Too many tomatoes in the world!

Tonight there's a new special starter of duck liver parfait (ah that rings a bell, I had really enjoyed its smooth creaminess earlier) but inexplicably it comes with yet another tomato concoction since my first taste of it so now it seems three out of the five starters have tomato in them. The fourth has blue cheese so I guess it's Hobson's choice of Cured Organic Salmon Plate - Braised Fennel, Lemon, Parsley and Caperberry Purée. I really enjoyed my Galantine of Local Game Birds once it had been de-tomatoed so perhaps the scallops can be rescued from their tomato drowning tomorrow, it's worth asking.
The amuse bouche is another quirky dish of Carrot and Ginger jelly with Ginger crumbs and watercress. When presented it did look scarily like a half of tomato but clearly my obsession is affecting me now and I'm seeing things. It could also be compared to an egg yolk deprived of its white. It's firmer than a jelly, and it slices into pleasing golden crescents which work well with the Ginger crunch.


The Cured Organic Salmon Plate - Braised Fennel, Lemon, Parsley and Caperberry Purée wouldn't necessarily be a dish I'd normally choose off the menu. I'm not entirely sure why, I love salmon but its treatment in this case sounds a tad austere. I suspect the thought of the strong tang of the caperberries makes my mouth pucker slightly in my mind. The salmon was really good though, a small slab of translucent moist flakes revealed in every mouthful. They was nicer than I thought but the accompaniments were still a little too feisty for my sadly delicate tastes. But it's good to try something new so I far from regret it.
I can only assume this aversion to bitter, tart or spicy is due to eating rather mild food as a child. At home we'd have something as exotic as even garlic very, very occasionally so my abiding memories of family dinners consist of simple comfort food, cauliflower cheese, fish pie, cottage pie, roast beef with boiled potatoes, sprouts and unusual yet very distinctive untainted-by-meat gravy, boil-in-the-bag cod in butter sauce, Findus crispy pancakes (just wrong but enjoyed at the time I guess!) meat and potato pie (from the chippy), mash potatoes (made from Smash invariably - oh the shame!), bacon butties in white floury 'oven-bottoms', in fact white bread doorstops thickly buttered featured heavily also. Because of regular trips to Paris and my parents many French friends and associates, I think we occasionally dabbled in more French bistro food than my peers, home-made quiche Lorraine with cheese pastry, French onion soup, pâtés, omelettes, soft cheese possibly Boursin, chocolate mousse, thin crêpes and those very fine-crusted apple tarts. We also had a metal rotary cheese grater from Paris, several fondue sets and all the necessary accouterments for consuming snails! This was considered very daring and the mere thought of such decadence to my grandparents would be greeted by a screwed up face and a loud declaration of "foreign muck!" But then they seemed to believe that good clean food came from a can, a mere whiff of tinned boiled potatoes, those flaccid slightly slimy tinny ovoids will instantly transport me back to regimented meals of Goblin steak & kidney pudding (if you ever get the chance, just say "no!"), butterscotch Angel Delight, tinned carrots, being forced to "just have five" tinned grey pea bullets and slices of flabby ham edged with a nasty jelly (you've guessed it from a can). I never had a very happy relationship with milk, when I drank it at home it had to be really cold and not a trace of cream. M would carefully pour off the top layer from the silver topped bottle and squirrel it away for her next coffee. If someone shook the bottle to mix up the cream and the milk, then that bottle wasn't for me. Gold top was always too creamy full stop! Hmmm do I sound rather fussy? School milk was so repellent I struggled daily to get the merest sip down. But my grandparents went one ghastly step further and only had sterilized long-life milk; Which pushed me well over the edge to total milk avoidance. Their attempts to initiate me in the fine art of drinking tea hit a large UHT brick wall. It was until decades later I discovered that black very weak Earl Grey is also tea, so I can join in this tradition now.
Apparently my grandmother used to be a decent cook in her time but by the time she had to feed a reluctant granddaughter for those long summer holidays she had hung up her apron and it had become all about convenience and the dullest grey most undemanding foods. It wasn't until adulthood that I dared to even try a pea again (and still never tinned) and an offer of mushy peas would probably make me run a mile!
Her one saving grace in the culinary arts was a fresh very nutmeg-y and voluptuously wobbly custard tart (maybe you couldn't get those in a can!) and also (possibly out of desperation) she permitted me to have a possibly unnatural amount of strawberry jam sandwiches. She bought only the thinnest of sliced bread which the jam would pleasingly seep through, stain and generally make me very sticky fingered! Some fond food memories but definitely not good preparation for forming an adventurous palate in later life!


My main dish was today's special - Rump of Lamb with Pistachio Cream, Prune Jam, Crusted Potatoes. The lamb was tasty but tricky to cut as a rump can be, perhaps I should have requested a steak knife and saved my fingers battling to produce bite-sized morsels. There was a pleasing subtle crunch to the prune jam which I later discovered was due to the inclusion of figs which made perfect sense when explained as the texture couldn't have been mere prune. The dish had a great flavour and I rather relished the slightly quirky pistachio cream and prune/fig concoction but I do wish I hadn't had to go five rounds with the lamb before it relinquished any meat. Maybe that serves me right for remarking on the bream dish being "almost too easy to eat" yesterday, today I'm exhausted!


