SRT2014: Spain & France

So, instead of our usual route to Italy (Old Kent Road, channel tunnel, France/Belgium/Germany/Switzerland) we found ourselves in the Basque region of northern Spain.  The plan now was to spend some time in San Sebastián, before making our way down the French (autoroute) side of the Pyrenees, a further stop in the Languedoc/Provence region, and then drive all along the South coast of France until we hit Italy. 

San Sebastián 

This was a place we had been keen to savour for some time.  As a pair of food buffs we had heard tales of Basque cooking and the amazing seafood and tapas ("pintxos") to be enjoyed.  Perhaps we should really have made it here prior to The Boy's arrival, but hey he loves a tapas bar crawl as much as the next one year old, so he was very much along for the ride.

We stayed at the NH Aranzazu hotel, near the Onderetta beach.  A quick word on the NH chain of hotels: they can be found in many large European towns, and we would highly recommend them.  We have stayed in four different ones now (Budapest, Turin, Seville - and now San Sebastián) and they have all been immaculately clean, well located, spacious, and hugely generous with their breakfast offerings.  I believe they are operating in the same mid-upper price bracket as Mercure, Novotel and Holiday Inn. 

San Sebastián is an easy city to navigate.  There is one main road into the commercial centre, which also takes you straight to the beach and sweeps along the bay front to the old town.  The beach was a revelation.  I had heard so much of San Sebastian's gastronomy, I hadn't realised it also boasted one of the best city beaches in the world.  The town occupies a sheltered bay (complete with island), and along the entire shoreline is a wide sandy beach.  There must be at least a mile of sand to enjoy, with certain areas marked out especially for families, serious swimmers, boaters, surfers, etc.

Our hotel was very near the western edge of the Ondaretta stretch of beach, which is deigned for families: parasols and deck chairs, snack bars, play equipment, showers, and a full lifeguard station.  Once we managed to drag The Boy away from the choo choo train  climbing frame, he quite enjoyed dipping his toes in and jumping over the gentle waves.  The Husband and I took turns having a proper swim, and I loved the liberation of a sea swim in warm waters with the comfort of a lifeguard nearby.  A quick rinse in the communal beach shower and we were ready to saunter along the promenade towards the old town and its famous bars.

Perhaps it was our sky-high expectations but I actually felt a tiny bit disappointed by our (first) pintxos experience.  They looked amazing, a huge array laid out over an old-fashioned bar, but clearly they had been on display for some time - so the Serrano-wrapped prawns, morcilla, croquettes and other delicacies were all stone cold.  My advice?  If you don't have responsibility for a restless toddler, then relax a while and prop up the bar with a cold cerveza - then nab the best-looking plates as soon as they appear from the kitchen.

Our second day (we stayed three nights in total) was more successful: we had booked lunch in a neighbouring town, upon a friend's recommendation.  El Kano, in Getaria, is a seafood restaurant, employing the traditional barbecue grill that is typical of the region.  Getaria itself is reached via a spectacular coastal road from San Sebastián - and, although much smaller, has its own beaches and winding old town to explore.  Our lunch (and subsequent ice cream) here was great, and really gave us a feel for Basque food (in particular, hake "neck"). 

Further tapas explorations, back in San Sebastian, yielded: sublime vegetable tempura-like fries, bacala cod, pork cheeks, and gazpacho. 

Carcassonne 

We chose to break our journey south with two nights at Des Trois Couronnes in Carcassonne.  We chose this hotel primarily for its secure underground parking, on-site restaurant, and small swimming pool.  The room was much smaller than at the NH, but perfectly serviceable.  We made good use of the pool, and the restaurant.  

Carcassonne is famous for its medieval walled city, and it really is impressive.  It is also well known for its cassoulet, a homemade version of which is served at even the most basic of restaurants.  

But don't bother trying the "renowned" creperie La Ble Noir - unless you happen to have made a reservation.  I was prompted to write my first-ever Trip Adviser review after we were turned away (from a completely empty restaurant) when we only wanted a very quick bite.  I don't know, I respect their reservations policy, but aren't crepes "fast food"?!  We left, shaking our heads at the French, their attitudes towards tourists, and their precarious economic productivity...

Domaine Des Clos

Onwards, to somewhere completely different.  We found this hideaway about five years ago, on the way back from an earlier road trip, around Corsica and returning via the Marseilles ferry.  Domaine Des Clos is a renovated provencal farmhouse, between Beaucaire and Bellegarde, near the attractions of Nimes, and the Carmargue (think: lavender, lace, Provençal herbs, white horses and flamingos!).

