years ago, when I got my first labrador puppy, Loulou, I bought a book called ‘How to have an obedient dog’. As it turned out, I should have bought the sequel too: ‘How to avoid having books chewed to pieces as soon as you buy them’. So no thank you, I won’t be going down that road again.

Loulou the book chewer

I think for many people, myself included, trying to see the funny side of things is a coping mechanism. And let’s face it, life is a bit of a shit show at the moment. Also my sense of irony is often directly proportional to my back pain. For example, when I wrote this post, I didn’t know whether I was going to walk again properly.

So now we’ve cleared up the fact that I’m not a sociopathic monster, just a bit ‘bantery’ and immature, on to the marmelade.

While citrus peel provides many of the same nutritional benefits as the rest of the fruit such as antioxidants, vitamin C and polyphenols, it also contains provitamin A, B vitamins and calcium. The essential oils in the peel contain high levels of limonene, which is a powerful anti-inflammatory that helps ease heartburn and reflux, and reduce anxiety and stress. In addition to this, it helps maintain a healthy metabolism and lower high blood sugar levels.

Surprisingly enough, whisky too is a good source of polyphenols, the antioxidants linked with multiple health benefits. Whisky is also purported to help clear the mucous and congestion caused by colds. As with all things, to be taken in moderation…

Ingredients (makes about 5 jars)

1kg Seville oranges

1 lemon

2cm piece of fresh root ginger

1kg sugar

250ml whisky

Wash the fruit well as you won’t be peeling. Cut into quarters, and place in a food processor, along with the ginger. Blitz until you obtain the desired texture. Transfer the chopped mixture to a large non-stick saucepan and add the sugar. Bring to a gentle boil and simmer for about 30 minutes, or until you reach the required texture. Add the whisky at the end of cooking time, stirring well. Leave to cool for about 10 minutes before transferring to sterilised jars.

Rosemary and black olive Fougasse and sausages for officers

Last week Luc admitted to a hunter friend (who has eight obedient beagles) that we had ‘issues’ with our dogs. We hit a new low recently; we have to barricade the doors at night with chairs to send the message that we don’t provide a 24/7 service, and it’s NOT OK to wake us up at random just because you fancy a moonlit stroll in the garden. The friend wasn’t overly sympathetic and seemed to suggest that in our case, the ‘obedience ship’ had set sail long ago. He trains his dogs as puppies (like most sensible people), but I just can’t get my head around the idea of disciplining a puppy. Or any dog, if I’m being absolutely honest.

Léo and five friends celebrated the end of exams last week in true Bordeaux style with copious amounts of food, wine and noise (gatherings of up to six people are allowed in France). They were just tucking in to a second ‘dinner’ at three in the morning when the police knocked at the door. The noise was such that the gendarmes had called in reinforcements, and were accompanied by a heavily armed military squadron. They were rather taken aback when they realised that the impressive commotion was coming from just six boys, although the fact that several of them were Basque went some way to explaining things (Basque fiestas are notoriously loud). Realising there was no pressing need for mob control, they laid down their guns but, slightly bewildered, graciously refused the offer of sausages and chips. Way to avoid a hefty fine.

Fougasse is a flatbread that was traditionally baked in the ashes of the hearth. It is really a primitive form of pizza, without the tomatoes.

Ingredients

250g einkorn flour (normal flour is fine)

Pinch of salt

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 teaspoon bread yeast, mixed in a little lukewarm water

8 black olives, chopped

1 shallot, chopped

Fresh rosemary, removed from stem

Water

Sea salt to sprinkle on top

Place the flour in a bowl, add the salt, olive oil, yeast, chopped olives, shallot and rosemary. Add the water, little by little to form a smooth ball. Knead for a couple of minutes and then flatten to form an oval shape a couple of centimetres thick. Decorate with the sea salt.

Leave to rise in a 30°C oven for half an hour, then increase the oven temperature to 200°C and bake for 25 minutes.

Brussels sprouts and chestnuts and uppity wild boar

I have something in common with The Donald (other than unruly yellow hair): I incite appallingly bad behaviour. In animals in my case; Luc has always maintained that it’s impossible to get any animal to obey if I’m nearby. Yesterday was a case in point. Just 10 minutes in to a walk with Hugo and Java, two dogs became three and then a few minutes later, four. One of the dogs had jumped out of a window to join us, and the other had abandoned his master without a backward glance. A little further on, we walked past four horses in two separate fields. The dogs didn’t go into the fields, but our presence alone inspired one of the horses to leap over the fence into the adjacent field to join his friends.