After missing out last night I was determined not to be thwarted tonight and I secured an Assiette of Priory Orchard Apple - Apple Tatin, Apple and Blackberry Crumble, Blackberry Sorbet. Though typically tonight it's all about the Orchard Plum and Cognac Soufflé which every other table seems to be eagerly awaiting to emerge from the kitchen. I hear 'sotto voce' repeated apologies and explanations for the delay due to some recalcitrant oven whilst I tuck into my dessert which hasn't sufferered a similar fate. The Tatin tastes as they normally do, with the pastry being a little soaked by apple juice and caramel for the pastry to add the pleasing crunchy texture to the dish I had on Christmas Eve. But then normally the pastry doesn't protrude beyond the apple-y mosaic so of course it will serve as a sponge for all the fruity oozings, which I'm guessing the Tatin sisters had in mind after all. Maybe my recent tatin was an impostor! Tyler has anticipated my craving for crunch and there's a tasty autumnal treat of a darkly berried crumble with an abundance of biscuity topping. There's also a damn fine punchy blackberry sorbet which it's delectably smooth. this is one of the stars of to tonight's meal, the others being the Pistachio Cream and the Prune Jam. Maybe I'm having a purple and green moment!


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A view of the sea from Seaview

My room is up several flights of stairs and I'm very grateful I have help lugging all my luggage up there. There's extra because I couldn't bear to part with some of the more portable items from last night's Hambrough hamper, plus the wine and Champagne I didn't drink which certainly add to the weight.
My room is huge, it has a corridor and a kind of ante-room, sitting room or possibly even dressing room. There's a balcony to admire the view from and the most enormous king size bed. My only niggle is that I wish it looked more like the rest of the house or the pictures I've seen of the other bedrooms on their website. Don't get me wrong it's a lovely, generous, spotlessly clean room but it's reminiscent of what a retired naval captain may spend his twilight years in. There's a crow's nest like balcony with a brass telescope to keep an eye out of the ships at sea (I suspect ferries really!), the walls are a pale (Tiffany?) blue tongue and groove with the odd exposed beam like a mast protruding through all the wood. There are old (treasure?) chests dotted around riveted in brass and the nautical bathroom has a few starfish decorations and shell pictures. A part of me would have like a little more of classic Regency charm I saw in the lounges and drawing room. Perhaps dark wood paneling and a rich red upholstery, or even something chintz (and I thought I'd never say that) but I'm just being greedy maybe such fripperies require an upgrade! So this seafaring haven will be my home from home for the next four nights and I'm very happy to be here. The Priory Bay hotel certainly has a lot to explore; I know, hidden from even my vantage point, is their private beach and I'm hoping for some fine photographic opportunities, weather be kind to me please!
I'm not sure if I descended the same way I arrived, there seem to be pale mustard clad carpeted flights of stairs everywhere but it gave me a chance to explore more of the building before finding where I was going to eat. The dining room is very country house, with extravagantly swagged silk curtains framing the impressive bay window overlooking the terrace, grounds and the sea beyond (if the evening permitted such a view). The three remaining walls are entirely covered with murals of what I can only assume are local scenes of Seaview. There's an intriguing map of the Isle of Wight painted above the grand fireplace, it's either an artistic impression of the island's shape or the Isle of Wight has changed drastically since it was recorded on these walls. Coincidentally a couple of months ago (whilst queuing patiently to get into Karl Lagerfield's quite peculiar photographic exhibit in Paris) I was listening to an old radio broadcast of Dave Gorman's Genius where prospective genii pose inventions, stratagems and crackpot schemes in the vain hope of being recognized as the true genius they believe they are. One such deluded believer had postulated the random scheme of making the Isle of Wight even more symmetrical than it is! To further encourage tourism if I recall. His barmy plot involved erasing Ventnor entirely and possibly attaching it somewhere else on the coast, maybe nearer Yarmouth. The idea was rejected (particularly by the head if the Isle of Wight tourist board who apparently lives in, you've guessed it, Ventnor!) At the time I would had been hard pushed to draw the outline of the island, I'd never considered the geography of this part of our country, but I was informed by the show that it was a flat diamond shape - almost, and clearly not quite enough for the failed genius! Since then finding myself planning a trip here I've done more research and can indeed vouch for the shape and vague layout of the island. For those as unfamiliar as I was I've included a handy map on my first post on December 24th. Ventnor is the 'bump' beneath Shanklin. It's not shown on this particular map as the island's considerable rail network has been decimated over the years and the now one remaining train line takes you in vintage London Underground tube trains from Ryde to Shanklin only. There is a bit of a steam railway but it's for pleasure rather than transportation purposes.
I've heard good things about the new chef here - Tyler Torrance, let's hope his food lives up to the surroundings. On first glance at the menu my horrified eye fell on the word "tomato", twice in the first four dishes. I mean, it's December, very nearly January, they refer to them as "late harvest" on the menu but despite the Isle of Wight's microclimate I have to ask what sort of freakish tomatoes are they cultivating here? Tomatoes should be long dead, they have no business hanging around like gatecrashers to the winter menus. Clearly I'll have to keep my tomato radar honed in case one sneaks up in me, Tyler clearly is a fan of them!


I have the tomato confit excluded from my starter and make my choices. A small very thin wooden cone is brought as an amuse bouche containing I'm informed Cahoon chicken with Gremolata. The chicken is encased in a delicate slightly spicy batter, like a popcorn chicken. It's an intriguing start and I'm looking forward to what's next.


And what's next is the Gallantine of Local Game Birds - Priory Garden Leeks, (Confit Tomatoes), Sauce Soubise. The Gallantine (a cold version of its warmer cousin Ballantine) consists of tasty morsels of Partridge, wood pigeon and grouse bound with a little chicken. Wonderfully devoid of tomatoes but the strong leek taste of tenderly nurtured (very) local vegetable. The sauce Soubise is a lovely subtle onion sauce accompaniment.


