Justified fiendishness

Fear of fattening up prevents me from eating ice cream very often. But some ice creams just demand to be eaten, whatever the calorific cost.

This was my thinking on a very hot Sunday afternoon in Nyon. As Monsieur Gourmand and I strolled along the lakeside promenade after cooling ourselves off in the lake, we couldn't help noticing that every second person seemed to be eating a very delicious-looking ice cream. So we threw caution to the very hot hairdryer wind and went to find where the tasty-looking tubs were coming from. 

An orderly queue was forming out the door of Manu, a modern-looking, white-all-over gelateria, where two friendly-looking Italians were busily serving with a smile. Fancy that around here! (Well, actually, with the amount of money they must have been raking in during the heatwave, anyone would be smiling).

Monsieur Gourmand didn’t delay in ordering nocciola and Nutella, while I dithered between banana and pistachio, yoghurt and lemon, before settling on refreshing melon and creamy coconut.

It had been a long time since my previous proper Italian ice cream and it was every bit as exquisite as I expected. The afternoon indulgence just confirmed to me that life’s too short for crappy ice cream; if you’re going to have several hundred calories in one fell swoop, make sure you enjoy every luscious lick.  

Manu, il Gelato Italiano

Rue de Rive 32, 1260 Nyon (other branches in Geneva: Carouge, Paquis and Eaux-Vives)

+41 (0)22 361 08 94; www.manugelato.ch

Snooty sushi

You could be forgiven for thinking ski boots were suitable attire for a restaurant on the slopes in Megeve. But you would be wrong.

Looking like drowned rats having skied in the rain all morning, we traipsed into Fingers, a fancy Japanese haunt – formerly the Auberge du Christomet – and promptly realized that we were somewhat underdressed. Particularly in comparison with the big-haired, fur-clad locals with curly tailed designer dogs in tow.

But, a paying customer is a paying customer, so the staff did their best not to recoil disapprovingly as they seated us at a grand table with ill-advised alcantara-covered chairs. Then Monsieur Gourmand unleashed a flurry of Italian which was sufficient to fully ingratiate us with the mostly Milanese waiters.

All of a sudden they were only too keen to recommend us a selection of starters, all of course at the more pricey end of the scale, but delicious nonetheless. We sampled an array of sushi, sashimi, nigiri and tempura veggies until we were almost too stuffed for mains. But that would have meant missing out on the silky smooth black cod, perfectly paired with a bottle of Chablis.

If, after a week of skiing, you find yourself looking for something other than the usual mountain fare of fondue and fillet steaks, Fingers is ideal for a final day splurge. Just be sure to wear your glitziest ski gear to stand a chance of fitting in. 

Fingers, 4775 route du Jaillet, 74120 Megève, France

0033 (0)4 50 21 11 34; www.fingersrestaurants.com

Forno inferno

Too late to make a booking for dinner, Monsieur Gourmand, our friend and I strolled down the street searching for sustenance. And then we spotted the roaring flames behind the window panes of Les Chamois and knew we were in for a meaty feast.

We installed ourselves at a table with a view of the chef at work. Flames licked around the bars of the grill as he masterfully sizzled the fillets, entrecotes and rumps to perfection, somehow managing to resist catching fire himself as his white overalls dangled precariously over the inferno.

I didn’t want to put his efforts to waste so I ordered a juicy fillet steak with delicious rock salt crust, while Monsieur Gourmand and our friend shared a pierrade – a hearty helping of raw beef which you then cook on a hot stone at the table and eat with gherkins, pickled onions and a quartet of sauces (tartare, aioli, curry and something pink).

We were trying to decide whether we preferred the potatoes dauphinoise or the frites when we realised the place was full of men… groups of men getting more and more rowdy and raucous with each glass of wine…

Yes, Les Chamois is a welcome antidote to the town’s trendier haunts, a down-to-earth den where you can devour copious amounts of red meat and red wine when zonked from a hard day’s skiing. 

Les Chamois, rue Médran 9, 1936 Verbier

+41 (0) 27 771 7525; www.hotel-chamois.ch