One of the consequences of repeated lockdowns is that the wild boar believe they own the forest. Leaving our house in the car yesterday, my path was blocked by a menacing 100kg specimen. The sight of me clearly made him angry, and he fixed me with a stare that said ‘I own you, bitch’. Something about the way he irately hoofed the ground and then started to snort, made me reverse the car and watch from an acceptable (to him) distance while he saw his wife and eight babies over the track.

In stark contrast to the dogs, horses and boar, these young deer seemed remarkably well behaved and stood quite still while I photographed them.

Brussels sprouts are part of the cabbage family, the nutritional virtues of which I detailed in my previous post.

Ingredients (serves 4)

500g Brussels sprouts, peeled and halved

2 tablespoons olive oil

4 shallots, peeled and sliced

2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed

250g chestnuts, pre-cooked

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

½ teaspoon paprika

Cook the Brussels sprouts briefly in salted boiling water for about five minutes, drain and set aside. Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan and fry the shallots and garlic until golden. Add the sprouts, chestnuts and seasoning and fry for about five minutes, or until the chestnuts start to crisp.

Braised red cabbage and a better New Year

Happy new year everybody! We can only hope for a less complicated, less heartbreaking 2021…

We happily bid good riddance to 2020, and welcomed 2021 with some trepidation at our neighbours’ (in France we are allowed to meet in groups of six). We enjoyed an impromptu wine-tasting session, and ended up crawling/swimming back home, zigzagging our way through puddles, rivers and lakes at around 2.30am (we have had terrible flooding over the past few weeks).

Luc woke up with a blinding headache in a panic, saying ‘oh mon dieu, j’ai choppé le Covid’ (‘oh my God I’ve caught Covid’.) He was incredibly relieved when I suggested that his ‘Covid’ probably had more to do with a combination of excessive wine ‘tastings’ and wet feet than any viral infection.

The cabbage family are almost certainly the vegetables richest in nutrients and protective substances; they are not only a fantastic source of vitamin C, but also fibre, carotenoids, B vitamins, potassium, magnesium and calcium. A high antioxidant and vitamin A content means that cabbage helps to defend both the skin and eyes from free radicals.

Red cabbage contains a large amount of amino acid glutamine, which specifically reduces the inflammation and pain associated with ulcers in the gastrointestinal system. Recent research has shown cabbage juice, particularly red cabbage juice, to be highly therapeutic.

Claude Aubert, a French Agricultural Engineer who was the pioneer of organic farming in France, recounts a study carried out on two groups of volunteers: The first group ate a ‘normal’ diet, and the second group was given a diet rich in vegetables from the cabbage family, notably Brussels Sprouts. Both groups then ingested carcinogens. The cabbage family eating group eliminated the carcinogens more quickly than the other group.

We had this cabbage with our Christmas guinea fowl. It was a perfect complement.

Ingredients (10 portions)

1kg red cabbage, shredded

2 onions, chopped

2 cloves garlic, crushed

3 cooking apples, peeled, cored and chopped

Half teaspoon ground cinnamon

Half teaspoon garam masala

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

3 tablespoon brown sugar

3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar

15g butter

Place all the ingredients in a large casserole dish, add the seasoning, then the vinegar and last of all the butter on top. Place in a slow oven (150°C) for about two and a half hours, stirring from time to time and adding a drop of water if it seems too dry.

Spicy Oranges in Armagnac and Happy Christmas!

Wishing you all ‘Bonnes Fêtes’, a very Happy Christmas.

I am sure one thing we all have in common, wherever we are, is that we will be very glad to see the back of this absolute shitfest of a year.

This orange-based dessert is simple and cheering (probably due to its generous quantity of Armagnac!), and bursting with Christmassy flavours.

Oranges contain, not only vitamin C, but also hesperidin, a citrus fruit flavonoid. It has recently been discovered that hesperidin can prevent replication of the Covid-19 virus in the body; just one of nature’s glut of pathogen and virus-fighting alternatives…

Ingredients (serves 4)

4 large dessert oranges, peeled and sliced

100ml Brandy, Cognac or Armagnac

½ teaspoon freshly-grated ginger

5 cardamon pods, crushed, shells removed

1 stick licorice

3 cinnamon sticks

5 star anise

75g sugar

Arrange the orange slices in a frying pain or saucepan. Add the other ingredients plus a little water and bring to a simmer over a low heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar.

Don’t cook for longer than a few minutes, or the alcohol will evaporate and the vitamin C degrade, and you wouldn’t want either of those things to happen this year!