My main tonight is the Fillet of Bream - Cauliflower Risotto, Priory Garden Chard, Clam and Saffron Velouté. I think I'd struggle to really discern the saffron but that is fine as I occasionally find the more-expensive-than-gold crocus spice too metallic, dry and grassy on my undeveloped Indian food taste buds. A mound of clams, the tasty little nuggets of the sea, can be rather challenging in numbers but undeniably they add an attractive decoration to a dish. The sea bream was delicate and cooked to perfection and atop of the soft chard and unctuous risotto was a very posh nursery tea. Such as that it was almost too easy to eat, you barely need to chew and after what seems like a moment you glance down at your scraped clean plate and lament "all gone!" Note to self - eat slower!


My waiter recommends the Assiette of Priory Orchard Apple - Apple Tatin, Apple and Blackberry Crumble, Blackberry Sorbet for dessert but that will have to be for tomorrow night as they've all been snapped up by the other eager diners.
Having to have the Chocolate Praline Finger - Swiss Meringue, Chocolate Mousse, Rich Chocolate Ganache instead is far from a hardship however. It may defy all attempts for me to photograph it beautifully, the black hole properties of all that chocolate coupled with the ever decreasing ambient lighting, but it tastes delicious, light yet richly chocolaty.
So definitely so far so good I bid farewell to the attentive restaurant manager feeling pleasantly full, at least I can work a little off climbing those stairs!


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Ticket to Ryde

Well if I was being pedantic it should be a ticket from Ryde, as the fast cat (catamaran) called Night Ryder (yes I know!) pulled into Ryde Pier Head where in mere moments the wonderful vintage London Underground carriages chugged into the platform. And you can buy your ticket onboard, how civilized! And whilst we're talking civilized, the fast passenger ferry had wifi on it, how perfect for those of us who like to be connected to the interweb at all times!
I had been childishly enthusiastic about the displaced tube carriages as wasn't disappointed, these are the ones you might see in the transport museum not whisking Londoners and visitors hither and thither. They have long bench seats and dark wooden clad walls, have a vague musty smell but clearly have been spruced up recently. The pale paintwork is crisp and the distinctive seat upholstery is bright and very free of graffiti. I travelled the full length of the rail network, a whole 23 minutes worth and loved the spotless stations with their quaint metal destination signage and neat fences, have I stepped back in time? It was a curious experience to see the sea from a tube window, your only chance of that on a London tube is if you've managed to board some runaway train, and I may have left a white world but here in the Isle of Wight it's pretty green. There are little patches of snow but the recent rain has washed all the rest away. The sky was streaked deliciously with salmon and satsuma as we crossed over so I'm hoping tomorrow bodes a fine photogenic day.
As the train stopped going all the way to Ventnor back in the 60's the last leg of the journey was by taxi. My driver gave me a great introduction to the area and as we pulled up to my hotel - Robert Thompson The Hambrough - named as such to remind you it's all about the food (Robert is the Michelin starred head chef), we remarked of the wonderful prominence over the sea. I hoped I may be lucky enough to have a sea view and thus be able to admire that enviable view during my entire stay. And much to my delight I'd been upgraded to a fabulous room with a seating area overlooking the sea from two sides and also a huge bathtub also with a sea view.


I believe the rooms have recently been refurbished and have that sumptuous elegance I love so in boutique hotels. There's velvet cushions, a comfy sofa, a bed piled high with satin sequined and beaded fabrics, a great walk in closet that lights up when you open the doors so all your luggage can be magically out of sight and if I was inclined towards coffee, a shiny illy proper espresso machine of my very own. I opted for Champagne instead!


The bathroom has both a rainfall shower and the bathtub with a view, toasty underfloor heating, striking greeny blue glass mosaics and lots of yummy toiletries.
If I lack inspiration for my own entertainment I've got access to a vast DVD library. But i have my much desired wifi so I intend to while away my time blogging - it's well overdue!
One of my favourite touches is a couple of sophisticated matching with the decor (naturally!) Christmas trees for that festive feel. I'd had a taste of their chic yet rich Christmas decorations as we ascended the staircase to my room and I look forward to seeing the rest of the hotel when I emerge for dinner. I had a good feeling about this place before I'd arrived, the website, the excellent customer service I received (tons of advice of getting here and it was all spot on) and the warmest of welcome. This will be a very, merry, both elegant and delicious Christmas I sense! Cheers!


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The coast is my oyster

Before I get too settled in my elegant room I have some missions along the coast and avail myself of the Coasthopper - the handy local little bus service. In my preparations for this trip I considered most contingencies, rain (I packed a raincoat and umbrella) lots of layers and devices to entertain during the inevitable wet and inclement weather. But I didn't count on the days of huge blue skies with the occasional little white fluffy. In fact I'd not considered North Norfolk skies at all and I've been bowled over by their vastness and majesty. I can so see why they refer to the 'big blue sky' here, it really is mesmerising and I taken reams of photographs. The beaches, the fields and the skies have even encouraged ne to capture them artistically (does drawing on the iPhone count?) I love the flatness here, that's why the sky seems endless - there are no towering tall buildings, hills and other impediments to vie for your attention and hinder the view. Despite being such a city girl I did spend many years in the shadow of the Pennines and had the Peak District almost on my doorstep. I'm used to more rugged terrain and the looming hills that often held onto their snow long after ours had melted away into our memories. On an expedition in search of suitable rocks to grace our new rockery I was so surprised to find them still snow capped when I couldn't recall when I'd last seen snow in our garden Here in Norfolk you feel that you've gained a vantage point if you're sat in a people carrier or indeed the Coasthopper. And it's a great way to explore all the local villages. My only niggle is they finish too early to avail of their transportation after dining out.


