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 

Hand Awash

British children in the 1980s were forever being told to "think of the Ethiopians", i.e. eat everything on your plate with not a morsel going to waste. I'm not sure that my overeating - or, for that matter, being strong-armed into giving away one of my furry friends (stuffed animals) for charity - really helped the starving children, but it certainly made me aware of their plight. 
 
As a country associated with starvation, Ethiopia isn't known so well for its food. But our recent feast at Awash proves that Ethiopian food and the abundance of it is indeed something to celebrate!  
 
Having ordered the tasting menu (neither of us had ever eaten Ethiopian before) we were soon presented with some excellent samosas. Crispy on the outside, they were spiced to perfection with a delicious dipping sauce on the side and, importantly, easy to eat with your hands (no knives and forks here).  

The main dish that followed was a bit more tricky. Neat piles of traditional stewed meats and vegetables were presented on a big round injera, a type of sourdough flatbread. The idea is to pick up pieces of food in the bread but it's not as easy as it sounds.

 

For one thing, you're only supposed to use your right hand (we didn't ask why) and, secondly, the spongy porous texture means it doesn't roll up as neatly as a tortilla, so you inevitably end up with meat-scented fingers. 

We dutifully devoured everything on the platter (old habits die hard) while enjoying the desert-themed décor of low tables, cushion-strewn banquettes and pictures of mysterious-looking robed horsemen. And to quash the famine fixation once and for all, on Friday nights Awash becomes a sort of cultural centre with live music and dancing added to the menu. 

Awash, Rue du Valais 9, 1202 Geneva

+41 (0)22 738 7298; www.awash.ch 

Get stuffed on Sunday

As anyone in Switzerland will know, working on a Sunday is sinful. So you had better not try buying anything or eating out (OK, there are a few places open but I mean a few).

 

For those with such lack of forethought as to have nothing in the fridge, one option is to venture into neighbouring France where they are a little less strict on observing the Sabbath; better still, go to an establishment run by Indians who are so relaxed about religious rules that they even serve beef!

Karishma is not super glitzy but it is rather smart with moody lighting, sumptuous seating and waiters who wear jackets and ties. Not bad for a romantic dinner à deux (Monsieur Gourmand and I were celebrating our wedding anniversary, Sunday or not).

And what a tasty dinner it was. We began with the tenderest tandoori lamb with silky naan bread before moving on to chicken sagwala for me and lamb tikka massala for Monsieur Gourmand. The accompanying dhal was lovely and lumpy rather than the overprocessed lentil smoothies you sometimes find.

The upmarket effect is rather ruined by the laminated ice cream menu of a certain brand for dessert - albeit with some Indian additions of kulfi and coconut fritters - but nobody ever eats dessert after an Indian feast anyway.

 

Suitably stuffed, we went home happy, knowing there is an excellent Indian close by that even serves on a Sunday. 

 

Karishma Lounge, 76 Grande Rue 01220 Divonnes-les-Bains, France

+33 (0)4 50 99 07 07; www.karishma-lounge.com

There's a fly in my soup

The flies that invade our bucolic abode in the summertime are enough to send the most patient person mad. So they don't go down very well with Monsieur Gourmand. It's so bad that I can't even have a humble basil plant without it being ravaged by some miniscule marauder in a matter of hours.

I blame the cows and the corn fields.

We've been thinking about getting one of those blue electrocution devices you see in Mediterranean restaurants; it would solve our insect woes while giving us the pleasure of watching them sizzle to death. I'm guessing they don't have one of those at the Auberge de la Réunion where Monsieur Gourmand and I struggled to get through our meal such was the insect onslaught.

It might have been my soupe de poissons that initially attracted them, so fiendishly fishy it was, but after that they didn't go away. Monsieur Gourmand meanwhile had a modest mixed salad, mainly because there didn't seem to be any other starter options for less than 25 CHF, which seems a little steep for a place that hardly markets itself as super swish.

 The flies continued to attack, ticklishly landing on my hand as I sliced into my grilled entrecote, which was so perfectly proportioned and the criss-cross grill marks so straight that it looked like a cartoon steak. A bit too twee for my liking, like one of those straight GM carrots. 

As for the chips, Monsieur Gourmand thought they were like McDonalds'. I'm not sure whether that's good or bad? We skipped dessert, unable to face the sugar-fuelled fly-fest that certainly would have ensued.

The insects might not be the management's fault but the inflated prices and mediocre meal are. If those could be improved to the standard of the friendly and efficient service and the inviting front terrace, this auberge might be ripe for a return visit.

Auberge de la Réunion, Route de la Tourbière 3, 1267 Coinsins, Vaud
+41 (0)22 364 2301; www.auberge-coinsins.ch/

Eternal tea

As sure as night follows day, restaurants in Geneva always ask if you've booked. Even if all their tables are empty and it's clear to see that you are the only customer they are likely to have all evening.