Des Clos offers utter peace and quiet (if you don't mind a background hum of crickets), and a complete escape from the world.  It is charming and rustic enough, without being kitsch.  It is neither a B&B, hotel or collection of gites - but incorporates the best elements of these all.  That is, you can enjoy a delicious breakfast laid on in the beautiful converted stable block, while also having your own kitchen and dining room.  You can enjoy the inviting swimming pool in the company of other rampaging toddlers, while also finding quiet spots in the extensive grounds all to yourself.  The grounds are completely safe (there are even child-proof locks on the swimming pool fence), and you can even find a trampoline and sandpit.  Twice a week (in July and August) you can join in the fantastic "table d'hote" cooked by owner Sandrine.  

It is just a lovely, welcoming, place to escape with a young family.

We felt completely rested after three nights here, and ready to tackle the drive along the French Riviera towards Genoa. Unfortunately, by this point, we were racing to get The Husband to a dentist (long and boring story) so we could only just clock the famous place names as we passed along the winding autoroute: Cannes, Monaco, Nice, Monte Carlo, Cap D'Antibes.

SRT2014: "Cruise"

They have a reputation for garishness, vulgarity, obesity and premature aging.  But, to be honest, the thought of a cruise has always been quite appealing to me: cocktails in the lounge, strolls around the deck, dinner at the Captain's table, and all the time in the world to while away.  What could be so awful?  Sadly, this same concept is The Husband's idea of hell on earth: norovirus-y, vomit-inducing, captive, claustrophobic hell.  So I'm not getting my cruise any time soon.

But wait!  What's that you say?  There's a 20 hour car ferry crossing from Plymouth to Spain?  On a huge ocean-going vessel with cabins, restaurants, swimming pool, and entertainments?  We are IN.  The Husband didn't even hesitate: here was a way to satisfy his wife's longing for some sort of cruise, while also getting us to the continent relatively easily.  And it was only 20 hours, so if it all turned into his idea of Hell he'd (probably) cope.

After our lovely week in Cornwall, we made the short trip to Plymouth.  The queue of cars waiting to board the Brittany Ferries ship gave us an idea of its scale.  It took several hours to get everyone on (apparently this is an exercise in brain and computer power, involving several complex algorithms to decide exactly which vehicle needs to be stowed where on the THREE car/freight decks).

Once on board, we headed straight to our cabin.  Sadly, this wasn't in the "Commodore" area (complete with double beds, complimentary fruit baskets and private balconies) but we did have a "large 2/4 berth" which was spacious enough for being in a boat, and had a surprisingly normal ensuite shower and WC.  We both had comfy pull-down single beds - The Boy in a specially-provided travel cot between us.  There was even room for two more bunks above us (although if these were occupied the cabin would have felt seriously on the small side!).

Ok, enough of the cabin.  What about the rest of the "Pont-Aven"?

Well - The Boy and I were giddy with excitement.  He was running up and down the corridors shouting CHOO-CHOO TRAIN!!! at the top of his voice, completely oblivious to the fact he was on a boat.  We went for a good walk (run!) around the main passenger areas, spotting: a soft play room, numerous highchairs throughout the cafes and restaurants, delicious looking pastries (all the catering and staff onboard were French), a glass fronted atrium, small swimming pool, piano bar, beauty spa, cabaret lounge, and more...  

Glancing at the prices, I noted they were remarkably reasonable: £3.95 for the "cocktail of the day" (a punchy Caiparinha) for example.  While the self-catering option looked fine (pizzas and panini based), we followed those-in-the-know to the reservations queue for the main restaurant.  At £25.90 for a buffet starter, main course, buffet dessert and cheese, it was justifiably popular.  Choosing the early 6.30pm sitting, I even managed to procure us a window table.

This left us just the right amount of time for some children's entertainment (including an introduction to ship's mascot Pierre the Bear), a drink and a wash before dinner.

Dinner did not disappoint.  The French know how to lay-on a buffet and to be honest if you had ordered the alternative a la carte starter and dessert you would have been disappointed!  I crammed my starter plate with pate, salami, salads, stuffed peppers, ceviche, souffle and more.  The Husband went wild on the fresh langoustines.  Main courses were less exciting, but just a prelude to the jaw-dropping dessert table.  Here, I initiated a colour-coordinated "wheel" of tastiness.