The hopper conveniently stops at all the places we've also found ourselves at in the last week - the Orange Tree in Thornham, the Jolly Sailors at Brancaster Staithe, Burnham Market, the Cley Smokehouse, the Victoria Inn at Hockham and Wells-next-the-Sea. There's even a stop near The Big Blue Sky which is one of my destinations today. The airy shop is full of objects made in Norfolk and has books about the history of the villages along the coast which I would if I could, pictures of those endless blue skies again, driftwood hewn serving board (also enormously tempting), wooden puffins that D has an eye on, intricate jewellery and one particular piece of shell art I've been hankering for and it's a heart shaped sculpture that will just be perfect for my bathroom. It seems to capture my falling in love with this patch of English countryside and coast and how it caught me unawares when I had a big hole to fill. And I do so adore heart-shaped things.

After my purchase I wonder off back in search of the bus stop but curiously can't find one on the opposite side of the road to where I got off and whilst I'm dithering I see the hopper approaching me and wonder how to make it stop knowing it's half an hour until the next. Almost as if the driver has read my mind he brakes to a stop next to me and asks if he can be of service explaining that there isn't always bustops in these parts. I'm very impressed, that doesn't happen where I come from!

To the manor borne

On waking up from our final night in the cottage we break up the cleaning tasks by a final foray to the Yurt. When we had dinner last night we asked to reserve a table and 'our' table is duly waiting for us. Despite MC's obvious leaning towards his full English we all plump for their ever so excellent sausage sandwiches. We already know that with D and MC with their foresight of bringing their fridge can stock up on these Arthur Howell sausages in Wells. They have also decided to purchase two dozen bottles of Coxes Orange Pippin apple juice that I'm jealously chasing my sandwich down with. After years of normally finding apple juice just above acceptable it was a joy to find one that I loved so much. There is a small fear however that LLcT wouldn't appreciate the finest of this juice and consume it rapidly in a few thirst quenching guzzlings. I can't consider adding further to my already burgeoning luggage by indulging in some bottles to go for the train journey home, that could push me over the edge!

With the cottage all suitably ship-shape again we grab our luggage and part ways. D and MC are off for a couple of nights at the Neptune where we enjoyed a wonderful dinner on our last visit. Then they are booked in for a couple more nights at an Alastair Sawday recommended B&B in Wells-next-the-sea. Feeling that I've gate-crashed their holiday long enough I've booked two nights in 'Basil' at Titchwell Manor. I'm specific about the room as this a major part of Titchwell Manor's charms; they have the original rooms in the main building with panoramic views across the marshes. They also have thirteen new rooms built around their gardens and I was completely taken with the idea of living in Basil for the next two nights. They suggested coriander but not actually liking coriander I thought this could taint my stay so settled on the way more acceptable Basil. And it is very acceptable with a lovely room of wonderful textures and muted natural tones. There are rich stripy rugs on a flagstone floor, a mohair throw here a stack of corded cushions there and luxury - real fuchsias. There are comfy leather armchairs, stone based lamps, a driftwood mirror and even a flat screen TV. The bathroom is gorgeous also with stone tiles of chocolate and biscuit colours, fluffy robes and towels and all manner of yummy White Company toiletries. There's an intriguing crescent shaped window that if you are bothered by the light you can stop with a suitable crescent shaped cushion - how thoughtful! You even get a little trowel attached to your key; though I don't think I'm expected to earn my keep amongst the rosemary and lavender beds outside my window.

For those little home comforts they have provided a tray of bottled water, fair trade Earl Grey teabags, hot chocolate, espresso coffee, a chic Villeroy & Boch teapot and cups and even little home made biscuits in a jar. I think I'm going to enjoy it here!

The only tiny thing I'd like is for their wifi to be extended to their rooms, and that's only because I've been so Internet deprived this week. My work BlackBerry was sadly pretty well connected but Apple on it's O2 network had small brief flickers of connectivity but most of the time was bereft of outside contact. I was shocked really, it's not as if really we're in the wilds or totally cut off from civilisation but O2 can't drum up a decent phone mast or two. And yes I appreciate that many would dream of being cut off from phones and the www but I've realised how many times you use them to make life a little easier. Ringing to make a restaurant reservation, the handy locator if you get separated whilst exploring the higgledy piggledy shops, the obligatory 'happy birthday' text message and then when I have to think about going home, checking train timetables and tube connections at the other end. Maybe I don't normally holiday in places that are remote enough but the only time I can recall being mobile phone-less was whilst out to sea on the Northern cities of Europe cruise M and I did two years ago. All is well though because at least the Internet lack can be sated by retiring to the comfortable lounge or bar in the manor house and I will be able to sort out travel arrangements there but still no phone, it's eerily quiet!

