Cheesy feast

Cruising along Miami's Biscayne Boulevard with the top down, 80s power ballads screeching from the stereo, Monsieur Gourmand and I passed the Melting Pot, part of a US chain of fondue restaurants. Needless to say, we didn't stop (the weather was a bit on the warm side for bubbling hot cheese, and fiendish food is rather less appealing when you have to wear a bikini the next day. Oh, and we live in Switzerland where fondue restaurants are two a penny.)

A long-established fondue favourite of ours is Café Bon Vin. Dating back to 1900, the original owners have long since died and been replaced by Portuguese proprietors, but you wouldn't know it; the Swiss spirit is very much alive in the vintage alpine posters on the walls, a black lollipop sign from the dreaded Mur Suisse mogul field, creaky wood banquettes and a strong stench of cheese.

I'm sure they have other things on the menu but Monsieur Gourmand and I never look beyond the viandes sechées, served on a wooden platter with pickled onions and cornichons (one of the first French words I learned thanks to the unfortunately named Mr and Mrs Gherkin in my primary school text book) followed by fondue moitié-moitié.

A little pepper is all that’s needed to perk up the pot of lava-like deliciousness before immersing the bite-sized chunks of crusty bread. The first feelings of fullness come about two thirds of the way through, but there is no stopping the addictive cheese frenzy – come to think of it, I'm sure I’ve never seen an unfinished fondue.

Not normally one for desserts, Monsieur Gourmand has a particular liking for Café Bon Vin’s raspberries, of course accompanied by a pot of Gruyère cream (as if we hadn’t already overdosed on dairy). With our Miami jaunt a distant memory and no holidays on the horizon, at least my bikini body can stay under wraps for a few months yet.

Café Bon-Vin, 17 rue Versonnex, 1207 Geneva

+41 (0)22 736 8790

Happy Days (of the living dead)

A grey and grim Sunday morning in Versoix. Nobody is around, other than the local fire service, called to the scene to clear up the shattered glass of a vandalised bus stop. Around the corner come the possible perpetrators of this night-time naughtiness, some pasty pre-teens roaming zombie-like around the estate, sipping panaché and sporting menacing masks and creepy costumes. It's all a bit Shaun of the Dead.

But nestled amid this gloomy Halloween scene is an unexpected ray of light. Happy Days Coffee is an American-style diner, where the walls are covered in bumper stickers, the front end of a Cadillac pokes out from the wall and customers sit on sparkly blue banquettes. Children, meanwhile, are kept busy with a selection of puzzles and crayons, appropriately presented in a Dr Pepper can.

Monsieur Gourmand and I both went for a classic American breakfast of fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon, served with all-important maple syrup and that white butter they like in the States. Even the coffee is served the American way, although the waitresses aren't quite as reliant on tips as their Denny's counterparts, so don't expect constant refills.

In the event of a zombie invasion, this wouldn't be a bad place to be stranded, although on this occasion I would have been far too stuffed to fight off an army of the undead.

 Happy Days Coffee, Chemin du Pont-Céard 12, 1290 Versoix
+41 (0)22 779 0000

Big Apple influence

If Jay-Z is to be believed, a trip to New York will make me feel brand new, so inspired I will be by the big lights. Empire State of Mind, the rapper's much-played ode to his hometown, typifies the Big Apple adoration that has been on the rise in recent years. From SJP stalking the sidewalks in her Manolos, to Machiavellian Manhattan teens plotting against their Gossip Girl cohorts, New York is the undisputed capital of cool.

Luckily I don’t need to jet across the Atlantic for a big city-style pizza, now that Luigia has opened up right here in little old Geneva. ‘Ooh, it’s all lofty and trendy, you really feel like you’re in New York’, people had told me before my recent visit. I only hoped the pizzas wouldn't be deep pan and stuffed full of rubbery cheese and thick pepperoni sausage.

Of course, my fears were unfounded; pizzas in Geneva tend to be very good and Luigia was no different.


At 8pm on a Saturday evening, we expected to wait a while (they don’t take bookings) before being forced to squeeze ourselves around a tiny table to be served by snooty staff. Instead, we found ourselves in a brightly-lit warehouse with no shortage of tables, many of them occupied by families.

In true American style, the service was lightning quick... quick enough to stifle both the social element of dining out and the anticipation of eating. We had barely tasted the wine when the food arrived, leaving us little time to appreciate the spectacle of the pizzaioli plying their trade by the cavernous woodfire oven, illuminated by some glitzy showbiz-style lights.

