Sumptuous feast of fine food and wine
A FAMOUS critic lucky enough to stay with the popular and wealthy novelist Somerset Maugham at his villa in the South of France declared during one visit: "I am silent with pleasure at almost every dish that is put me before me."
Staying in France, I can go one better than the fortunate scribe by declaring that after my gastronomic trip I would not hesitate to drop the 'almost'.
It's perhaps a little outrageous to admit that, if the truth be known, I made a complete and utter pig of myself at table — and enjoyed every single greedy, self-indulgent minute of it.
And I wasn't sick once, although there was a faint suspicion I may have been ever so slightly squiffy on the odd occasion.
Maybe there wasn't complete critical silence with this recent pleasure because several faint belches of approval were not suppressed as successfully as they might have been.
The venue for this sumptuous six-day feast of fine food and wine was the beautiful Canal du Nivernais in the heart of grape-laden Burgundy.
The victuals were all consumed on the luxury barge hotel L'Art de Vivre whose tranquil passage from Clamecy to Baye was featured in these pages just a few weeks ago.
But the crucial eating and drinking element of the trip was deliberately held back to spare readers being drowned in superlatives, either that or there was not enough newsprint to accommodate the author's turgid outpourings.
You can have too much of a good thing. Is there nothing more hateful than reading someone else's rapturous monologue about the wonderful, gut-busting time they had.
The traveller here feels it prudent to act as a kind of canal-side lock-keeper who carefully control discharges — liquid or verbal in this case — to avoid any discomfort.
So, if you are easily upset by someone else's joy, please look away now. And don't say you weren't warned.
The villain of the piece in this classic cooking caper is humble Ken, an overtly modest master chef who corrupted all six barge bums on the languid amble down the peaceful, tree-lined waterway.
We were all lulled by the gentle pace of the ornately revamped vessel. The untroubled chugging of the engine, as it pushed our increasing bulk south, conspired to evaporate all cares to such a degree that the only angst which surfaced usually related to whether the kitchen diva's form might dip slightly from the usual ten out of ten.
He could no wrong. Not only did the food slip down with ease and relish — but it looked so charming on the plate before it did so.
Sunday dinner: St Maure goats' cheese wrapped in jambon d'Aoste with quince paste and a trio of balsamic glazes.
Fillet of pork with parsley potatoes, garden peas and seed mustard sauce.
Bresse bleu and Comté cheeses.
Crème Brulée with macerated strawberries.
Saint Bris and Côteaux du Lyonais.
Just the one complaint — and it's a tiny one. I think four balsamic glazes may have been preferable.
Monday lunch: Chargrilled chicken with a salad of slow roasted vegetables and red and green pesto dressings.
Bleu d'Auvergne and Brie cheeses.
Tira-mi-su.
Chaume blanche and Vézelay.
At this point there is a fair chance that even the die-hards have fallen off the map of munching. It's such a pity because they will have missed:
Monday dinner: Thai-style prawn salad with lime, chilli and coriander.
Rump steak with Dianne sauce, paprika potatoes and Provençal tomato.
Tomme de Savoie and Saint Maure to wash it down.
Steamed lemon pudding with apricot sauce.
Menotou Salon and Auxey Duress, the cheeses.
It's a sad fact of life that even the most-educated palate can't always remember the essence of each plate of goodies sampled.
All good things melt into one complete and satisfying whole, Ultimately, the only surviving sensation is one complete content.
So it was with Tuesday lunch: Tartiflette, charcuterie, garden salad.
Saint Felicien and Abondance – les fromages.
Crêpe suzette followed by Chitry and Coulanges. The Chitry was a white wine which beguiled to such a degree that its impact still remains fresh and vital in the memory. This was probably the best juice of the grape sipped and guzzled on the entire trip. The search for a local supplier continues now with renewed vigour.
The orgy of consumption continued away from the canal at the Auberge de Centre in Monceaux, which received favourable mention in the Herald travel feature a couple of months ago. Oh grub of blessed memory.
Back on board the following day saw an Italianesque luncheon of spaghetti putanesca, Pipe rigate with pesto sauce, peach, pancetta and mozzarella salad.
Cheeses were the homespun Saint Agur and Camembert, both commonly available in UK supermarkets. Pear tart with crème anglaise.
La Ciste rose.
It's worth mentioning that Ken was ably assisted in this act of pleasure by fellow countryman, the divine M, who gave the expectant diners a brief but entertaining account of all the table-groaning titbits about to be consumed. Thanks M. Full name Emily.
And so to dinner, another treat, despite the relentless onslaught of girth-expanding calories.
Pan-fried scallops with saffron sauce.
Lamb kebabs wit Moroccan spices, lemon couscous, red pepper relish and minted yoghurt.
Chaourse and Valençay cheeses followed by plum crumble with vanilla ice cream. Wines were Pouilly Fume and Menotou Salon.
Stay with me on this one because Thursday dinner was a delight. To boot: Risotto with ceps, champignons and truffle oil.
Confit of duck with baked polenta, onion confit and a red wine and rosemary sauce.
Epoisses de Bourgogne and Saint Nectaire.
Blueberry and vanilla roulade. Liquid refreshment here in the delicious shape of Cotes D'Auxerre and Nuits Saint Georges, an old favourite.
The penultimate symphony of sweetmeats and other assorted taste bud teasers saw the unflagging half-dozen down Thai-style yellow curry of chicken and aubergines.
Chêvre chataigner and Beaumont.
Caramelised pineapple with passion fruit sorbet. Wine — Chablis 200 and Jaflin Pinot Noir, a perky little concoction if memory serves, which it never does.
And just when you thought it was safe to volunteer to do the dishes, Ken pops up with the stunning finale, Captain's Dinner, which was:
Seared foie gras on toasted brioche with pear and a ginger and honey glaze.
Baked fillet of salmon with celeriac mash, petits légumes and chive beurre blanc.
The never disappointing cheeses surpassed themselves in the shape of Roquefort and Brillat Savarin.
Chocolate mousse with vanilla foam.
To drink, Saint Aubin Premier Cru and Gevrey Chambertin…because we were worth it.
It goes without saying that those fortunate few on the receiving end of this feeding frenzy were somewhat more portly of frame at the end of the line, which in this case was Blaye.
Such was the richness of the fayre that afterwards I was content to go without good food for days on end, a fast which was broken only by a large dish of corned beef hash — which rather sweetly brings us back to Somerset Maugham whose favourite dish this was.
Paul sailed down the
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