La Soucoupe excels

Lunch At La Soucoupe, the celebrities favourite restaurant in Les Trois Valleys, lived up to expectations with Fois Gras, Gigondas, rib of beef and one of the best Irish coffee’s I have ever experienced. It was on a sunny terrace with a Montechristo in hand, that coffee and that view that I began to worry about the poor people. The view is of the most amazing panorama of snow-clad mountains nestling in the sunshine, but we are told the weather is about to turn.

It was a late start as I had lost my reading glasses and being as blind as a bat without them, replacements were needed. There is nothing wrong with my long sight, I can read the makers instructions on a jumbo jet at 40,000 feet, but a menu at arms length? No way.  This loss meant that my hundred of readers were bereft yesterday of their favourite daily column until late morning.

A trip to the pharmacy produced a gem. I found some reading glasses with lights built-in for reading in the dark, how cool is that? So this daily report on the lives of the idle rich is being written as I speak using the light from these wonderful new specs.

Another picture from Les Folies Douce which captures a passing paraglider

I am not one to read a ski map, I leave this to more organisationally challenged individuals such as Mr Clipboard. However he left before me as he is without the daily responsibility of informing a dedicated readership about the benefits of having an account with Currencies Direct for their foreign exchange needs. Thus That Nice Lady Decorator took charge of map reading duties. That she is a better skier than me is irrefutable,  as is her irritation should anything hold her up, and that thing was me.

Struggling down what I considered to be a very tricky red slope, whilst she seemed to be skiing the same slope as a much easier blue, map in one hand ski poles in the other, I got left behind. With little idea of where we were (The Alps?), I was faced with two options at the bottom of the slope. Turn right or left.  She had, of course, skied down in the full knowledge that I would know which way to go, but I think you know what happened. I turned left, she turned right.

So, lost on the slopes and fielding regular “you are an idiot” phone calls, I was eventually guided to a meeting place but not until I had become acquainted with parts of this ski domain that I had never known existed. Thus by the time I was found, alone and shivering, it was time to meet the rest of our skiing party it was time for that lunch.

We nearly did not make it back as the lifts close at around 5pm but we had not factored in that we needed to get a couple of lifts to be able to ski back to Meribel. Catching the last ride up, we were sufficiently unsettled as to require some immediate après ski remedy. This took the shape if several. Mohito’s at the Barometer Bar.

Today is the penultimate days skiing  before the trip back to blight key commences on Saturday morning but all good things must come to an end, so a last lunch will probably ensue, last because Mr Clipboard is leaving early in order to fulfil a long standing engagement at Twickenham to watch the mighty English rugby team take the next step towards the grand slam in the 6 nations rugby tournament. It could be for nothing less that I will accept his early departure and I will be consigned to finding a bar in Beaune which is televising the match, where if the car starts, we shall again be overnighting on Saturday. I don’t even mind if the commentary is in French.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News