Like the snappy service, the presentation was a bit too efficient for my liking. Personally, I like my pizza a little rough around the edges like the Neapolitan street food it's supposed to be, rather than a model of rounded perfection. That said, the crusty, blackened base was perfect in flavour and texture, topped with deliciously fresh ingredients, and I devoured the whole thing in a matter of minutes, leaving little room for dessert.

While Luigia's slick operation is a novelty compared to some of Geneva's lazy and outdated eateries, it was so rushed that I can't remember the finer details of the wine, conversation or indeed the pizza (although I do recall that the chilli oil was pointedly un-piquante).

This isn't the place for a long, leisurely meal, but if it's fresh flavours and big city surroundings you're after, prepare for life in the fast lane.

Luigia, rue Adrien Lachenal 24a, 1207 Geneva
+41 (0)22 840 1515; luigia.ch

Food falling short

Making the most of an unseasonably warm evening, Monsieur Gourmand, a couple of friends and I strolled along rue du Rhône towards a cluster of bars and restaurants. We planned to enjoy dinner al fresco on the cobbled quayside, watching the lit-up logos of luxury brands reflecting off the water.

One place was prohibitively pricey, another too formal, and one – in an attempt to look Ibiza-like – had thrown dirty-looking towels all over their sofas. So we settled for the mellow lighting and faux-wicker furniture of Enoteca.  

Having chosen a Chilean wine, we ordered mixed antipasti of artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes and a couple of tapenades. Moreish they may have been, but eating them proved a challenge as we only had one knife between us and the meagre bread basket contained just four sad-looking slices of stale baguette. Crusty, rustic loaves with olives or walnuts may have better suited the Mediterranean mood.

The bread wasn’t the only thing that seemed out of place; the middle-aged, oriental waitress was a sight to behold in a buckled leather jacket, floaty skirt and electric blue eye shadow, shuffling around in the kind of outdoorsy sandals you go rafting in and cackling maniacally when we asked for anything.

By the time our bread supply had been replenished, I had already started my main course. The chicken brochette seemed a bit genetically modified and nugget-like in texture, while the supposed massala sauce tasted too generic. Our friend’s chicken wings weren’t much better, but Monsieur Gourmand’s burger proved to be the highlight of an otherwise mediocre meal: a delicious and juicy feast of flavoursome beef, melted cheese, egg and bacon, served with chunky chips.

Notwithstanding this last tasty triumph, Enoteca should probably just stick to being a wine bar.

Enoteca, 19 rue du Rhône, 1204 Geneva

+41 (0)22 789 0189; winebargeneva.com

Tasty but hasty

A friend from England came to stay last weekend while Monsieur Gourmand was away on business. Transforming myself into a tour guide, I devised an all-encompassing itinerary for us, relishing the prospect of using Geneva's free bike rental scheme. But nothing is ever simple in Switzerland...

My UK driving licence wasn’t official enough as a form of ID so I had to go back to the apartment for my passport. Then there weren’t any bikes available at the Villereuse office so we went to Place du Molard, only to find an empty prefab. The staff there told us there were two bikes at Bains de Pâquis, so across the water we went, arriving two seconds after a trout-pouted glamour puss, who promptly nabbed one of the last two bikes.

Luckily we didn’t have to wait long for a replacement and we spent the afternoon happily whizzing around town, from the botanical gardens and the UN to Carouge and the Jet d’eau.

In the absence of Monsieur Gourmand, I seized the opportunity to enjoy a Lebanese feast in the evening. But, having become engrossed – at my friend’s insistence – in a certain TV talent show, we didn’t sit down to eat at Le Diwane until 10pm. As with the pernickety passport incident earlier in the day, we were about to be reminded that spontaneity in Switzerland is a contradiction in terms.     
 

The waiter implored us to try a glass each of an open wine rather than the bottle of Lebanese white that we requested, presumably because he was worried we might take too long to drink it. The fact that the bottle would cost considerably more was by-the-by. Needless to say, his efforts were in vain and our hard-won bottle arrived with some very appetising mezze.

All too accustomed to shop-bought vine leaves, I had forgotten how soft and moist they can be until I tried these ones, while the dreamy, creamy houmous was offset by the healthy tasting and tangy tabbouleh.

Our main course – a mixed grill of marinated chicken and lamb – should have been a delight, but I couldn’t enjoy it. Feeling rather rushed and made to feel guilty for daring to eat so late – let’s not forget this was Saturday night in the liveliest area of a European city – I wolfed down the mezze in a flash and barely chewed the scrumptious chunks of meat.