So it's nice to find that for once it was worth the phone call. Le Thé, tucked away behind the concrete delight that is Plainpalais, is so revered for its delectable dim sum that only a fool would try to turn up without booking.

The six or so tables are tucked between oriental screens and the wall, which is decked with precariously placed Chinese teapots. Of course, at a place called Le Thé they are quite big on tea.

We had a jasmine variety which went very nicely with the steamed buns and dumplings... when they eventually arrived. Rarely have I been so ravenous; the wait was like torture as we watched other earlier arrivals tucking in with glee as the only cook in the kitchen slaved away and the lady owner waited the tables as slowly as a snail.

And the tea only made me hungrier, meaning that when the food came I wolfed it down in a frenzy, as did Monsieur Gourmand, so we can't really remember what it was like.

I'm pretty sure we were impressed - and surely all of those people that book all the tables every night can't all be wrong - but, wary of having to wait an age on uncomfortable metal chairs with barely enough room to swing a Peking duck, I doubt we'll go back.

Le Thé, 65 rue des Bains, 1205 Genève
+41 (0)794 367718



 

Hot cheese

Having waited an age for our obviously unoccupied table, which I had dutifully booked well in advance as is the Swiss way, we couldn't understand why the man who greeted us at La Barillette wouldn't let us sit down. It was only when a try-your-luck foursome tried to snaffle it that we had to jump in and claim it.

Then they wouldn't give us any menus so I grabbed them myself. Now we were getting somewhere.

We grabbed the attention of one of the four serving men (what had they done with the women, I wonder?) but just as we were gearing up to give him our order, oh no, something else caught his attention and he wandered off to the other side of the terrace with not so much as a backward glance or a reassuring "j'arrive". Fortunately one of his colleagues saw our hunger-pained faces and took over.

At last we were able to savour the spectacle of the Alpine panorama, which draws hikers, cyclists and petrolheads (the road up there is very bendy) in equal number to this lofty Jura spot.

The fact that it is only open in summer is slightly at odds with the hearty menu, which is a feast of fondue, steak, sausages and the like, albeit wth a salad and a charcuterie platter thrown in. Despite the 30° heat, Monsieur Gourmand helped my mother devour a fondue (it's not often she gets the chance) and by all accounts it was most enjoyable. My stepfather and I had viande sechée and a green salad each, which would have been easily big enough to share. All very well if you've cycled 12 km uphill but I felt a bit guilty eating so much having whizzed up here on petrol power alone.

Yes, the service is excruciatingly slow and it's a tough place to reach without a car, but we should be grateful I suppose that views like this can be enjoyed somewhere rustic and relaxed rather than overpriced and pretentious.

Restaurant La Barillette, Route de la Dôle, CH-1276 Gingins
+41 (0)22 360 12 33; www.restaurant-barillette.ch
 

Pinball gizzard

Sundays at my grandmother's house usually consisted of a tasty roast and a long walk in the Hertfordshire countryside before heading back for a pot of tea with some biscuits and a game of Bagatelle. 

It turns out that ours was actually billards japonais, a later variation of the French original that would one day morph into pinball. But that is beside the point and of course has no bearing on my rose-tinted reminiscences. 

 

The bedraggled-looking Bagatelle restaurant near Geneva's Cornavin station has nothing fun, exciting or quick-fire about it but it's as good as any for a leisurely lunch, and we've been here long enough to know that the painfully slow service is only to be expected in a long-established Swiss eatery. 

 

On our recent visit, Monsieur Gourmand had filets de perche (average) and frites (a bit too yellow and straight-out-of-the freezer looking) while I had an enormous salade de foie de volaille - that's chicken liver - with generous chunks of walnut and raisins and rather too much dressing. (Yes, I do really like liver. And sprouts. And anchovies). 

 

Seeing the man on the next table brandishing his money in vain for an age before finally paying, and another man sit down only to be completely ignored, Monsieur Gourmand and I didn't waste any time on dessert or coffee.

 

Like the old bagatelle set languishing in storage, this restaurant could do with being dusted off and given a new lease of life.  

Bagatelle, Boulevard James-Fazy 20, 1201 Genève
+41 (0)22 732 26 29

Peerless pizza

Monsieur Gourmand and I have found the best pizza in town.

 

It's at Camilo's Place, sister restaurant of Espresso Club, the long-established Paquis pizzeria. It might even be the best pizza anywhere in the world, but I suspect some Neapolitan people might have something to say about that.