Spicy meat loaf, pigeons and Paris

I had to have a stern word with a pigeon last week; he had left his wife to do all the egg sitting, while he was out and about teasing Java, paddling in the pool, and perching on the horses’ warm backs. Anyone familiar with pigeons knows that it quite clearly states in the pigeon prenup that Monsieur should share the incubation burden. So either Madame is a total pushover, or Monsieur is a bit of a one.

The couple had also been shamefully slapdash in the ‘construction’ (I use the term lightly) of a nest for their brood-to-be. They had garnished a wooden beam five metres from the ground with a couple of dry leaves and a few bits of straw. Luc took pity and supplied them with a wooden wine box full of hay, where the squabs have now hatched and are growing by the day.

Satisfied we had done all we could for the irresponsible pigeons, I made a flying visit to Paris at the beginning of the week to see a thyroid specialist about my rogue thyroid gland. I managed to lock myself in the train bathroom for part of the journey because my slimey, soap-covered hands and inability to turn on the water to rince them, meant that my impotent fingers kept slipping on the door handle. As all restaurants are still shut in France, I nipped into a health food store for something to eat, and ended up inadvertently buying myself baby food (inside/outside temperature changes and my mask caused my glasses to steam up). Plus ça change…

At the hospital the next day, I had to see the radiologist before the thyroid specialist, and I obviously inspired her; she seemed awfully keen to lecture me on my mask and its inadequacies. Neither its size, shape, colour nor material pleased her, and neither did the apparently slapdash way I was wearing it. In the end so I had to say: ‘Madame, your rant is instructive (not!), but I’ve come 800km for an opinion on my thyroid, not my mask’. She was NOT amused and actually told me to ‘shush’. I had forgotten how cantankerous Parisians can be.

It was sad to see Paris so listless with all its bars, restaurants and museums shut. However, Paris by night was still luminous, and I had time for a photo dash.

Luc was very pleased with this meatloaf, which I left for him while I was away. It may be enjoyed hot or cold.

Ingredients (serves six to eight)

2 onions, chopped

2 garlic cloves, crushed

3 carrots, grated

1 courgette, grated

1 red pepper, chopped

3 medium tomatoes, chopped

Olive oil

300g minced beef or lamb

3 eggs

1 tbsp Lee and Perrins sauce

50ml tomato ketchup

200g pre-cooked chickpeas

Parsley

Rosemary

Fresh coriander

Sea salt, freshly ground black pepper

Half teaspoon of each: cumin, cayenne pepper or paprika, garam masala

Combine the vegetables, olive oil, meat, beaten eggs, Lee and Perrins sauce and ketchup in a large mixing bowl. Roughly blend the chickpeas and herbs until the mixture forms a lumpy paste (ie not blended too much) and add it to the meat mixture. Add the seasoning, mixing well and spoon the combined mixture into a loaf tin and cook for about an hour and a half in a medium oven (180°C). Leave to sit for ten minutes before slicing.

Apple and sultana cake and smashing people’s faces in

I was chomping on the bit in a supermarket queue when a message pinged onto my ‘phone from Luc, who was waiting outside in the car. This was our exchange:

Luc: ‘Have u bn arrested?’

Me: ‘Er not yet, but thx for jumping to that conclsn. V slow – lady in front regaling cashier with ALL deets of sprained ankle. Cousin’s ex son-in-law (wtf?) had to take her to hospital. Mucho pain. And now me too…’

Luc: ‘When your turn tell the cashier all about your thyroid pblems!’

Me: ‘&@(€ §^$’

I read an amusing article in our local newspaper about a man who, when stopped by the police, obligingly produced his ‘Attestation De Déplacement Dérogatoire’ (the form we have to fill in to go anywhere during lockdown. The French love a form.) The man hadn’t found the appropriate box to check, as his reason for leaving the house was ‘to smash a bloke’s face in’. As the policeman said with some irony, ‘he seemed keen to make an effort to adhere to the rules, in his own way!’

This cake is made with einkorn flour (although it will work very well with ordinary flour), which is one of my favourites because of its subtle nutty flavour. Einkorn flour is the most ancient form of wheat, and very different from modern wheat. It is very high in protein, essential fatty acids, phosphorous, potassium, iron, vitamin B6, lutein and beta-carotene, which gives it a golden tint. Einkorn flour has a very low gluten content which makes it much easier to digest than wheat flour.