At 11 o’clock on the dot, the restaurant lights were turned off, music muted and the tables and chairs quickly chained up. Taking the hint, we glugged down the last of our wine and hit the surrounding streets for a walk on Geneva’s wild side. Unfortunately the punters of Pâquis seemed to have us confused with the other kind of streetwalker, so we soon beat a hasty houmous-fuelled retreat towards home.

 Le Diwane, rue de Zurich 6, 1201 Geneva
+41 (0)22 732 73 91

Season's eatings

As I bask lizard-like on a lakeside rock, I realise that this may well be one of this year’s final opportunities to soak up the sun.
 

Geneva really is quite fabulous in the summer time, with seemingly ceaseless sunshine and a large body of fresh water in which to cool off. (I won’t dwell on the notable annoyances of itchy insects and spotty youths, the male contingent of which seems to have adopted this summer’s inexplicable trend for wearing boxer shorts underneath their swimming shorts).

Just as fondue is best suited to cosy alpine settings in the depths of winter, some of this region’s restaurants simply have to be sampled in the summer months. Thank goodness, then, that Monsieur Gourmand and I found the time to dine at Brasserie Parc des Eaux-Vives this week.

With its manicured plants and immaculately mown lawn – beyond which lies a lovely lake view – the setting couldn’t have been more perfect, until the sun went down and a chilly breeze began to waft through the window. We didn’t ask to close it though as the resulting reflection on the glass would have doubled the dazzling effect of the bare light bulbs protruding from an ill-fitting lampshade overhead.


Fortunately Monsieur Gourmand chose a suitably hearty meal to warm him from the inside, starting with casareccia pasta with chicken chunks and fresh rocket leaves. I went for a more summery starter of King Crab, the rich meat pleasantly offset by a light and fluffy cucumber gazpacho, ‘icy mint’ and tangy red berries.


Monsieur Gourmand’s steak was superb; tender and rare, served with perfectly rectangular chunky chips and a light béarnaise. By contrast, my lamb brochettes were a bit disappointing - I'm sure the menu mentioned something North African. That’s not to say it wasn’t tasty, however, and I was pleased to find the lamb perfectly pink in the middle.


Before braving the nippy night-time temperatures on the walk home, we indulged in a chocolatey concoction with whipped walnut, delicate wafer and coconut ice cream. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that this year’s bikini days are numbered.


Brasserie Parc des Eaux-Vives, Quai Gustave Ador 82, 1207 Geneva
+41 (0)22 849 7575; www.parcdeseauxvives.ch

Plane tasty

The older I get, the more mortal I feel; I have even started feeling nervous when flying. Milling around Heathrow the other evening, I was relieved not to be boarding the flight to Auckland – which doesn’t bode well when Monsieur Gourmand and I have our hearts set on honeymooning in Bora Bora.

Such aviation anxiety is quite unexpected for someone who has always enjoyed taking to the air, whether by jumbo or gyrocopter (okay, the second one isn’t entirely true but I have been known to jump out of small planes and soar through the skies in a glider).

Perhaps my passion for planes is why I like Le Thermomètre, an unpretentious eatery in the centre of Geneva, whose decked outdoor area looks onto the window of a model shop selling everything from remote control Cessnas and Spitfires to scale model 747s and A380s. And if planes don’t float your boat, there are plenty of yachts, cars and trains to distract you from the discomfort of the plasticky chairs while you wait to be served.

Talking of trains, the restaurant’s long, narrow interior reminds me of a railway restaurant carriage, only without the Swiss mountain scenery and with the addition of over-attentive staff. Unless it’s pouring with rain or icy cold, I would stay outside.

We started by sharing some smooth and flavoursome foie gras, served with dainty toasts and a soupçon of sweet sauce on the side. This was just enough decadence to awaken my appetite for what was to follow – a deliciously rare and tender steak.

Monsieur Gourmand strayed from the menu’s mainstays of steak and perches du lac and instead went for thin slices of beef with a herby, garlicky sauce. Despite the thinness of the slices, the meat remained rare, while the sensational sauce was tangy but not overpowering. Both dishes came with Le Thermomètre’s must-have matchstick frites, and of course we quaffed a carafe of local red wine.

I can’t think of anywhere better for a bit of unpretentious mid-week eating with some people watching and plane spotting thrown in. Just be sure to sit outside.

