Dinner for one please, James ...

.

Or, rather, Charly.

One of the glorious things about my Winter Palace (and there are plenty of glories!) is that you can get so well fed. And that is, to me, one of the basic necessities of life. I’ve related before, how that great gourmet, Gerry Bordman (American Musical Theatre), berated me – after taking me on a tour of the best restaurants of the Côte d’azur, in the 1980s – ‘you don’t CARE about food’. Well, dear Gerry is dead and gone, but if he could see me now … he’d be proud. I care hugely about food. I am a devoted ‘foodie’. And I don’t mean complex, show-off, ‘Masterchef’-style food, I mean glorious, fresh, tasty food with a real, home-made touch …

So, last night, after having demolished a delicious Gordon’s gin, with fresh limes from the market and home-made ice, on the Palace patio, I decided to treat myself to dinner out.

We are just days away from the Winter solstice, so it’s dark at 5.45pm …. But the fingernail moon was out, and there are restaurants just beyond ‘my lawn’ (well, it’s really the village green) so I grabbed my trusty walking-stick and set gallantly forth.

Hmm, the Italian and the Burger Joint have gone on winter hols. Good old Tom, the Chinese, is gamely open, and I’m saving Sunny and Rams’s Indian for when my vegetarians arrive. Which leaves, tiens! How did you guess? What a coincidence. The French Pan Tree.

Now, I’ve written about the French Pan Tree before, but when Cyclone Renee heard I was headed that way, she messaged: ‘take photos, that way I can pretend I’m there!’. So I did. And here’s my evening in pictures.

Settled in my little corner table and … a glass of very nice blanc de blanc …

The delicious beef carpaccio of the house, glistening with citrus …

Another glass of that blanc de blanc please ..

Goodness this is supposed to be the off-season. The place is filling up. I asked the granny with her little girl if I could photograph them (it’s so good to see the young being introduced, as in France, to Good Food) but she looked at me as if I were an heterosexual deviant and said ‘no’.

Main course. Jewfish. Oh my! Oh my, my, my.

Blanc de blanc no 3 …

Am I just in a good mood, or is that just THE best bit o’ fish I’ve eaten in aeons?

Can’t finish there! A little heap of Comté … a little glass of calvados …

Pop out the back and hug the chef. And his wife. That was one perfect ‘me’ dinner. Sigh.

Now down the hill … the moon’s still there, with its bright star … there’s Orion … er … wait a moment … how many moons does this planet have …

100 metres to go … and home.

And what! Nephew Harry has arrived in town .. well, come Wednesday I might have to introduce him to these delicacies! OK, OK, Renee .. he’s your son! So you can come too … but I think we may have to book. The news is clearly getting around ...