Oh I do like to be beside the sea

We found ourselves sat in the old first class carriage of the steam train that enthusiasts man back and forth between Holt and Sheringham. We'd been trying to find a way to spend our first full day in Norfolk and a bit of steam powered perambulation seemed a fine choice.
I've been trying to cast my mind back to see if I've ever been actually aboard a proper full sized steam train. I've travelled on various fabulous trains in the UK, Europe and the US but we've always had more modern engines to pull (and often push also) our elegant extravagantly decorated rail-running temporary homes. The nearest memory I can conjure up is the coal fire at my grandmother's (always known as little gran) house, the evocative slightly sooty air that also powered her oven. This fire was a constant fascination to me with its dancing mostly orange but occasionally blue flames and and if I was very lucky a warming meat and potato pie lurking inside the oven. We can smell the smoke and occasionally a fleck of smut drifts in the window and threatened to smudge our clothes so despite the authenticity we moved a little away from the window. We only have a short journey on the North Norfolk railway and the stations are a delight crammed with vintage luggage, old enamel signs and a cornucopia of railway memorabilia being poured over by men in railway caps and jackets bearing all sort of gold insignia. From the train we see our first glimpse of the sea beyond the corn fields. When we arrive at Sheringham - the end of the line - there's the whole process of moving the engine from the front of the train as was to the new front of the train and taking on water. This is all accompanied by enormous plumes of steam, ear-piercing tooting on the whistle and much picture taking by passengers, onlookers and steam fans.
Sheringham is rather packed, surprisingly the ding ding dings emanating from the amusement arcades means that some people are not on the beach nor partaking of the finest of crab sandwiches rustled up by Joyful West's. Rather thoughtlessly captured by the shining sun its alluring rays we have furnished ourselves with ice cream cones as we walk to the sea front and sadly have no space to chase this with crab sandwiches and i know they are very good as we had them on a grey August bank holiday on my first ever foray to these parts. The crabs (or swinners I've learnt they're referred to around here) will have to wait for another day!
We soak up some images of the beach and the crashing greeny blue waves to revisit on a gloomy wintry day back home. M always had an infinity with the sea, she said it was because she was a Pisces, I'm not sure if she saw this part of the North Sea coast but I'm sure she would have enjoyed this journey. I couldn't help thinking about M whilst we were on the train also. Our last holiday was on the Grand Luxe railway (sadly no more) exploring the US west coast treasures and all my most memorable treasured train journeys are ones we took together. Especially as we crossed paths of the dining cars on a special Sunday lunch train my mind shot straight back to happy times fine dining on the Orient Express, British Pullman and the Northern Belle.
In preparation for the days ahead we arm ourselves with sheaves of tourist information guides on the local eateries, galleries, shops, museums and touristy delights. MC is rather taken by an exhibition of tanks and D and I make a mental note of interesting shops, delis and restaurants we'd like to try. After a meander around Sheringham we board the last steam train for the days and marvel at how some children are allowed to run wild whooping and running up and down the carriage whilst their indulgant parents look on and no doubt hope their little cherubs will tire themselves out before bedtime. We've had a fun day both on and off the rails and now we just have to consult our guides books for ideas for dining tonight. Ah the tough life of a holidaymaker!

Holiday. Celebrate!

I may have to take it all back, our unpredictable British weather has done good and the sun is out and the sky is blue. I would illustrate this with a snap of suitably sun drenched North Norfolk fields but am struggling with posting pictures to my blog remotely so the on-the-spot pictorial reportage will have to wait until I'm back on home turf. (update - Yey... back to civilisation) But there is no doubt that the golden rays have imbued the day with the holiday spirit and even made us think that perhaps we should have packed that sunscreen after all.
The day started with breakfast that soon became brunch in the popular new canvas topped trellised and ribbed eatery at Drove Orchards. Though perhaps a little too popular as it turned out because the sudden influx of breakfast demanding holidaymakers descending upon their jolly restaurant meant they quickly reached their sausage and bacon sizzling capacity and we had a long stomach gnawing wait for our full English.
They were awfully nice about it however and as MC availed himself of their excellent coffee D and I tried to distract ourselves with the Sunday papers, wondering where in the queue we were and hoping it would be worth the wait.
And thankfully it truly was, the sausages alone were enough to dispel all the inconvenience of delay. The rest of the breakfast was pretty fine also. The deliciously smoked bacon wasn't really to D's taste but MC and I fully appreciated it. The mushrooms were far from those flabby pallid fungi some lesser establishments serve up and were dark and delicious and I hear the tomatoes were pretty good also - if you like that sort of thing! Eager to discover their provenance we were informed that they were Arthur Howell's olde English and are sourced locally from Wells and Burnham Market. We all agreed that they are possibly the tastiest sausages we've ever had and the lure of these will definitely bring us back to the friendly tables of the Yurt nestling amongst the pick-your-own raspberries even if we have to wait a little while for the food. To compound the Yurt's deserved popularity we only just managed to secure a table reservation for dinner on Friday as the rest of the week is spoken for. It has made us think we should consider our options and secure all week's dining experiences.
After being well sated in the way only a full English can we headed off for Burnham Market. Not in search of the aforementioned stunning sausages I hasten to add but as I haven't yet been to the oft-called Chelsea-on-sea and as D and MC had regalled me about the pleasant Saturday afternoon they'd spent whilst I'd been first wrestling with a leak that had sprung in my bathroom and then with London Transport's cunning ploy to thwart the wary weekend traveller by closing lines and other skullduggery. But if course it's Sunday now and many of the intriguing browse-worthy shops have drawn their blinds for the traditional day of rest so we head forth for other adventures.

