Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Tourist trap on the Cote du Nacre?

Hotel St George, Ouistreham Riva Bella, France

Ferryports are one of the most depressing places in the world. Before the Pope had second thoughts about limbo, and declared that his predecessor had been wrong to assume its existence, I was convinced that the Afterlife's eternal waiting room was like nothing so much as a cross-channel ferryport. Hours of waiting on plastic chairs inside a comfortless and barren hanger of a building, or squirming on the car seat in the dark as everyone else's line of cars moves and yours stays put - that's being in limbo, without a doubt.

So everyone who is consigned to this not-quite purgatorial experience on a regular basis searches for a crumb or two of comfort, by way of some gastronomic compensation. After trying all of the sad and pallid excuses for restaurants clustered round the main car park just before the Brittany Ferries terminal, Pollyanna ventured slightly further into Riva Bella-land and tried the St George.

The night was cold, rainy and Riva Bella itself - the little resort that seems to be invisible to Brits but well-patronised by the French - shuts early. So well before the 7.15 p.m. restaurant opening time, we were huddled in the hotel's tiny bar, squinting at French fashion magazines in the semi-darkness and listening to the screeching of the St George aviary. Roast parrokeet anyone? Yes, please, served 'a point' and silent if possible. A white powder puff was hurtling across the floor and occasionally yapping at the birds, clearly of the mind that saignant or even bleu would do, if only for a bit of peace and quiet.

A member of staff in some form of fancy dress commented gaily - in French - that it was "Noah's Ark in here". Which reminded me of the episode of Fawlty Towers where the hamster beloved by the kitchen staff turns out to be a large and well-fed rat....

Finally allowed into the restaurant, I discover it to be quite empty and utterly silent. An amuse bouche of slivers of what appeared to be gravadlax was delicious, though it would have been nice to have had the wine served with it, and not to have had to wait for a small bread roll until I had almost expired with hunger....though I must admit that it was freshly baked and delicious.

A starter of fish soup was adequate but served lukewarm and the pitiful portion of rouille and cheese - shared between two as well - was a disappointment.

The piece of beef I had chosen as a main course was perfectly cooked (by which I mean it was 'a point' French-style, i.e., medium rare to a Brit). It was tender, flavoursome, everything a piece of beef should be...but it cried out for a more suitable friend on the plate that a large and rather stodgy disc of mashed potato. (In fact, closer scrutiny of them menu revealed several other mains served "Parmentier" i.e., with some mashed spud. Easy on the kitchen, not great on the plate.) There were no other vegetables, and indeed one begins to believe that the mounds of fresh produce piled high in the markets every day are being somehow transformed into something quite different to food....models of Tracy Island perhaps, or the Palace of Versailles made entirely out of root veg.? Has no-one told them about five portions a day? Anyone eating out on a regular basis in France would be lucky to manage five portions in a fortnight.

Come back, haricots verts, all is forgiven. At one point you were ubiquitous, now you are conspicuous by your absence.

I should have mentioned earlier that the staff at the St George speak no English but that the menu is in French with English translations. So when I had ordered the Fondant au Chocolat I had glanced at the translation, as a fondant in France used to be something quite different from the hot pudding which is now almost a cliche in England. (Though the first time I ever ate one, was at the now-defunct and much-mourned Auberge du Pont au Bray, and extremely good it was too.)

I was reassured to see the English words "molten chocolate cake" and ordered it accordingly. I was also heartened by the insistence of the staff that we ordered our desserts at the start of the meal, as a hot chocolate fondant is obviously cooked to order. When it arrived, however, it was the disappointing but traditionally cold (as in icy cold, bring out the Sensodyne) slab of solid mousse. What a blow! And a swizz as well, so that I was at pains to point out to the staff that using words like "molten" of an extremely cold pud might led to heated arguments, or even worse.

They reacted with supercilious sneers - this was a fondant, Madame, no doubt about it, whatever drivel had been written en Anglais, not their responsibility at all.
Fuming, I ate it, feeling like bursting into tears.

The total bill, for two people, including two Kirs and a bottle of Beaujolias Villages, came to 107 euros. (Earlier in the week the ever-reliable Relais de la Poste at St Hilaire du Harcouet has produced another exceptional lunch with a plat du jour of succulent roast smoked pork, as part of the set three-course meal for 14 euros.)

Verdict: value for money - 3/10 service - 2/10 quality of food - 4/10 (for the beef)