 Le Thermomètre, 22 rue Neuve du Molard, 1204 Genève
+41 (0)22 310 2535

Sweet surrender

While I disapprove of stingy establishments that charge for petits fours, the fabulous Rasoi goes to the other extreme. After an otherwise exquisite and surprisingly light meal, I completely overdosed on dessert: an entire mango kulfi – the best I’ve ever tasted – pistachio crème brûlée and melon. (These were served as one dish, in case anyone is thinking I’m a complete glutton.)

As a result, I felt utterly stuffed and very grateful for the walk home. 

We happened to visit during a promotional evening for a local kaftan and sarong seller, but it would take more than a succession of slinky models in floaty frocks to distract me – if not Monsieur Gourmand – from the show stopping degustation menu.

A duo of home-made chutneys and dainty poppadoms were enjoyed with an apéritif before some subtly spicy and herby naan bread arrived. A chilled lentil and tomato soup ensued, before two volaille kebabs – one full flavoured and tangy, the other much milder – were served with a salad of modish micro leaves.


As I savoured the red, orange and green cuisine, the main course of Masala cod and saffron mash brought on the first feelings of fullness. It was delicious nonetheless, the moist, meaty flakes complemented by fresh and firm peas and asparagus.


On this occasion I was weak-willed when faced with delicious-looking creamy kulfi, and powerless to resist the heavenly convergence of pistachio and crème brûlée, (two of my favourite things). If I can stomach the prohibitive prices for a future visit, I vow to allow the sensational savoury flavours to linger longer.


Rasoi, Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Quai Turrettini, 1201 Genève
+41 (0)22 909 0006 www.rasoi.ch

Pizza penalty shootout

Judging by their less-than-stellar performance so far, Italy won’t be World Cup holders for much longer. But even if they no longer rule the fickle world of football, Italians can at least take consolation in being the nation that brought us seductive language, timeless fashion and pizza.

I love pizza so much that it would be my final meal on death row. But knowing my luck, the prison warden would dash to Domino’s and present me with a cheesy lump of pre-prepared dough scattered with offensive tasting peppers. Would they let me have another one from a preferable purveyor of pizza, I wonder, or would my final hours be wiled away in a seething strop?

Being a bastion of human rights, of course there is nothing as barbaric as the death penalty in Geneva. But there are a good many pizzerias.

To mark Italy’s last days as world champions, here is the Alpine Eating (admittedly Eaux-Vives centric and rather limited) pizza league.

Failed to qualify

Quirinale – crammed full of preppy playboys quaffing Champagne, Quirinale has no place in this competition simply because nobody should have to pay 30 francs for a pizza. Ever. Even if it does have truffles on it.

Rue de la Rôtisserie 6; 022 748 4848; www.quirinale.ch

First round failure

Molino – I was horrified to hear a friend proclaim Molino the best pizza in Geneva. To be fair, this chain restaurant does pizza better than it does anything else – gristly vitello tonnato, dried out salmon, puny prawns – but tinned ingredients and the soggy consistency are a let down.

Place du Molard 7; 022 310 9988; www.molino.ch

Game of two halves

Chez Marino – what Chez Marino lacks in culinary finesse, it more than makes up for in atmosphere. Be sure to sit at one of the tables on the right when you come in; this is where you can watch the pizzaiolo at work while waiters whizz to and fro. Marino himself sometimes takes to the floor for a song or two, which may not be to everyone’s taste...

Rue Muzy 22, Eaux-Vives; 022 736 4516; www.chez-marino.ch

Runner-up

Cinecittà – stuffed with cinema memorabilia from the glamorous golden era of Sofia Loren and Roberto Rossellini, families, young couples and groups alike frequent this Eaux-Vives eaterie. Despite the ravishing range of pizzas on offer, Monsieur Gourmand swears by the Margherita.

Rue de Montchoisy 17, Eaux-Vives; 022 736 4959; www.pizzeria-cinecitta.ch

Champion

Da Paolo – the fact that it’s always full to bursting says a lot. As well as the standard selection of pizzas, this hidden-away haunt offers a number of sensational specials. And if pizza’s not your preference, this authentic Italian offers meat, fish and pasta aplenty.

Rue du Lac 3, Eaux-Vives; 022 736 3049; www.dapaolo.ch

Chocolate salvation

Everything in my life was hunky dory until recently, when an incompetent and irresponsible person – who shall remain nameless – ruined everything.

As a so-called professional, he could have been expected to do his job properly. Surely if you’re good at one thing in life, it should be your job. It is, after all, what you spend most of your waking hours doing, and it is how you describe yourself when meeting people for the first time.

