Holy trinity

From time to time I entertain a fantastical idea that one day I might write an autobiographical book. The subject would not be my failures or achievements nor would it be tips and advice. I am still searching for an area of expertise worthy of passing on.

My specialist subject, queue black chair and spotlight, would be eating (unfortunately the catchphrase ‘I’ve started so I’ll finish' is rather too apt for me here).  Not so much the act of eating itself but of those special moments in your life when you experience a standout meal, usual accompanied by very present thoughts of ‘this could not be more perfect’.

And so it seems that a perfect meal must be a holy trinity of three individual elements coming together: The food, the company and the atmosphere. They are gastronomic experiences that become etched in my memory in a place I often let my mind wander to and retrieve. Jamie: “What are you thinking about?”. Me: “Happy eating memories”.

I have a varied array of examples to include in my imaginary book. Some make sense only to me and represent happy points in my life.

There is the suckling pig at our wedding shared with 120 family and friends in Ruth Pretty’s garden.  The donner kebab eaten in a park in Darling Harbour where Jamie uncomfortably put down his tinfoil-encased package and nervously proposed. A beautiful, candlelit traditional Italian meal in an outside trattoria in Venice after which we wandered the streets back to our hotel. A home-kill lamb gifted to us by the farmers at the shearing quarters in Hawke’s Bay where my family has holidayed for 45 years. We dragged a table and candles in to the middle of the paddock to eat the joint that had been simply slow cooked in the oven with tomatoes and onions. The cassoulet my mother made when I was about ten year’s old for a French-themed dinner party for thirty - I dressed up and played waitress.

That’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Today I added to my material. Jamie always refuses to stop at the first restaurants whenever we go anywhere. I’m not sure whether it’s some sort of military training for the kids in dealing with dehydration and starvation. Today he remained resolute as we visited Fontaine de Vaucluse, the largest spring in France (5th biggest in the world) and an absolutely jaw-droppingly stunning place. We traipsed past restaurant after cafe after creperie after glacier. No, keep walking children.

And then once we had resolved ourselves to under-nourishment (the emergency baguette had already been eaten) and managed to find distraction in the beautiful crystal-clear and powerful Sorgue river, we found it. Restaurant Philip. In a shady spot, underneath beautiful majestic trees, with the river literally flowing beside the tables. The setting was made all the more beautiful by the yellow and white colour scheme. I would fall in love with anything offering me sunshine yellow and white stripes. I was already sold.

And it appears I am not the only one.  This father and daughter-run restaurant which has been in the family since 1926 was included in the 2017 Red Michelin Guide.

It was only 11am so too early for lunch. But you are never too early for ice-cream. We splashed out and each had an outrageously large sundae (at 9 Euros each they were worth every cent). We sat for such a long time. No moaning, no fussing. In fact there was hardly any talking. It was an overwhelmingly beautiful location. We were a happy team captivated by the sights and sounds of the water flowing by and the sheer pleasure of lashings of whipped cream in the morning. This is paradise kids. Paradise.

I’ve mentally filed it away. Of course there will never be a book - my lacking writing skills would render me an editor’s nightmare and I’m not sure I could conjure up more than a dozen close family and friends prepared to purchase a copy. But as I may have mentioned once or twice, it never hurts to have outrageous dreams. Perhaps I should focus more on the self-help genre.