 

The ingredients are not only deliciously fresh but a little unusual - lettuce, zucchini flower, an amazing local goat's cheese - while the bases are thin with not even a hint of heaviness. And it seems to be true that the best things come in small packages; the modest dimensions mean I don't have to go away guilt ridden for wolfing down a 15-inch carbfest covered in cheese. 

  

If, like Monsieur Gourmand, you do find yourself a bit peckish post pizza, the house desserts are all classics: fresh berries (whatever's in season), tiramisu or chocolate fondant. None is particularly exciting but might make a nice nibble while polishing off your bottle of house wine (which changes weekly) amid an atmosphere of frenetic pizza-making and speedy service.

 

Camilo's Place, rue du Stand 38, 1204 Geneva

+41 (0)22 320 4290

 

 

Average excellence

Faced with foul weather, I struggled to find things to do when my parents came to visit last month. 

The chilly temperatures and pouring rain prompted me to regale them with stories of  when la bise (vicious north-easterly wind) attacked the lakefront in February 2012, resulting in ice formations fit for a fairytale. And there just happened to be an exhibition on in Geneva dedicated to that very event! So that was one afternoon filled.

But where to eat? My stepfather must be the fussiest eater known to man. He doesn't do Italian because he can't eat pasta or pizza (exactly why not remains a mystery), anything ethnic is a big no-no and he's not even as keen on steak as he once was (especially after we introduced him to bison at Collex-Bossy a while back).

I racked my brain for somewhere generic, not too adventurous or jazzy, that served "normal food", i.e. none of the above. Fish was at the forefront of my mind as that would please everyone, and then I remembered O' Les Terrasses on the Nyon lakefront. Unassuming without being dull, modern without being outlandish and no overriding bad memories. We decided to give it a go.

And I'm mighty glad we did because now we know where to go when Monsieur Gourmand fancies filets de perche. They don't come cheap but these ones are fresh from the lake, meaning Lac Léman rather than some other lake (and if they're not, they tell you), served in two helpings by the charming staff, with a pot of delicious stringy-thin chips and a leafy green salad.

Confronted with such deliciousness, it's hard to even consider the rest of the tempting menu: starters of ceviche or chestnut cappucino and mains of cod, sea bass and juicy steaks.

Whether you eat inside watching a storm lash the lake or soak up the sun on the deck-like terrace, this must be the best "normal" place in Nyon.

O' Les Terrasses du Lac, rue de Rive 13, 1260 Nyon
+41 (0)22 990 1010; www.olesterrassesdulac.ch

Seafood central

Monsieur Gourmand is still a bit fernickety about fish (the bony, head-still-attached variety anyway). Even so, to celebrate a special occasion, he wasn't averse to trying Café du Centre, Geneva's terribly touristy yet highly regarded seafood specialist.

The dazzling display in the window is always a sight to behold: meaty monkfish, rays, oysters, mussels and scallops, draped over ice and usually arranged around a lobster centrepiece. Inside, it is old-fashioned French through and through with mirrored walls, tiled floors, woody banquettes and mature waiters well turned out in white shirts and aprons.

After a glass of champagne and a shared carpaccio starter, I delved into my "marmite du pecheur". Satisfyingly strong, hot and hearty, this soupy seafood concoction was brimming with chunks of scallop, prawn, seabass, cod and shellfish. I can just imagine beardy French fishermen wolfing down a similar meal before a night on the ocean waves.

Monsieur Gourmand stayed faithful to our location with fresh-from-the-lake filets de perches meunière. We've found perches in these parts to be hit and miss, but these good-sized morsels were excellent: not too greasy and accompanied by skinny chips, a tangy tartare sauce and some spinach.

Café du Centre is a classic Geneva institution in every way but one: they actually serve all day. So while the tourists are still traipsing around museums and before the accordion-playing cacophonists descend on Place du Molard for the evening, try it for an afternoon bite.

Café du Centre, 5 Place du Molard, 1204 Geneva
+41 (0)22 311 8586; www.cafeducentre.ch

Tardy truffle

Friendly service, intriguing amuse bouches, sensational seafood and delicate desserts. Not to mention an owner-chef who clearly takes pride in his work and likes to top off his customers' meals with a glass of sweet Santorini dessert wine.

Such were my memories of fantastic fishiness that we simply had to return to Auberge du Soleil for a second visit.

We were served by the same lady as last time - a delightful exception to the grumpy Swiss stereotype - who wasted no time in tempting us with her bowl of lumpy black truffles and platter of fish, which included skate wings, turbot and sole.

Monsieur Gourmand and I both started with creamy, runny poached eggs in a truffly emulsion, followed by fish. I had two slim fillets of lotte while Monsieur Gourmand had sole meunière accompanied by the fluffiest mash potatoes imaginable, also infused with truffle.