Dinner and an early night were quite enough for us, but if you had the energy you could have been entertained all night long with singing, magic, bingo, more singing, and a disco.

The next morning there was still plenty of time for strolling around the outside decks, and even some dolphin (or were they pilot whales?) spotting across the Bay of Biscay.  We also made good use of the soft play room.  Looking around our fellow passengers, we remarked just how many (the majority?) seemed to be other young families off on their holidays. Of the retired people onboard, most seemed to be grandparents attached to an extended family group.  It certainly all felt much more like Disney than Saga.

We arrived on time in Santander, waved goodbye to the Pont-Aven and vowed to come aboard again soon.  What a great, alternative, way to reach Spain!

Summer Road Trip 2014: Cornwall

We started our Summer Road Trip 2014 (TM) with the in-laws, in their rented holiday cottage near St Mawes, Cornwall.  In fact, we based the first continental leg of the trip on this location, choosing to take the long car ferry from nearby Plymouth to Santander in Spain (more on the ferry crossing in a later post).  But first - to Cornwall!

The drive: SRT2014 Stage 1, Sussex to Cornwall

After a lovely busy day spent with friends at their beautiful baby boy's christening in Sussex (The Husband had one of the starring roles!), we got The Boy into his jim-jams, fed, and into the car seat with his bottle of milk at around 6pm.  Leaving at this time worked out really well, as The Boy slept most of the first half of the drive, waking as we approached our planned pit stop (Dorchester McDonalds).  The second half of the drive was less successful sleeping-wise, but at least the traffic was flowing (by now around 9pm driving through Devon) and we got to test out the iPad seat bracket /toddler entertainment system we had jerry-rigged for him (successful).

The Cottage

I'm not going to give away the exact identity of this small hamlet and row of prettily thatched farm cottages - it's a well-kept secret and we intend to keep it! :)  It is nestled amongst hilly farmland on the Roseland Peninsula, across the bay from St Mawes and above a well-hidden beach, reached only via precarious cliff paths and ropes.  The farm, and many of the surrounding cottages, are now owned by the National Trust. We arrived late at night, but already the contrast with central London was clear: the bright starry sky, the owls hooting... We could not ask for a more peaceful setting.

The best aspect of this tiny two-up, two-down cottage was that once you closed the gate to the cottage path, it was completely enclosed and safe for The Boy to run around.  He could run in and out of the four cottages, up a few steps to a huge garden and orchard, all backing onto a ready-to-be-harvested barley field.

The Boy was in heaven, and we barely felt the need to ferry across to St Mawes itself (we did once or twice, just for the fresh saffron buns and pasties!).  We sat in the garden, watching The Boy run and play (he had not only one set of grandparents, but also some dear family friends and a neighbour's kindly border terrier).  We let him run wild.  We indulged his fascination for tractors by letting him watch the harvest "up close".

The Beaches

If the North coast of Cornwall has the surfing and Rick Stein, then the south side has the unspoilt beaches. We visited several along the peninsula, but one in particular stands out: Porthcurnick Beach, with the "as featured on TV!" Hidden Hut (see its website here: http://www.hiddenhut.co.uk/ ).  The swimming was bracing, but the waters crystal clear and inviting.  The Boy splashed in up to his knees which was a great start.  We dried off and headed up the cliff steps to the Hidden Hut: essentially an outside catering unit, serving delicious, freshly prepared food to the beach crowds.  It wasn't cheap, but then we are so accustomed now to trendy London street food, £9.50 for a delicious Goan Seafood Curry didn't strike us as unusual.  We were glad to have ordered our food early (lunch is served from noon) as by the time we were tucking in, the queue was snaking around the tables and perilously close to the cliff edge.  With The Boy now happily napping, we lingered a while before strolling back to the car.

Trelissick Gardens

A quick note - we did make use of our new National Trust membership status in Cornwall, but only the once!  With The Husband nursing a toothache (don't ask: long story that begins with a root canal during our honeymoon), I took The Boy for a mother-and-son day out at nearby Trelissick House and Gardens.  It was a forty minute drive, including a ride on the King Harry Ferry (a simple "floating bridge" chain ferry - with spectacular views up and down the Fal estuary).  Trellisick itself (the little of the grounds I actually saw while managing a hungry and petulant toddler) was lush and elegant.  In a year or two's time I can imagine us happily stomping around the well-marked "woodland walk" (around 4 miles according to the map).

