Glut then famine

I am told by That Nice Lady Decorator that I have become too much of a Francophile and that I have forgotten how to appreciate the glories of England, but let me tell you that yesterday I appreciated it like seldom before. A planned late morning walk around the Sussex countryside in bright sunshine, albeit with sweaters, was a delight. A pint and a half of London Pride at the Partridge in Singleton a welcome venue for sustenance, and the walking to Charlton for lunch at The Fox Goes Free, where we even tried to sit in the sunshine for 5 minutes before retiring inside, was a quintessentially wonderful English winter experience, and one that I hope to emulate in the coming months. If the weather was like this all winter, then I would never have moved to France. Of course, it was an exception, an anomaly of chance, that two days after a hurricane, we were able to do this, but we did, I was there, and it was fab.

Earlier, I had walked 4 miles around the Norfolk Estate from where I took this picture, so with 7 miles if walking under my belt, I was ready to eat.

The Norfolk Estate in Arundel

Mellow after a nice lunch, and having spent some due time considering the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct for all foreign currency transactions, we returned to the house for an afternoon nightcap, to light the fire, and in my case, to smoke a cigar from Havana whilst sitting in the inglenook fire-place, waiting for a pre evening siesta to embrace me. How much more English can you get? Well, apart from a the cigar and the siesta?

But then I have to nit pick. How can any self-respecting restaurant expect to be taken seriously when there is a range of wines available by the glass, but not a single red from the wine capital of the world, France? As Homer Simpson once said “if there was a law, it would be against it”. That Nice Lady Decorator was content with her glass of Rioja, whilst I struggled through on a glass of Australian Shiraz, but only after I had taken the management to task for this horrendous omission.

Perhaps I should not have made such a big thing about me being a writer for the Daily Telegraph (well I did write one article that they published) but standards need to be maintained and this, to my mind, was a dip in those standards that, had I not lunched so well, might have marked this pub down in the Chris France guide of where to go to eat in Sussex and the south of France.

Earlier we had discussed the pros and cons of eating red meat. I am of the opinion that Morrissey is a complete twat when it comes to eating properly, you only have to get a glance at his cadaverous, unhealthy appearance to know that whatever dietary guidance he is following is misguided. I know that red meat is something that is good for you although should be eaten sparingly. Don’t bother me with science, I just know.

That Nice Lady Decorator contended that her belly of pork was white meat, a contention that I opposed, but it seems that it is not clear-cut whether pork is red meat or white. It was a clear cut cut of meat but the colour remains a matter of disagreement. For myself, the rib-eyed steak afforded no such doubt. It was my second dose of red meat of the week, so I have managed to maintain the minimum intake advisable. I accept that it is advice I both give and accept.

Talking of food, yesterday was a day sandwiched between two diet days. It occurred to me that it is a very cruel expression to describe it as such, a day between diet days. Why does anything to do with food denial have to be named after food? Anyway, after a day of plenty, today will be a day of less than plenty. Such is life.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News