The same goes for restaurants, particularly if they claim to serve a ‘speciality’; customers expect it to be good.

I had fancied a bite at Bistrot du Boucher in Eaux-Vives for quite a while; not only is it always reassuringly full, but the bovine motif on the window and the butcher reference in the name suggest a superior steak.

The meaty theme continues inside where waiters dash from table to table in fetching cow-print ties, while a quick peer into the men’s loos reveals a fascinating photo of a bull’s testicles. (No udders in the ladies’ though, I’m afraid.)

After such a promising prelude, the tough, tasteless entrecôte came as a bit of a shock. Normally a steak needs nothing more than a little moutarde, but this one really required something more to lift the lacklustre flavour – what a shame the three bland sauces all tasted the same...

It was only when the devilish display of desserts was wheeled to our table that we realised Bistrot du Boucher’s true forte. Having shunned both the tasty-looking tarte tatin and pear pastry, Monsieur Gourmand opted for a chunk of chocolatey decadence with an intense depth of flavour and a smooth, buttery consistency. I cursed the calories in each fiendish forkful but couldn’t resist devouring more and more.

Nevertheless, despite this mouthwateringly memorable finale – not to mention unusually efficient service and apéritifs on the house – the fact remains that a delicious dessert does not a good steak make.

Bistrot du Boucher, 15 Avenue Pictet de Rochemont, 1205 Genève

022 736 5636

Chilly curry

It seemed a shame to sit inside Thaï on the first warm evening of the year but, like many of her compatriots, our American friend preferred shivering in icy air conditioning to soaking up the spring vibe al fresco.

Having subjected us all to sub-zero temperatures, she then picked and nibbled at morsels of cucumber and carrot while the rest of us tucked into the tasty Thai food. If she allowed herself to consume a single carb or gram of fat, she might have liked the Thai tacos stuffed with shrimps, chicken and soybean sprouts, which Monsieur Gourmand found to be full of taste and texture.

The other two of us went for veritable Thai classics to start: a tasty and tangy spicy papaya salad with lashings of lime and peanuts, and chicken satay. Alas, the latter was ruined by an errant vinegar bottle lid, but the staff brought another satay without fuss, much to the delight of our hungry friend.


Served on a banana leaf, my sizeable steamed sea bass fillets were both meaty and zingy, but I thought Monsieur Gourmand’s grilled beef in black pepper sauce rather bland.


Little did we know that Thaï’s trump card is their curry: the spicy Panang sauce was subtle enough not to overpower the giant, juicy prawns, while the classic Thai green curry was a triumph of creamy coconut. And if, like me, you find steamed white rice the dullest dish imaginable, they offer organic brown jasmine rice as an enticing alternative.


This isn’t the place to come for exciting atmosphere – indeed retired tennis players can be found here escaping the admiring crowds – but the food is reliable and it offers chilly respite on hot summer nights.


Thaï, 3 rue Neuve du Molard, 1204 Genève; +41 (0)22 310 1254
 www.thai-geneve.com

A winter's snail

Meandering through the cobbled streets of Megève on a balmy spring evening, I rather fancied a crispy pizza al fresco with some chilled white wine. But that was before the sun sank behind the mountains leaving a distinct alpine chill in the air – perfect for what would perhaps be my last hearty mountain meal this winter.

Nestled beside a bell tower in the corner of the town’s main square, Le Prieuré provided friendly, family-run respite from the cold outside, complete with rustic wooden tables, warm lighting and a grand fireplace. These cosy surroundings failed to banish my spring-like mood, however, so I ordered a goat’s cheese salad as my starter, minus the bacon, which I find tends to make a light bite into something rather more substantial.

Monsieur Gourmand was less restrained, opting for escargots in a fiendishly rich Roquefort and walnut velouté. This surprising presentation made a refreshing change from the usual pitted platter of snails that look all too much like, well, snails, and bring to mind memories of cracked shells and slime on the sole of my shoe.

Undefeated by his full-flavoured starter, Monsieur Gourmand followed it with confit de canard which, though undoubtedly delicious, wasn’t a patch on my fillet steak. Monsieur Gourmand even proclaimed it the best steak he had ever tasted. I wouldn’t go that far – one particular slab of meat in Argentina springs to mind – but it was certainly the most memorable I’ve had in a long while and without doubt the best I’ve reviewed on this blog. The meat was melt-in-the-mouth tender, rare in the middle yet slightly charred on the outside.