The mobile fork

Multiple-brothered J thinks my blog needs a greater sense of urgency which is a fair point especially considering the dreadful delinquency in my postings recently. I'm finding life rather tricky to handle at the moment and random musings seem to be one of the first casualties of that state of mind. But on the second leg of my journey that will take me back to Holme-next-the-Sea where I'll commence my 'staycation' I thought I'd see if my lovely new Apple iPhone could be deployed in such an exercise. Apart from the previous weekend foray to Norfolk all my trips this year have been borne of need and duty, desperate dashes to hospital bedsides and all the related to-ing and froings that ensued. This is a train journey albeit more tortured than I hoped due to the incessant need to reorganise part of the railway network every weekend. I got to visit a part of south London which I wouldn't normally find myself, and remained relatively unscathed apart from being somewhat annoyed by being forced to undertake such a preposterous detour. My lofty plans of fine dining were curtailed by the delay and being utterly unable to find acceptable tomato and mayonnaise free sandwiches in the paltry time remaining before boarding my train. But the rest of the week lays ahead strewn with culinary delights so a night off is probably a good thing. Though I have to admit a pang of jealousy knowing D and MC are planning vinegar-soaked parcels of fragrant fish and chips.
Pondering my ruminations on staycationing yesterday I forgot to add that I am fortunate enough to live in a place where at least our ancestors (though not particularly ancient I hasten to add) would take their holidays. It was a popular pleasure spot where some would 'take the waters' whilst others would visit the cloth merchants, tailors and seamstresses in order to procure next season's wardrobe. The wells of spa waters have since dried up, the cloth merchant's buildings now house a department store and my least favourite supermarket but on a balmy Saturday night the crowds will still happily swarm to the rivers edge. I suspect the water they take now has been brewed by Germans or perhaps fermented in barrels by Chileans but the expectant buzz of an evening of felicitous escapades remains.
Due to D and MC's handy situation I am now a regular-ish visitor to Cambridge and even after eight years of these trips still feel like I'm on holiday on every visit.

Staycations - the new black!

It has become terribly fashionable to eschew the lure of bustling airports, cumulating air miles and foreign shores in favour of our more local coastlines and Sainsbury’s sent me this delightful edible map of the British Isles as an incentive to discuss this phenomena. I might be quite unique in my lack of experience of domestic holidaying – my father’s airline job meant that as a child we got to sample the exotica of Greek islands, Perth – Australia, France and many miles and states of the US. Whilst my peers were discussing caravanning and camping in the Isle of Wight, Guernsey and Wales I had never experienced these types of holidays so couldn’t share their reminiscences of rock pools and buckets and spades. Though this isn’t entirely the case as I was taken for day trips to Southport, Buxton and Blackpool by my grandparents but my donkey riding exploits are very few and far between.
Coincidentally I have taken the trendy step of delaying my much anticipated photography holiday in the Dordogne for a week in ‘sunny’ Norfolk. And therein lies the rub, those of us familiar with a British summertime know how unreliable the ‘summer’ weather can be and have been seeking more dependable climes for our hard-won summer holiday fortnight for years but now the general consensus is that in these straightened times we should pack our waterproofs, our umbrellas and be more faithful to the rich diversity of rain-soaked destinations on our doorstep. And yes, I could just be being dramatically gloomy; we do have fabulously sunny days in Britain- sometimes. I’ve seen them on the front pages of our red-topped newspapers accompanied by pictures of happy people cooling off in municipal fountains, or packed like ants on the beaches complaining of a lack of deckchairs and nursing blistered foreheads. The latter is due to the unfortunate pastime many have, myself included, resorted to due to the vagaries of our weather – the act of sun binging. If like our continental cousins we could expect day after day of unbroken blue skies we could ration our sun worshipping to acceptable levels and sensibly build up a healthy glow. But when the sun graces us with its presence the temptation to soak up every last ray not knowing when it will be back round again is curiously compelling. Like many others, I have over indulged by the simple act of taking a book to the park and absorbing too many hours of precious sunbeams and then regretting it the next day when my sun gorging has carved its revenge on my pale skin. Generally now I am more sensible, we know what dangers lurk in such practices so I favour my sunglasses and large brimmed hats rather than bronzed limbs.
I guess if we had reliable seasons we’d never discuss the weather and everyone knows the British are always curiously obsessed with weather. We rejoice when an unseasonal day raises our temperatures above those of a typically hotter spot or we contact our relatives back home and hear of wind and rain whilst we are toasting ourselves faraway.
So really the only way we can possibly embrace a more domestic holiday is get beyond the weather and appreciate all the other delights Britain has to offer. And we truly do, the rugged coastline of Cornwall has understandably sent our painters and authors in to raptures for many a year. The lush green mountains and endless pools of the Lake District have enamoured many others. The islands and highlands of Scotland have awestruck many and our native flora and fauna have much to inspire. We can stay in quaint sandy stone cottages or rambling manor houses and marvel at the towering majesty of the country’s castles and ancient monuments. Those of us that live in the cities can abandon commuting, the train strikes and the pollution in search of peace in the countryside where you are woken up by over-enthusiastic cocks crowing and not car alarms. Those who have cows and sheep as nearest neighbours can leave off jam making for a few days and soak up the bright lights and shiny baubles of the cities.
And wherever we go in Britain we can celebrate the food. It seems that we are now so keen to assimilate the food we experience on our foreign travels into our own culture we have almost forgotten what truly rich pickings we have closer to home. There is no asparagus to beat our own when it’s in its too short season, our strawberries are just the most tastiest and perfect and with the upsurge in allotments and the urging to ‘dig’ ourselves out of our current predicament we are able to appreciate how our native vegetables should taste when it not all about uniformity, year round yields and air freight. Our shorelines are still swimming with the plumpest of seafood, our beef (despite scares) is the finest and there is a cornucopia of regional delicacies waiting to be unearthed and honoured. And just think without this need to hurtle myself halfway across the world I won't have to endure a moment in an airport, be asked if I packed my bag or ponder what on earth is my airline meal supposed to be emulating.
As I plan for my ‘staycation’ as well as ensuring that I’m covered for all that Mother Nature might fling at me I am rather excited about the luscious freshly picked crab and other seafood that lay ahead, the samphire and other sea salads so championed by Mark Hix (himself proud proprietor of a seafood restaurant in another staycationning hotspot – Lyme Regis) and other culinary delights that await. I have been combing local guides for new restaurants to discover as well as few old favourite we are planning to relive. I might not come back with a tan but I will be well-fed, I better pack my fork! Happy staycationing one and all!

