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  

Red wine climb

There's nothing like some good red wine to motivate Monsieur Gourmand to a physical challenge.

Hiking from Gryon on a damp foggy day in August - although it felt more like November, much like the rest of summer 2014 - we arrived at the verdant village of Taveyanne. So remote is this hamlet of unusually roofed huts, with no electricity or running water, that it is uninhabited in winter. In summer it serves as a sort of open-air museum of Swissness for hikers and mountain bikers (lazier people can drive up).

One of the houses doubles up as a mountain restaurant, the Refuge de Taveyanne, where ravenous "randonneurs" are served with mountain staples such as air dried meat, raclette and rosti.

After settling ourselves in the spartan out house (the main restaurant was completely full), we took our pick from the mountain menu.


Monsieur Gourmand and our friend both had rosti with cheese, bacon and all manner of fiendishness, while I tried to be healthy by having vegetables. My mushroom croute was fabulous - a piping hot dish containing two slices of soda bread saturated in saucy mushrooms of varying colours and textures. Filling but not too fattening.

My restraint was ruined by a delicious bottle of Pinot Noir which we told ourselves would warm us up in the chilly afternoon air. It didn't do that but it did have an interesting secondary effect: arming Monsieur Gourmand with an iron will to climb the nearest peak. Not by the gradual ascent, you understand, winding through some woods and pastures; oh no, he would be going straight up the front.

We left him to it, expecting him to turn back after recognising his folly. But fuelled by rosti and red wine, he braved almost vertical rocks and even tackled a barbed wire fence to reach the ridge.

It would have been nice to see the view from the top but at least Monsieur Gourmand survived the climb to enjoy some fog-filled imaginings of the verdant valley and snowy peaks beyond.

Refuge de Taveyanne, Taveyanne, Villars-Gryon
+41 (0)24 498 1947; www.taveyanne.ch

Stuffed in the city

There’s a lot to be said for living in the country: a detached house, a view of Mont Blanc, a garden with enough space for ping pong and parties, off-street parking for two cars – two cars that are in their element on the nearby twisty roads. Life isn't bad.

But once in a while Monsieur Gourmand and I miss the meals out we used to have before moving out of town.

One of our local restaurants in those days, L’Esquisse, recently beckoned us back with the promise of good food, unfussily served on its summertime pavement terrace.

Perusing the menu with a glass of rosé, I quickly made up my mind while Monsieur Gourmand asked about the specials. Of course, “specials” aren’t so much special as what the restaurant needs to sell so, while the waitress made the veal shepherd’s pie-style main sound marvellous, it turned out to be way too hearty for the summer heat.

Unsurprisingly, Monsieur Gourmand was stuffed, despite his comparatively light carpaccio starter.

I started with coeur de boeuf tomatoes (for those not in the know, these are the biggest, tastiest tomatoes you can find away from the Med) with pesto and burrata (the creamiest, most fiendish form of mozzarella known to man) before devouring two fillets of fresh, fleshy bream.

After a cooling raspberry sorbet and an irresistible home-made meringue with whipped cream and berries, we made our way through Eaux-Vives, along to the lake and back to the car.

Maybe it’s time to revisit some other old haunts? 

L’Esquisse, rue du Lac 7, 1207 Genève

+41 (0)22 786 5044; www.lesquisse.com

 

 

Film star food

The shady terrace at Buffet de la Gare is where silky-voiced Welsh wastrel Richard Burton used to while away his afternoons before stumbling back to his home, Pays de Galles, on the other side of the rail tracks.

But rather than cashing in on their most famous patron, the owners have gone for railway memorabilia instead with timetables, hats (why are hats associated with rail travel?) and clocks.

After a warm welcome we had a glass of local wine while perusing the classic French bistrot-style menu. I ordered some seasonal spears of asparagus fresh from the local fields while Monsieur Gourmand fancied a fiendish salad with pancetta and egg, piled high on crispy lettuce. Substantial but not enough to quell his hunger for the next course.

Who could resist filets de perche from a menu where they actually name the fisherman who caught them, especially when served with deliciously crispy matchstick chips? Not Monsieur Gourmand, it seems, but I instead opted for a thick chunk of turbot on a bed of red onion.

The final act was a chocolatey bomb of gooey gluttony that was enough to finish us off. The hearty food, friendly service and idyllic location could only be bettered by some boozy banter with Burton himself. Shame we're about 30 years too late.

 

Buffet de la Gare, Route de Founex 25, 1298 Céligny

 +41 (0)22 776 27 70; http://www.buffet-gare-celigny.ch

Lamb clan

As if hundreds of kilometres of pristine pistes, dizzying cable cars spanning the Italian-Swiss border and a charming chocolate box town weren't enough to write home about, Zermatt is also a great place to eat. Which is lucky when you've travelled four hours on the Swiss rail network with not a restaurant car or refreshment trolley in sight.

Ravenously roaming around town after arriving late on a Friday night, Monsieur Gourmand and I tried our luck at the much written-about Schaferstube; as anticipated, it was fully booked with happy mountain-goers munching on raclette and freshly grilled lamb. But the proprietor Mr Julen was eager to please, whisking us to his eponymous eatery upstairs, run by his son (I think the Swiss monopolies commission must be turning a blind eye to this Julen clan, whose family name seems to be associated with virtually all the restaurants, bars and hotels in Zermatt).

We didn't hesitate in accepting the glass of prosecco offered by our waitress in traditional mountain wear (no men in lederhosen though) before ordering the restaurant's speciality of lamb. I had a perfectly pink, tender entrecote with a deliciously herby crust while Monsieur Gourmand had a mixed plate of cutlets and sausage, both of which were served with crunchy vegetables and potato gratin.

A slightly excessive bottle of pinot noir rounded off the feast, after which we slept very, very well.

Restaurant Julen, Riedstrasse 2, CH-3290 Zermatt
+41 (0)27 966 7600; www.julen.ch