Always aware of my calorie consumption, I fought the temptation to devour the entire rustic ramekin of gratin dauphinois that accompanied both main courses, but this was no mean feat.

Having craftily chosen a menu, Monsieur Gourmand was entitled not only to cheese but also to dessert. Feeling duty bound to at least sample something from the tempting patisserie tray, we shared a light and fluffy lemon tart that was zingy enough to clear the palate and sharpen the senses for our night-time drive back to Geneva.

Le Prieuré, 116 Place de l’Eglise, 74120 Megève, France
+33 (0)450 21 01 79 ; www.leprieure-megeve.com

Sweet excess

A lunchtime favourite of besuited bankers, by night Le Grand Quai is a surprisingly subdued affair. Of the 20 or so tables, only about five were occupied when we visited on a weekday evening, either by cosy couples dining out for a special occasion or by the Métropole’s guests.

Quiet it may be, but this makes for better service and a hushed environment for savouring the superior food.

Never one to resist the lure of a duck’s liver, Monsieur Gourmand had foie gras to start with Liguria olives and peanuts, while my rare-cooked fillet and leg of young Racan pigeon was delicate and tender indeed, perked up by the stronger flavours of horseradish, wasabi peas and trendy beetroot. I could have easily chosen the monkfish with mango and pecan but, in anticipation of a seafood main course, decided to avoid an all-out fish fest.

Unfamiliar with wild Pandora – I now know it to be a type of sea bream – it was the fiendish accompaniments of cuttlefish ink, mussels, seaweed crust and baby squid that seduced me, hearty flavours that were more than a match for our Pinot noir. Meanwhile, Monsieur Gourmand seemed to enjoy his Burgundy guinea fowl, which beat off stiff competition from other free-range fare including milk-fed Pyrenees lamb and home-grown veal from Swiss mountain pastures.

For some reason – it certainly wasn’t hunger – we then ordered two outrageously excessive desserts before sampling the petits fours, which arrived without us even having ordered coffee (take note, Hotel Olden).

As I stood up to leave I rather regretted wearing such an eye-catching belt, but was grateful that there was only a handful of customers to witness my newly non-existent waist.

Le Grand Quai, Swissôtel Métropole, Quai Général-Guisan 34, 1204 Genève
+41 (0)22 318 3463; www.grandquai.ch

Upmarket auberge

Judging by the flashy clientele and the valet parking for skis, Auberge du Christomet is a bit more posh than your average pit stop on the piste; I can just picture the terrace in spring, thronging with Spyder-clad skiers braying over boozy lunches.



On the cold and snowy February day when we visited, however, everyone was taking refuge indoors where the welcoming whiff of melted cheese is complemented by chunky wood tables, clumps of dried flowers and a couple of curled-up cats in a basket.



Sipping a champagne aperitif and nibbling an amuse bouche of tuna-tinged mayonnaise with crunchy bread, it wasn’t long before the blood began to return to my toes. And I felt even warmer at the prospect of the tasty-sounding Savoyard specialities on the menu.

Of course Monsieur Gourmand went for something sinful – a dish of melted cheese (with potatoes and cured meat). Our friend Maighread, an Auberge regular, opted for entrecôte while I followed her advice and went for steak tartare, a daringly spicy mound of meat offset by chunky chips and green salad. Mark the mountain guide (www.markseaton.com), meanwhile, was rather more virtuous, ordering a modest yet delicious-looking goat’s cheese salad; I can’t blame him – if I lunched like this every day I would be the size of a house.

Other than an intrusive photographer sticking his long lens where it wasn’t wanted – ruddy cheeked with frozen strands of hair, wolfing down fiendish food is not an image I want immortalised – and slightly clumsy staff, we had a wonderful lunch at this deservedly popular haunt.



A slither of apricot tarte and a quickly-consumed schnapps were all I needed to banish my sweet tooth before returning to the slopes, which by this time were bathed in glorious afternoon sunshine.



Auberge du Christomet, route du Jaillet, 74120 Megève
(halfway down the Christomet chairlift) +33 (0)450 211134

Water waste

As if 56 francs for grilled chicken weren’t ludicrous enough, the staff at Gstaad's Hotel Olden serve some very expensive water. The bottle safely out of sight on a table behind me, little did I know that the waiters were craftily refilling my San Pellegrino until I had polished off a whole bottle and started another.

Despite having drunk only about 30ml of the second bottle, I grudgingly paid for both (at 8 francs each) lest the restaurant’s plastic-faced patrons thought me a pauper.