The Verdict

The Husband and I agreed that Cornwall was just the start to SRT2014 we needed: peaceful and relaxed for us, but a wild adventure for The Boy.  He spent all day, every day, outside running around, often in the company of adored friends and relatives.   We ate well, slept magnificently (hardly any TV and absolutely no traffic noise!) and felt all the better for it.  Ready to pile back into the car for Stage 2.

Afternoon tea at The Goring

Last week The Husband and I finally used our vouchers for afternoon tea at The Goring Hotel (expiring this month, as they were for my birthday last year!).  You may not have heard of The Goring, but you might remember it from the Wills & Kate wedding three years ago: the Middleton clan took over the whole hotel for Kate's pre-wedding preparations (complete with specially-constructed press black out canopy).  I can see why they chose it: discreet but sumptuous, tucked away down a Victoria side street near Buckingham Palace.  Unlike some of the Park Lane monstrosities, you could easily miss it.

As soon as we walked through the door, I knew it was going to be a treat.  It was blissfully cold, a real urban escape from the sweltering London heat.  Sat in the old-fashioned lounge area was a welcome contrast from the dazzling sunshine outside.  We of course had to upgrade to the "Bollinger Tea" option: only £10 more for a large glass of champagne (poured from magnum) and an equally ample plate of strawberries and cream.

Tea-wise, I chose my favourite post tea - Silver Needles - and the husband went a little off-piste with Jasmine Flowers.  Both were excellent, and refreshing.  We enjoyed our strawberries, before being presented with a completely superfluous but utterly delicious "amuse bouche" of lobster and crayfish with a clear tomato jelly.

But enough of the pleasantries, bring on what we've all come here for: the tiered cake stand!

The sandwiches were simple and old-fashioned, and I think we enjoyed them all the more for that.  We demolished two plates of cucumber, egg, chicken and ham finger sandwiches in very short order.

The scones were light and fluffy, and again served simply: Devonshire cream and both raspberry and strawberry jams.  Why mess with perfection?

The top tier was reserved for the pastries.  I think just about all the skills of a 5-star pastry chef were in evidence here: macaroon, caramel, chocolate tempering, frangipan, mousse, choux and sponge.  Universally delicious (if quite a sweet plateful, we certainly couldn't manage more than one plate, even though it was technically "all you can eat").

Just as our thoughts turned to rolling ourselves home, they then brought out two sherry trifles for good measure.  Well it would be rude not to, surely? 

I would highly recommend The Goring as an afternoon tea option.  We have many fine hotels in London, with a similar line in high-end teas, to choose from.  The Goring doesn't quite have the glamour of The Savoy or The Berkeley, or the theatre of The Ritz, but it does a traditional tea (with a few lovely extras) very well.  No fuss, just exquisite surroundings, service and teas.

The day we joined the National Trust

With each passing milestone, you think you've reached adulthood: learning to drive, voting in an election, having genuine ID, getting a sensible job, moving in with the boyfriend, owning a car, owning a Dyson, getting married, owning a whole load more stuff, having a baby... You have the worry lines, the creaking joints and the sensible shoes.  You are more likely to choose a nice dry sherry over a vodka mixer...

But nothing says "Grown Up" quite like buying yourself membership of The National Trust.  Yes, today The Husband and I finally succumbed to the lure of pleasant family days out and cream teas, shelled out almost 100 quid, and stuck the precious oak leaf sticker to the windscreen: 

With a trip to Cornwall coming up soon, it made complete financial sense (we will easily claw back the £100 cost with a few visits to the expensive Cornwall properties, not to mention free beach parking).  But really, it just felt like we were saying a final farewell to youth.

Good friends had invited us to meet them at Polesden Lacey (a convenient half-way point for us all):

Polesden Lacy is a handsome Edwardian mansion, nestling in the Surrey Hills, not too far from Chessington World of Adventures.  To be honest, we never even went into the main house, but we made extensive use of the cafe facilities and the beautiful grounds.  

We taught The Boy how to roly-poly down a grassy bank (he loved it so much he was soon roly-polying in circles on the flat!).  We played in the forest-set playground and we sauntered through meadows.  It was great just to allow the kids to run around freely.  In Central London we are always so wary of traffic you can't take your eye off The Boy for a second (even in parks, The Boy is always the one playing by the playground gate!).  A couple of streets away from us there is a poignant reminder of this responsibility, in the form of some teddy bears tied to a lamppost in memory of a young boy who ran out in front of a lorry.  But here there was such an expanse of fields and parkland we could let The Boy find his own boundaries.