Ingredients (10 slices)

2 large apples, peeled and sliced

A handful of raisins

2 tablespoons dark rum

150g cane sugar

3 eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

200g einkorn flour (you could use ordinary flour)

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Pinch of salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

Half teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

1 pot of yoghurt (125g)

75ml melted virgin coconut oil

75ml melted butter

Preheat the oven to 180°C and prepare and grease a loaf tin. Poach the apples and raisins in the rum and a small amount of water. Once the apples are soft (about 15 minutes), drain the excess cooking juice and set aside.

Beat the sugar and eggs together until homogeneous, add the vanilla essence and then gradually add the flour, cinnamon, salt, baking powder and bicarbonate of soda. Add the yoghurt, melted coconut oil and butter, mixing well. Lastly, stir in the poached apples and sultanas, transfer the mixture to the tin and bake for 35/40 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean.

Guest post: planes, trains and yachts

Welcome again to KJ for some luxury virtual travel; something that is, for the time-being at least, a pipe dream.

Over the years, I have enjoyed several career paths, all of which have enriched my life in one way or another. My first foray into working was as a short-order cook, at fourteen years of age, which eventually grew into bartending and other restaurant positions, up to hotel management. These activities gave me a broad understanding of the workings of a kitchen, in a service environment. As I matured, in both age and abilities, I spent some time travelling from west to east, and north to south, in the USA for my business, and I paid some attention to the food service on different aircraft. In that environment, food is prepared and packaged separately, to be doled out to the folk on the aircraft sometime after take-off and, hopefully, before landing, from a tiny galley which is serviced by a dumbwaiter from the hold of the aircraft. So, there isn’t much about the preparation which causes me to wonder, nor do I expect a man (or woman) wearing a chef’s cap to wander into the passenger area asking us how we enjoyed our meal. This is probably a good thing, for I cannot fail to imagine the chaos that would have ensued, with trays of inedible food flying through the cabin at the perpetrator who would have claimed responsibility for our meals. There is this thing called karma, after all.

Some of our more renowned trains, such as South Africa’s Blue Train, considered by many to be the most elegant train experience in the world, do have chefs on board, who miraculously seem to be able to provide haut cuisine from what a New Yorker would consider a basic studio apartment, elongated, while rocking back and forth on the rails. Their ability to maintain their equilibrium, with a hot skillet in one hand and stirring with the other, while shifting about to allow the sous chef squeezing-by room, is a skill worthy of applause. The food prepared by these masters of their craft is enough to cause any food lover to salivate, just from reading the menu. Below is a sample of the Blue Train menu, but you view it at your own risk, for I accept no responsibility for moisture-damaged keyboards.

On the other end of the scale is the yacht where, on a decent-sized vessel of 120 feet or more, there is a primary galley (kitchen) below deck and a service galley next to the dining area on the main deck, which is accessed via a private stairway, so as not to have soup spilled on the public stairs – the latter of which are often carpeted, internally. I have to admit, I have a fondness for the sea, and have spent some time on the water, both professionally, and for pleasure. The example I am providing for this element is a rather nice 143-foot yacht, L’Albatros, which is currently on the market, and has such an arrangement of two galleys to support the guests.

This ship would be my ideal home-on-the-high-seas. ( I call it a ‘ship’ due to my experience with the captain of a 110-foot yacht, at a Florida marina, where I was an apprentice boat carpenter and, when asking permission to board his ‘boat’ to check the bilge pumps, I was told to stay on the dock until I ‘learned the difference between a boat and a ship.’ ) There is also a bar, on the upper deck of L’Albatros, to refresh those enjoying the sun on its outer deck or an afternoon lunch served al fresco, as well as another service area aft, on the first deck, for covered dining – not to mention the Jacuzzi area on the top deck. All in all, it’s a rather nice arrangement for the guests. The chef and his crew, on the other hand, have less space in which to produce their results than the crew on the Blue Train. Yet, they seem quite capable of providing exquisite meals while at sea, or dockside. You might well imagine what they could provide on a super-yacht, such as the 590-foot Azzam, would likely rival any Michelin four-star restaurant, when one considers the potential.

With the ‘elephant’ that is sitting outside our doors, worldwide, I cannot see myself on a plane, or a train, any time soon. Alternatively, the thought of spending time at sea, and only docking to refuel and renew the ships provisions, is an extremely attractive idea and has been causing repeated daydreams to interrupt my work habits. Unfortunately, I doubt my banker can be enticed to float a loan so I may acquire L’Albatros and enjoy fine dining on board, any time in the near future.

In keeping with my thoughts about dining at sea, tonight’s meal will be very simple: salmon baked with butter, lemon, and herbs de Provence, a side of rice, and a small salad of Romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes and cucumber, in oil and vinegar. Simple fare, made in a small, but homey, German kitchen – on land.