Blissfully unaware of my costly water consumption, however, I did enjoy my meal of scrumptious Swiss fare.

This being my first foray into the German-speaking part of Switzerland, I ordered sliced veal Zurich style with rösti. It was delicious - tender veal strips smothered in creamy sauce, soaked up by soft shredded potatoes. I was a little put off by the discovery of a hair but, since it looked suspiciously like mine in both length and colour, I thought it best not to cause a commotion.

Not that the elderly couple on the next table would have minded; they couldn’t stop staring at my friend’s enormous veal cutlet Milanese with cherry tomatoes and rocket salad. Nothing kills the appetite like people watching you eat so, although it was certainly tasty, she was soon defeated by the sizeable slab.

Full enough to resist an apple strudel, Zug kirsch cake or even white truffle ice cream with Lavazza, I compromised by ordering peppermint tea with some very tempting petit fours. But apparently they only come with coffee, so the sugary morsels set us back another 8 francs.

I knew lunch in Gstaad would be a fancy affair – after all, high prices are necessary to keep out the commoners – but the Olden takes the biscuit.

Hotel Olden, CH-3780 Gstaad
+41 (0)33 748 4950; www.hotelolden.ch

Queen of tartes

Nestled in the enclave of Plaine Dranse between the ski resorts of Avoriaz and Châtel, Le Vieux Chalet is a warm, woody retreat, stuffed to the gunnels with sprigs of greenery, cowbells, wicker baskets and bears. Not towering taxidermies of fearsome grizzlies, but a collection of teddy bears that fills every cupboard and renders the staircase impassable.

Then there is BaBeth, the chalet’s foxy, fifty-something proprietor. Rumour has it she doesn’t suffer fools, ruthlessly ejecting indecisive skiers torn between tartiflette and fondue. That said, the warm-hearted hostess has also been known to break out the champagne after hearing of a patron's proposal on the piste.

Beware of asking BaBeth about herself; without hesitation she will foist upon you a laminated magazine article detailing the trials and tribulations of her life, before thrusting forth her newly published book, which seems to follow a similar theme. Then comes the photo album, a lengthy catalogue of BaBeth’s snow-filled frolics and provocative poses, before visitors can finally think about food.

The menu of mountain fare complements the alpine interior where tables are tucked away in cosy nooks, scattered with red and green cushions. Washed down with some robust red wine, platters of viandes sechées can be followed by a tasty thin-crust pizza or tartiflette – a hot and hearty Savoyard speciality of potatoes, onions and reblochon cheese.

Le Vieux Chalet is almost as well known for its spectacular tartes as for its extrovert owner and a chunky wedge of the bilberry or Tatin varieties makes for a fruity conclusion to a mountain meal. All that’s left is for BaBeth to draw one of her signature black hearts on your cheek before you hit the slopes… as if you needed anything to remember her by.

Le Vieux Chalet, 74390 Châtel, France
+33 (0)450 73 38 77; www.vieuxchalet.com

Delicious drama

At Little Bay, an unassuming south London restaurant, first-time diners are always astounded when the resident opera singer bursts into song. The décor is similarly dramatic – dark reds and golds evoke London’s traditional theatres – while ladders lead to the most sought-after tables for dress circle devotees.


This was the image I had in mind while walking to L’Opéra Bouffe, an Eaux-Vives eatery named after the burlesque style of entertainment pioneered by Jacques Offenbach in 19th century Paris. The reality was quite different, however: not an opera singer in sight and the food was fabulous.


Our round table reflected the shape of the enormous mirror, which allows wall-facing diners to soak up the surroundings without craning their necks. The dim light of table lamps brings burlesque to mind, while cherubic carvings and a miniature proscenium perched on the bar reinforce the theatrical theme.


For the ‘preludio’, we ordered two plates of flavoursome foie gras with crispy pieces of toast to share. More adventurous eaters might like to sample a slice of black pudding, sweetly balanced by red onion compote and caramelised apples, or perhaps half a dozen oysters.


Slightly baffled by the florid French menu, I ordered something containing polenta, aubergines and duck as my ‘intermezzo’. Monsieur Gourmand went for blanquette de veau comme autrefois - crudely translated as ‘blanket of veal from another time’ - a description that was too intriguing to turn down...

The time-travelling calf creation turned out to be a delicious veal stew, perked up by hearty winter vegetables and lashings of cream. But it was easily trumped by my tagine of piping hot polenta and shredded duck, topped with aubergines and melted cheese. I felt full about half way through but couldn’t bring myself to stop as I savoured each mouthful of my moist, moreish meal.