Having gotten the membership pack, we will have to make sure to make the most of it.  We need to find more places for The Boy to run wild at.  What are your favourite National Trust properties for young children?

Remembering the First World War: the re-opening of the Imperial War Museum

When we moved to our current neighbourhood two years ago, the main local landmark promptly closed down (I'm sure the two events were not connected).  The Imperial War Museum has been closed for an extensive (£40 million) refurbishment, and is about to re-open, just in time for the centenary of the start of WW1.

For a few weeks there, I was worried the team were not going to deliver.  The hoardings remained stubbornly in place, the builders looked casual (to say the least) and every day as I walked past the building site they didn't seem they would ever move on to "finishing touches".  But I have to say, as today the site was visited by the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, the IWM seems to have finally pulled out the stops and dusted itself off.  There will be a "soft" opening tomorrow (Friday 18 July) before the Big Day on Saturday, from 10am.

But what can we expect?  

Well, let's start with the amenities.  First and foremost, there is a brand new cafe area (run by Peyton & Byrne) that opens out to the parkland on the Kennington Road side of the building.  This should prove to be a big improvement on the previous offering, and should really help connect the impressive building to the equally impressive grounds it sits in.  The famous atrium, in the heart of the building, has been deepened and reconfigured with "iconic" large objects (Spitfires, tanks etc).  We should also expect improved buggy/wheelchair access and more educational and group visit space.  All of this is good news for local (and visiting) families and community groups.  Hurrah!

But the "meat" of the refurbishment was always the Great War.  This August marks one hundred years since the start of WW1, the war that was supposed to end all war.  From this modern-day vantage point it seems right that the IWM should become The home of WW1 memories, artefacts and lessons. And so visitors will also be treated to a new exhibition, "Truth and Memory: British Art of the First World War", and its brand new First World War Galleries (displaying over 1,300 objects - many of which have never been seen before).

There is just too much to see to be mentioned here.  As a wife and mother my eye is immediately drawn to the "At all costs" exhibit, which explores how a total war on the battlefields meant also a total war on the home front.  Women stepped into new roles in factories, hospitals, transport and agriculture - a movement which, although for the worst of reasons, gave women a new-found sense of capability and responsibility which eventually helped lead to universal suffrage.  

(c) IWM

And even children helped the war effort, as tenderly displayed in a 9 year old's letter to Lord Kitchener:

(c) IWM

("Dear Lord Kitchener,

I am an Irish boy, 9 years of age, and I want to go to the front.  I can ride jolly quick on my bicycle and would go as despatch rider. I wouldn't let the Germans get in.  I am a good shot with a revolver and would kill a good few of the Germans, as I am very strong and often win a fight with lads twice as big as myself. I want a uniform and a revolver and will give a good account of myself... ")

I'm not sure how our children today could fathom what total warfare consisted off, but perhaps a walk though the IWM's reconstructed "trench" might help them understand.  With a Sopwith Camel fighter plane swooping low overhead, and a Mark V tank looming above, projected silhouettes of soldiers (and a soundscape) will evoke the drudgery, discomfort, danger and comradeship which characterised the experience of a British "Tommy".

For those who would like to explore the role and legacy of women in WW1 further, there is an exciting (ticketed) event on 16 September 2014 at 7pm: "In Conversation with Kate Adie: The Legacy of Women in the First World War".

IWM London, Lambeth road, London, SE1 6HZ

Tel: 020 7416 5000

IWM.org.uk

 

Mind Maps: stories from psychology

Today, we took The Boy to one of his favourite South Kensington museums (Science) in order that mummy could attend an exhibition I've been interested in seeing for a while:

"Mind Maps: Stories from Psychology, explores how mental health conditions have been diagnosed and treated over the past 250 years.

Divided into four episodes between 1780 and 2014, this exhibition looks at key breakthroughs in scientists’ understanding of the mind and the tools and methods of treatment that have been developed, from Mesmerism to Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT) and Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT) bringing visitors up to date with the latest cutting edge research and its applications."

It's not a huge exhibit, and you can easily complete it in half an hour while the baby naps (hah, I wish!).  There is free admission (and it is open until October 2014).  It is informative and accessible, but I have to admit it left me wanting to know more ("Er, isn't that the whole point of museum exhibitions...?" - Ed).

