Well, it was pretty much of a foregone conclusion. I just knew I hadn’t done as well as I should have at Salty’s first time round. A second try was obligatory. So I popped into the Bugle, splashed out on a Tio Pepe with my young friend behind the bar …
and then slipped between the raindrops across the road to Salty’s.
Tonight, no frou-frou, I was going straight for the good white fish. So Jasper, my own private maitre d’hotel, popped in to see the chef, to check out what was on the menu that really was family-boat-catch-of-the-day, and came back with the good news: sea-bass!
Sigh, memories! La Colombe d’or, St Paul de Vence, France, Christmas Eve .. 1990, 1991 and 1992 … the room almost empty, because all the French were eating at home en famille … and Ian and I ordered sea-bass and champagne…
Champagne, why not? Jasper whisked up a bottle of Chartogne-Taillet, and then my fish turned up. Now that is what I call a fish. That is what I call a meal. Perfect ingredients, perfectly cooked. Bravo, Salty’s chef.
I made my way deliciously through my fish and my champagne, and at (Irish) coffee time Alain, a Belgian yachtsman who’d been devouring lobster alone on the opposite side of the room came and joined me for a bilingual chat. Then Jasper and his colleague Louis finished work for the night..
Since the restaurant was now closed, we descended to Salty’s bar, beneath. I shouldn’t have. This was the time when I should have gone home. But I didn’t. I met the chef and was able to thank him for my fish .. the bouillabaisse? We agreed to differ: his recipe comes from a different part of the coast from mine! I met a couple of other folk too. At length. And it was way after midnight when I tiptoed in the dark up the stairs of Ivy cottage (always remember to suss the light-switch before you go out…) …
Oh, yes. Yarmouth is a dangerously party town. Or is it just Salty’s? Anyway, you want good food and a good time in Yarmouth … don’t say I didn’t point you right.
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