Alas, this left little room for a final act fanfare of tarte tatin, dark chocolate sorbet or Scottish ice cream with whisky, cream and marinated raisins – sweet sensations that demand a return visit to this vaudevillian neighbourhood haunt.


L’Opéra Bouffe, 5 avenue de Frontenex, 1207 Genève
+41 (0)22 736 6300 www.operabouffe.ch

Flavoursome feast

As our dessert arrived at Le 3 Rive Gauche, Monsieur Gourmand declared himself to be utterly replete with meat and unable to consume another thing. However, after sampling the minty ‘broth’ of mandarin and orange with sweet mint sorbet, he did concede that it was indeed a refreshing and aromatic end to a fantastic feast of flavours that had included foie gras, truffle, cider and sausage.

Enhanced by the unmistakeable whiff of black truffle, Monsieur Gourmand’s steak tartare starter was so exquisite that he was rapturously wishing it didn’t have to end. My foie gras was similarly sensational, cut into a neat oblong with a strip of duck meat in the middle and accompanied by a crisp green salad with hazelnut dressing.

Peering over at the next table’s beef – when the presentation is this good, diners can’t help but be fascinated by other people’s plates – we wondered if we should have ordered the côte de boeuf; our fears were soon allayed when we saw my scallops Saint-Jacques neatly perched atop clumps of green basil risotto, surrounded by a cider and beetroot sauce. The scallops were of course scrumptious, although for 42 francs I might have expected more than four.

Monsieur Gourmand declined my offer to try one because his palate, still in truffle tartare ecstasy, was so overwhelmed by the robust flavour of his smoky Vaudois sausage. Not to mention the accompanying green lentils, livened up with fiendish foie gras.

Other than Le 3 Rive Gauche’s location in the heart of the Old Town and the building's century-long history – proudly detailed on the website – there is nothing old fashioned about this deservedly popular restaurant. The service is slick, the décor is de rigueur with funky glassware and chunky cutlery, and I particularly like the option of half-size starter portions for more modest appetites.

Most importantly, however, the delectable and daring menu is a tasty triumph that has made a lasting impression on me and Monsieur Gourmand.

Le 3 Rive Gauche, Grand Rue 3, Geneva 1204; 022 810 2929
http://www.le3rg.com/

Burger betrayal

Crans-Montana is normally known for glorious sunshine, glamorous après-skiers and breathtaking views, so you can imagine the disappointment of arriving to find sparkling sun-drenched slopes replaced by freezing fog and a heavy, snow-filled sky. Skiing conditions would surely be treacherous with such poor visibility so Monsieur Gourmand, our two friends and I admitted defeat and settled in for a long lunch instead.

The only establishment prepared to serve food after 2pm was Senso Alto, a recently refurbished restaurant and bar in the heart of Montana that offers a pleasant mix of modern décor and traditional alpine cosiness. Sumptuous fireside armchairs would be ideal for sitting back with a wedge of cake and a cup of tea, while square, chunky tables make the perfect platform for enjoying a hearty mountain meal.

Chilled to the bone after our snowy search for an amenable eatery, we wasted no time in ordering our first bottle of Pinot noir. This was enjoyed with a plate of viandes sechées which, though tasty, might benefit from a few more cornichons and fresher bread (I suspect the once luxurious loaf had graced several bread baskets by this late hour).

Feeling rather doughy myself after the Christmas holidays, I opted for a relatively light chèvre salad. It was a little on the small side but delicious nonetheless – the melted goat’s cheese oozed over the bread croutons onto a bed of subtly dressed green leaves scattered with pine kernels.

While one of our group enjoyed a thick and nutritious minestrone soup, Monsieur Gourmand and our other friend both chose burgers – or so we thought.

Monsieur Gourmand’s looked a little meagre but at least it contained some meat, unlike the tartiflette ‘burger’ which took us all by surprise when it turned out to be just tartiflette. In a bun. Was it wrong to expect a burger to contain, well, a burger? Or, in Senso Alto speak, is a cheese burger another name for a cheese sandwich? Would they call a bean-filled bun a veggie burger?

Two bottles of Pinot noir later this menu misdescription was long forgotten. As day turned to night we left feeling warm and reasonably well fed, looking forward to the following day when, thankfully, Crans-Montana’s celebrated sunshine returned.

Senso Alto, Avenue de la Gare 2, 3963 Crans-Montana