I came away feeling that we had an interesting collection of artefacts to look at, loosely grouped by the contemporaneous state of psychological thinking.  But I wanted it spelled out: how has our understanding of depression, say, or schizophrenia changed over the years?  I learned the names of the big pioneers of psychology and psychiatry down the years, and their key professional advances, but I'm not sure I learned how it all joined up.

And it's a fascinating subject.  Today's physicians (and their beliefs) are unrecognisable from their 18th century counterparts.  In the field of depression, for example, we have come a long way from Burton's "The Anatomy of Melancholia".  Through "nervous spirits" and "weak 
mindedness", through the chemical imbalance explanation (and resultant pharmacology), the biopsychosocial model and beyond ("Diatheses-Stress" model, anyone?).  And in schizophrenia too: we have moved away from demonic possession (or divine punishment), through a bodily humour imbalance, through Freudian theories of childhood trauma, and now our modern acceptance of psychosis as a biological disease of the brain.  The disease is not new, but our understanding of it is.

Only from the brain springs our pleasures, our feelings of happiness, laughter, and jokes, our pain, our sorrows and tears … This same organ makes us mad or confused, inspires us with fear and anxiety… —Hippocrates, The Holy Disease

Madness comes from God, whereas sober sense is merely human. - Plato, Phaedrus (quoting Socrates)

Another gap in the exhibition, for me, was the patients themselves.  Who were they, and how were they treated beyond the couch/operating table?  How did people with mental illness survive and 
live in the world?  And when the various treatments were finished - ECT, mesmerism, pharmacotherapy - what happened to the patients next? 

We learned a lot about how scientists have "mapped" the mind, and discovered more about brain matter and nerve impulses, but I didn't think the exhibition explained how this emerging science impacted (if at all) on the lives of patients.  We are told of the different "treatments" meted out to them, but not the "care".  And if there is one thing I've learned as a mentally ill patient, it is that mental health care is much more fundamental to quality of life than any individual treatment. 

This early advertisement for "electropathic belts" for the overcoming of "weakness" gives a tantalising glimpse into social attitudes towards "hysterical women":

But what was life really like for the hysterical? The weak? Were they institutionalised and hidden away, or did these archaic treatments mean they could live in the world normally?

The one thing the exhibition makes clear is just how experimental the treatment of mental illness can be.  Has always been.  In an exhibition full of electrified frog legs and melancholy rats, human beings are the ultimate laboratory animal.  Mary Shelley was inspired to write Frankenstein, we learn, after witnessing an operating theatre performance of electric shocks on a fresh corpse.  In this context, pharmaceutical and psychotherapy advances seem enlightened.  But whether we are any closer to understanding how they work is another matter.

Further reading:

"Post-Prozac Nation: The Science and History of Treating Depression" By SIDDHARTHA MUKHERJEE, April 2012, New York Times

"Cornerstones in the history of major depression" in "Research and treatment approaches to depression" by Ma-Li Wong & Julio Licinio, Nature Reviews Neuroscience 2, 343-351 (May 2001)

A Brief History of Schizophrenia: Schizophrenia through the ages.

September 8, 2012 by Neel Burton MD

Making the most of the Channel Tunnel

Last week we jumped in the car, on a bit of a whim.  We'd done it a couple of times before - but never with The Boy in tow.  We turned down the Old Kent Road, and zoomed against the flow of traffic down to Dover.  We bought a ticket at the toll booth, flashed our passports, and drove onto "Le Shuttle".  Half an hour later we were in France.

We could have set our sights on Paris, or Reims.  The Loire Valley, maybe.  But no.  The weather forecast was too nice to stay in the car.  Instead we drove just ten minutes west from Calais, to a little fishing village on the Opal Coast called Wissant.

On a sunny day, as we were lucky to enjoy, Wissant has everything a young family needs: expansive, clean, sandy beach.  Informal cafés, friteries and restaurants serving delicious moules frites, croque monsieurs and "gaufres" (freshly made sweet waffles that are as light as air).  A couple of shops selling the essentials.  And not much more.  When we have a warm day, a natural playground and good food there's not much else our little family needs!