The lavender crème brûlée had stuck in my memory from last time and I couldn't resist a second stab of the sugary crust. Its sweetly scented deliciousness didn't disappoint.

What did disappoint (but only a little bit) was the waiting. Due to the Soleil's overwhelming popularity, our waitress and her colleague were so rushed off their feet that we ended up leaving just before midnight, having arrived at 8.30.

We went home exhausted and overindulged from all the wine we had drunk while waiting to eat but that wasn't enough to overpower the lasting impression of fine flavours and sensational smells. 

Auberge du Soleil, Place du Soleil 1, 1183 Bursins
+ 41 (0)21 824 13 44; www.aubergedusoleil.ch

Pre-adventure pizza

I've always said that if I were a condemned woman pizza would be my last meal (or at least part of it because I would probably fancy a juicy steak for good measure and maybe a crème brûlée to top things off).

So it was fitting that the night before venturing down the Vallée Blanche - or, more importantly, scaling the height of 3800 m on the Aiguille du Midi cable car - pizza should be my sustenance.

Monsieur Gourmand and I, with two of our more adventurous friends, stumbled into Neapolis from the icy outdoors, not fancying a long search for food. We were told it would be a 20-minute wait but we could tell it would be good - the ground floor and the upper balcony bit looked warm and cosy, heaving with sophisticated-looking ski types. So we settled in at the bar with a carafe of plonk and some focaccia and tried not to think about the famous "walk of death" leading from the cable car to the beginning of tomorrow's mythical mountain itinerary. 

No time for faffing with starters, we went straight to the main course. Tania had spaghetti bolognese, which was doubtless far better than most of the Chamonix Brits are used to, while the other three of us tried the delicious Neapolitan pizzas, all topped with the freshest ingredients and the bases nicely charred around the edge.

Of course, there's more to Italian cuisine than pizza but ice cream isn't usually the first thing that springs to mind in the mountains. These ones though were outstanding, I might even say the best I've ever had. The 90% dark chocolate flavour was beyond chocolatey with big chunky bits, while the mint choc chip was refreshing after our cheesy mains.

Well, it turned out not to be the last supper after all (the ridge walk was nothing short of terrifying, the skiing magnificent) but this would have been a more than satisfying last meal on earth had I fallen to my death.

Neapolis, 79 Galerie Alpina, 74400 Chamonix, France
+33 (0)450 53 98 41
 

Soggy veg

There's a lot to be said for cheap and cheerful pizzerias. But cheap is hard to find in this neck of the woods and cheerful isn't something that springs to mind in most Romande restaurants.

 

At least La Puccia gets full marks for trying. The food is cheaper than poncier pizza places, the owner is amiable indeed and the atmosphere could even be called buzzy. And pizza is not the limit - Italian classics such as Saltimbocca and Veal a la Milanese are always worth a bite and there's an inviting array of pastas. 

 

In an effort to shed some Christmas kilos, I was avoiding a carb-fest on our last visit in favour of vegetables, something that any chef worth his white hat should be able to cook. Alas, not so here - my veggies were soggy and salty rather than crunchy and croquant. A shame really because everything else was fine, particularly our friend's cheesy gnocchi.

 

Don't expect creative cuisine or edible vegetables but a couple of carafes of wine and passable pizza are enough to make La Puccia a reliable choice to kick off a night on the Nyon tiles.

 

La Puccia, Grande Rue 5-7, 1260 Nyon
+ 41 (0)22 361 2020; www.lapuccia.ch

Monotonous meathead

I'm lucky to have found Monsieur Gourmand at the tender age of 21; it saved me years and years of dull dates like the one endured by the poor girl on the next table at Au Parc in Montreux.

 

As her beau's musculation monologue ensued, she barely said a word, dutifully trying to look transfixed as he talked her through every muscle group and sinew. I wondered whether she was thinking the same as me behind her glazed-over eyes: he doesn't look very buff.

 

Fortunately I had my own piece of meat to concentrate on in the form of veal saltimbocca. Three big slices topped generously with prosciutto and sage were quite enough to quell my hunger, while the vegetables on the side were pleasingly crunchy. Monsieur Gourmand wanted something hearty to prepare him for our weekend skiing, so he went for fagottini with a creamy black truffle sauce, which turned out to be sensational.

 

Beyond muscle man and his long-suffering squeeze, we saw several groups of what looked like locals sharing big woodfire pizzas and quaffing red wine. This is obviously a popular place and deservedly so - the food is reliable tasty Italian, the atmosphere is buzzing and there's even service with a smile. 

 

Still, I suspect our friend on the next table will always remember it with a yawn.   

 

Au Parc, Grand Rue 38, 1820 Montreux

+41 (0)21 963 3157; www.au-parc.com