Next-the-sea?

D and MC had suggested I joined them in Norfolk at the cottage they were renting off D’s friend H. I didn’t ask where it was but I did know though that it was somewhere near to King’s Lynn as that was the train station they’d fetch me from. I figured that it would be near Hunstanton, the seaside resort of their youth that I’d been introduced to a couple of years ago which was almost right but to be precise the cottage is actually in the quaintly named village of Holme-next-the-Sea. The premise seemed to be that it was very close to the sea but not on the coast, Holme-near-the-Sea if you will. I kept wanting to say “next-to-the” but apparently that’s not the local way!
The weekend of ‘fruits de mer’ dining delights was kicked off with a visit to their favourite fish and chip shop in Hunstanton knowing full well that fish and chips always taste better with salt in the air and the distinctive call of an occasional seagull circling overhead. Even Heston agrees hence the deployment of iPods preloaded with the prerequisite aural delights of waves crashing and gulls crying as you savour his taste of the sea!
Feeling determined to honour my Northern roots I persuaded D to let me get some sliced white bread and butter to ensure the treat was complete.
As it turned out this was just the first meal we were to enjoy. We had already secured a table at the delightful Neptune for Saturday night and were fairly sure that the day would start with a big breakfast and it did because we headed for Deepdale Café in Burnham as soon as we surfaced. Nothing would persuade MC to alter his intention to tuck into ‘The Big Breakfast’ but D and I had set our little epicurean hearts on Eggs Benedict and when we were thwarted when it transpired that they don’t do that with eggs we plumped for an omelette of locally smoked haddock and Parmesan instead. It was suitably plump and held fat flakes of soft tasty smoked haddock in its depths and set up it fine for the day ahead. We’d had to wait a while for a table as the popularity of this café had got many a family, party of soon to be surfers and visitors heading for their extensive breakfast menu. As we queued D had furnished herself with a pile of local information pamphlets and magazines and on leafing through them some intriguing and attractive items apparently available in the market town of Holt soon decided our next port of call.

Wide eyed and jetlagged!

Okay I am back! Well certainly in body if not entirely in mind. What is it with me and jetlag? I have visited some fabulous new places, revisited a few old friends, met many lovely new people (and a few frankly way beyond mild eccentricity!) I have enjoyed many delicious meals and just a couple that were only rather average but all will indeed be revealed!

I need to set down my fork for a while and pick up a pen (well metaphorically as I generally type my blog) but I have so many tales to tell and I promise that once the fog has cleared slightly and my email inbox looks less bulging I will be furiously blogging.

Just as a taster - there was chilli with everything, eating at the top of the world, an extended tour of the lesser known Amtrak stations, wondering if the shower would ever stop moving, traversing several US states, being called ma’am more times a day than maybe the queen, spectacular jaw-dropping scenery and a great train – but thankfully, no robbery!

