“I went to a French restaurant that serves ‘breakfast at any time’. So I ordered French Toast during the Renaissance.”
I was sitting at home minding my own business – by which I mean, I was in the garden with my friends on a Wednesday night noshing and boozing (hey, sometimes, the weekend starts on Wednesday) when, on a whim, we were invited to France. I was like:
I packed my portmanteau and dashed out the door so quickly, I left swirls of dust behind me like a cartoon character. I arrived in the town of Annecy at night and weary after hours of travel.
© Portmanteau Esmé
Any normal person would have gone to bed but instead I found myself in no less than three bars, including the wonderful Café des Arts.
Here, I found myself (after of hours of wining) dining on saucisson that was so extravagant in its phallicism that it was simultaneously oozing and sweaty but firm and somehow, crusty. Delicious!
Worse for wear the next morning, I did some perfunctory sightseeing until it was time for lunch.
My kind host had booked a lakeside table at Restaurant Chez Ma Cousine where I could, literally, dip my foot into the water whilst I was eating. It seemed to alarm the ducks so… be warned.
The restaurant has its own lounges by the lake where you can chill out and have (more) drinks after eating.
After a drunken dip in the lake and a wild go on a pedalo, came what seemed like an unnecessarily perilous, forty-five minute drive up a steep mountain. Driving up the never-ending circular pass was like a dizzy-making roller-coaster and it took everything in me not to expel everything in me. Thankfully, I did not throw up in my host’s car because there is no way I could have cleaned up vomit, I would’ve hurled some more!
Nevertheless, I soldiered on – brave thing that I am – for an alfresco dinner at the crest of the mountain with spectacular panoramic views. There’s nothing like the cool, crisp air atop a mountain to sober you right up.
What else is better than a night of fondue on a mountain-cap and copious amounts of wine and mystery alcohol? A sweet, mooing cow voluntarily walking right up to you so you can pet it. I called her Daisy.