With a little assistance from the local tourist information point, and some googling by The Husband, we found accommodation just a few miles outside Wissant ("Villages Vacances Le Cap d'Opale" in nearby Ambleteuse) - http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Hotel_Review-g1051952-d1913668-Reviews-Village_Vacances_Le_Cap_d_Opale-Ambleteuse_Pas_de_Calais_Nord_Pas_de_Calais.html

We chose this place primarily because it had a pool (quite a rare amenity for French hotels).  On arrival, it did have the austere feel (and layout) of a military barracks - but actually it was clean, well kept and ideal for us.  Our large "apartment" allowed The Boy to sleep in his own room upstairs, and the pool was brilliant.  It had a long sloping entrance into an L-shaped shallow end, which allowed The Boy to really test out his new-found water confidence by running headlong in!  A pleasant stroll along a footpath took us to the slightly larger village of Audreselles, which had several great eating options at night.  We have both discovered a taste for the region's ice cold blonde beers.

So, for less than three hours in the car door-to-door, this is a really manageable, really accessible, getaway.  The kind of short break you could easily take at the last minute, after consulting the local weather forecast (we both agreed Wissant in the rain would be a LOT less appealing!).

Happy holidays!!

Review of Stax Diner's opening night

The long-anticipated Stax Diner is finally here!  It's the creation of my friend and former employer Bea Vo.  Bea previously created the cake shop and cafe "Bea's of Bloomsbury", which is now a successful small chain across Central London.  Bea originally hails from the "Deep South", and this is certainly the main influence at work here.  We are talking buttermilk fried chicken (and waffles!), ice cream floats, dirty burgers, and the famous "blooming onions".  London has seen a recent trend in American-style burger joints, so there is a lot of competition out there.  But I genuinely believe Stax offers something quite unique.  I hope I can explain why in this post.

My expectations were high.  

I had been there last week, to help put the final touches to the paintwork. Bea had chosen a great colour scheme: "Cornell Red", blackboard paint and shades of grey, accented with old 7" records and vintage music finds.  She has also recruited a young team, both front and back of house, whom I am sure she is busily training up to her exacting standards!  It is a small space (only 40 covers), but I think the idea is good food, served fast.  No cutlery, just a massive pile of paper napkins to catch all that juice!  Tucked away just off Carnaby Street, in Kingly Court, it feels good.

The other source of my high expectations is my experience working with Bea at her pop-up diner at Maltby Street.  Sadly no longer operating, it was here that Bea first served up huge plates of French toast and maple bacon, buttermilk pancakes and bottomless coffees.  The loyal clientele from the Maltby Street days can rest assured that the Diner's spirit and soul lives on at Stax.

So, on to our dinner...

Despite a tempting array of alcoholic drinks (including IPA ice cream floats!) we stuck to soft drinks, with raspberry iced tea and an Arnold Palmer (half lemonade, half iced tea).  My RIT was fab - made with fresh raspberries and beautifully refreshing.

We hummed and haa'ed a while, before choosing a Po'Boy and a fried chicken bun (the "chickadee").  We also felt duty bound to order the onion blossom!

There were, let's be completely honest, a few standard teething issues.  But this was the "friends and family" night so all feedback here is constructive.  The waitresses were not working completely as a team, with two different girls asking us at various different times for our orders.  Perhaps they hadn't worked out the table numbers yet?  They seemed a little nervous, but that is understandable!  I was a little worried about the queue backing out the door at one point, but soon the food started flowing from the pass.

I think our highlight of the night was the fried chicken.  Hot, juicy, crispy, tender - everything you could possibly ask for.  The brioche bun was nice too, but to be honest I'd have been just as happy with a bucket of the chicken.  The husband's Po'Boy also delivered.  To quote: "a fried prawn cocktail in a bun".

The blooming onion is a Cajun-spiced revelation.  It's a whole onion, intricately sliced (and then battered) in order to resemble a blossoming flower once deep fried.  Be prepared to get your hands dirty here.  To be honest, we could've done with some cutlery at this point!

I should mention that we came as early as possible (6.30pm) so we could bring The Boy along before his bedtime.  He'd done pretty well in his buggy, alongside our stools out on the balcony.  But he was by now fast getting tired and irritable (and liable to throw things off said balcony) so we had to sneak off before trying any of the desserts.  A great pity!  But we will definitely be back soon.  For the soft opening week (commencing Friday 13 June 2014), there is 50% off your total bill.  For more information see http://www.staxdiner.com.

Please note: we were invited along to take part in the pre-opening "Friends and Family" night.  All views expressed above are my own.