A train with a view

So with much relief we're back on our beloved train, the Sacramento station platform got old very quickly. And we’re not moving until we get off the train for the very last time, so we're going to make the best of the rest of our journey. We look at the itenary for the rest of the day and decide the Cheese & Wine event in the New York observation carriage sounds a tad more scintillating than some talk on the history of the American railroad. I appreciate that not all the passengers would agree with me and would possibly strike me with a sleeper or something but then the clue is I write a blog about food not rolling stock.
So the "steam-heads and cheese dodgers headed for the domed roof of the Copper Canyon Observation car and M and I swayed and gently staggered the entire length of the train to New York.
This was the first time we'd been to New York, we'd clicked with Mark on our first night in the Seattle baby grand piano bar car when he ever so deftly whipped up a couple of Kir Imperials so we hadn't felt the need to be disloyal.
But it was a great spot and the back of the train had panoramic picture windows to allow us to admire the magnificent scenery developing around us. And what a revelation this was, we entered a national park hitherto unknown to me called Shasta National Forest and it felt like we were the only ones there.
The train track cut a swathe through the secluded forests and over the bridges spanning the verdant valleys past sparkling rivers and the odd American bald eagle. And as the wine was poured the beautiful scenery continued mile after mile after mile.
We chatted to the Chicago contingent celebrating a special birthday by taking this train journey. Only recently (and I ashamed many months after I drank wine in this gently swaying bar (or was that us?)) I discovered a small white plastic bull formerly attached to neck of a Spanish wine bottle in my handbag. How I ended up with it remains a mystery, I suspect the Spanish concrete factory loving architect had more than enough a felt like sharing his bully booty.
The afternoon stretched on, observations on some of our fellow passengers were exchanged, I'm naming no names but stars of this conversation just had to be the man who travelled with nothing more than a briefcase for a week's trip (a clothes hating accountant perchance?) and the unusually hirsute-ly favoured lady with the outfit that was quite curious on the first night but when we saw it every other day was clearly such a favourite with her that she had stashed away multiple versions of it or really she only possessed one outfit. Well it saves on packing I guess.
As the conversation, red wine and tranquil rivers continued to flow, the miles of idyllic scenery rolled by our windows. If I was back home now we would have run out of country and plummeted into the English Channel but we're in Big Country now. Apparently 1.2 million acres of big country I found out later – this is indeed a huge park!
As we snaked our way around the forest one of the action shots we were all trying to capture was the front of our 21 carriage train from our vantage point in the last carriage. And despite the abundant wine I think I managed to grab the shot I desired.
The cheeses weren't as bad as I feared because excuse my ignorance of American cheese because all I could think of was Monterey Jack or cheese that can be squeezed from a tube. And yes I know the English have also committed more recent processed travesties in the name of cheese but if you can forgive the modern aberrations we've committed but only focus on Montgomery Cheddar, creamy Double Gloucester, crumbly Cheshire and Wallace and Gromit's favourite Wendsleydale to name a very small few. But I have to be honest I'm not always true to my British cheesy comestible roots when constructing a cheese board and seem to be veering towards my current fads of eye-watering expensive hence elegant wedge of the finest truffled Brie and also a good hunk of Grana Padano. Though I always ask in cheese shops if they have any Flower Marie, which is a stunning English cheese but sadly rare so generally I'm told that they do not have any. But I don't know much about American cheese but none of the cheeses looked like it could have 'string' in the name so I figured I had nothing to fear. But really the wine was the best part of the cheese and wine event.
It was just the perfect way to spend our last afternoon on the Grandluxe train, meeting new friends, sharing the odd bottle of wine and swapping our memories of the trip so far. As much as I loved the places we’d explored both old and new, I would have appreciated more time to enjoy the process of travelling by train. As we didn’t have many miles to cover much of the journeying was at night, good for navigating around the train easily but o so for scenery watching. In fact due to our impressive size of train we were often relegated to the dullest of sidings whilst ‘parked up’. It was with some sadness we tore myself away from this comfortable hideaway and made our way back to our cabin to change for dinner. Not that you have to change for dinner, in fact I believe some passengers didn’t change at all from one day to the next but any chance for a little sparkle, M and I are happy to oblige.
Thank you to the Shasta National Forest for reminding us why we love to holiday by train so much – you get to enjoy both the destinations and the getting there. And no-one apart from the most avid of plane-spotters can really enjoy the process of airport travel at the moment, especially international travel – unless of course you have a fondness of queuing and a predilection for being frisked! This is so much more civilised, no mad rushing just being fabulously pampered whilst pootling around the countryside – just bliss!

Wining and Training

We may have been cavorting around lesser stations of San Francisco until rather late last night but today we’ve got revel in more gourmet food, wine and then just in case we aren’t feeling lavished enough we have a rather fabulous Champagne tasting. What more could a diva desire?

The first part of our day starts with wine tasting in the Napa Valley Wine Train station where we could stocks up on all things grape-related if we weren’t anxious about excess baggage but M does find a rather fetching hat. It is the sort of perfect Californian day for wearing a big brimmed hat yesterday’s fog is left behind in San Francisco, I am happy to oblige and M can now join me in the shade.

The curious thing about our journey on the Napa Valley Wine Train is that we get off one luxurious train and then board another. Many of the other passengers have however arrived by car so the novelty of dining on a train is more apparent; however I am not the slightest bit jaded by all this magnificence and am looking forward to what delights we have for lunch.

As our suitably burgundy wine coloured train carriage named ‘Chardonnay’ starts snaking its way through the golden slightly Provençal style scenery we started on our intriguing plate of Cold Summery Canapés.

Next we enjoy the Soup du Jour, which rather fortuitously turns out to be a tasty Lobster Bisque with not an excessive use of tomato.

For the main course we have a choice of: Roasted Beef Tenderloin with Gorgonzola Cheese & Cabernet Red Onion Marmalade in a Red Wine Shiitake Mushroom Sauce ~or~ Roasted Green Peppercorn Encrusted Pork with Sautéed Chard and Fried Plantain in Pork Cabernet with Cranberry Apple Chutney ~or~ Grilled Chicken Breast with a Orange Carrot Baby Corn Sautee on Grilled Bread ~or~ Grilled Salmon Served over Pappardelle Pasta and Sautéed Spinach In Champagne Ginger Cream with Crayfish Cake ~or~ Spinach and Eggplant Wellington with Yam Stuffed Gypsy Peppers. M and I continue the fishy theme and chose the Grilled Salmon Served over Pappardelle Pasta and Sautéed Spinach in Champagne Ginger Cream with Crayfish Cake. The salmon is lovely, not quite to the heady standards on ‘our’ train but we have being truly spoilt at every meal so other restaurants have a lot to live up to.

But you cannot beat the scenery, the train carriage have arched vestibules that beautifully frame the stunning little vineyard vignettes appearing alongside our train.

I didn’t realise how soothing these endless neat rows of vines are as we sweep majestically across the plains enjoying our Crème Brulée and Chocolate Cake with Toffee Sauce in the mahogany panelled lounge car accompanied with a little choice honeyed dessert wine.

After our relaxed meal we have to disembark from the wine train and start more wine tasting, but this time with bubbles!