Picanha

As our last dinner together before Dad headed back home, we went out to one of our favourite eating places, the Picanha Palace in downtown Bonnevoie, one of the few restaurants in ever-expensive Luxembourg where you get more than your money’s worth. It is run by a very cheerful and hospitable Portugese husband and wife team aided by an equally cheerful cook who wobbles menacingly around the restaurant insisting that diners try just a little more of his mouth-watering steaks.

Picanha is the most prized cut of beef in Brazil, which in churrascaria restaurants is rubbed with rock salt and barbecued on a vertical grill. Servings are sliced straight from the skewer at the table using a horrendously sharp looking machete.

After the usual warm and effusive welcome from Mama, Papa insisted that we sample some of a new shipment of red wine from somewhere in South America. Embarrassed by our finding the first bottle to be corked, he poured the contents down the sink with great ceremony and spent the remainder of the evening trying to compensate for any perceived lack of quality by the simple substitute of quantity. Fortunately, it was only a couple of blocks walk back to our apartment, as after our over indulgence in both food and wine, we all needed a walking stick like Dad’s. It was a memorable evening to finish off Dad’s 2015 European sojourn. We are already planning next year’s.

What! Malcolm talking and Dad looking bemused!?

Gracefully accepting another helping of Picanha.

Road Trip

Although this is out of chronological order, its theme complements the previous items.

Back in November Dad and I promised ourselves a break from Ocean Grove. So, as a prelude to our proposed Cornwall pilgrimage, we set off on a road trip through northern Victoria, spending a couple of days each with various family members. We stayed firstly with Uncle Jack and Aunty Dot in Bendigo. We did some nostalgic wandering around the areas of town where we had been brought up, seeing a lot that had changed and a lot that had remained the same, like the Shamrock Hotel on Pall mall.

We then headed north to Kerang along that flat, straight road on which we had travelled innumerable times in the distant past on our way to the farm at Koraleigh. We had a very pleasant dinner (including wine!) at the Royal Hotel with cousin Lindsay and Diane. Their house backs onto extensive wetlands, through which Dad and I would take our early morning constitutional surrounded by a wonderful variety of native water birds. Lindsay and Diane are in the throes of selling their practice and property to take on a somewhat contrasting lifestyle working on a hospital ship off Madagascar.

On to Swan Hill where we caught up with Aunty Joy, who appeared very pleased to see us. We enjoyed a wonderful lunch at Spoons Riverside restaurant on the banks of the Little Murray together with cousin Jan and Colin.

Heading south, we of course stopped off at Lake Boga to visit the Catalina Museum. I had heard a lot about it but hitherto had not the chance to visit. Dad noticed a number of additional items on display from the last time he had been there, including several copies of his wartime memoirs. He was a little pensive, perhaps half remembering a long distant part of his life and I think, marvelling at the simple fact that both he and the Catalina were still here.

Then across the flat northern Victorian flood plains via the Murray Valley Highway to Shepparton for lunch with Dad’s cousin Bruce and Heather. We were serenaded by sulphur-crested cockatoos whilst enjoying another delightful lunch on the verandah of their lovely homestead overlooking the Goulburn River.

We then spent a couple of days staying with brother Ross and Chrissy at their delightful property outside Benalla. Below is a photo of what is effectively their front garden, replete with noisy native birds and occasional raucous, grunting koalas.

Part of Ross’ retirement plan involves the designing and building of rustic outdoor furniture from recycled and unprocessed native timbers. Whilst essentially utilitarian, these are also works of art in themselves. Ross and Margot are shown here relaxing on a cunning combination of recycled red gum bridge timbers and fence palings which now serves as the spectator stands for what is believed to be Australia’s biggest boules rink, which in the off season doubles as an arena for Chrissy’s horse training.

We joined Ross on his daily constitutional walking the dogs to the end of Emu Bridge Road and back. The limpid late afternoon light painted the countryside almost poetically. Well, it made it easy to take a couple of nice photos.

On our last evening, Dad and I gatecrashed the Emu Bridge Road residents Christmas party, a popular annual drinks event held in the early evening shadows of the eponymous bridge.

For more photos,click here:

Colmar

I accompanied Dad down to Colmar in Alsace where he spent some time catching up with old friends from when he and Mum lived there 30 odd years ago. As usual, he availed himself to Carol’s delightful and very much appreciated hospitality in her lovely, traditional home on the canal in the Petite Venise area of town.

As usual, Dad was overwhelmed with the attention lavished on him by Mimi and Jacques Lesage. They lunched often with various friends in the uber-picturesque Alsatian villages on the foothills of the Vosges. They were almost able to visit his old apartment chez Schwindenhammer in Zellenberg, discovering that young Sebastian retains the same dearth of charm that he displayed as a child.

 On our way down to Colmar to retrieve Dad 10 days later we passed by Sarrebourg which has a very particular chapel as it features a gigantic (12m x 8m) stained glass window design by Marc Chagall. We had tried to see this several times before, but it had always been closed. It was worth  the wait.

Whilst the weather was cold and damp, the hospitality of Dad’s friends was just the opposite. Each day we had a long, amusing and filling lunch with different friends. Baeckeoffe is an extremely popular dish in Alsace. 

  

For more photos, click here:

Cambridge and Folkestone

Next morning we set off across country to Cambridge where we had arranged to have lunch with an old business friend of Dad’s with whom he has kept in touch since Colmar days. We had an excellent meal and a Chablis in the conservatory at The Three Horseshoes in Madingley - to be recommended. This hamlet features the magnificent 16^th century Madingley Hall as well as the delightfully bucolic churchyard of St Mary Magdelene. Afterwards, we ensconced Dad in a comfortable hotel in Cambridge and drove up to Nuneaton where we had an enjoyable dinner in the local pub with Ingrid’s brother Mike and his wife Pat.

Next morning we headed back to Cambridge, picked up Dad and headed towards Folkstone. Our fear of the infamous M25 traffic was unfounded, so once over the Thames we were able to have a leisurely wander along the Medway in search of lunch. Later, we booked into a Faulty Towers like hotel and then went for a wander around downtown Folkestone.

The immaculate sunny Spring weather with which we had hitherto been blessed finally began to break. The blustery grey hue suited the town, with its omnipresent atmosphere of bygone prosperity. One bright note amongst all of this was The Samuel Peto pub on Rendezvous St. It had been a Baptist Chapel, boasting an extremely grand street façade with an even more over-the-top interior - a long way from its country cousin in Nyah.

For me, never has the term “faded grandeur” been more eloquently displayed than in the Grand Hotel, Folkestone. In its heyday 100 years ago as “Gentleman’s Residential Chambers” it boasted many famous patrons including King Edward VII and his companion, Mrs Keppel. We booked in for dinner in the Palm Court conservatory without great expectations. With the help of a bit of imagination, the setting was wonderful, with magnificent views out over the English Channel to the cliffs of Normandy. These were only slightly spoiled by the realisation that the imposing structure at the end of the immense shingle beach at Dungeness was, in fact, a nuclear power station.

Dinner over, we were treated to a grand tour of the establishment by another enthusiastic young man, taking in the immense function room and the ball room with its stage on which both Robert Morley and Michael Caine are said to have made their debuts (on separate occasions). The tour culminated with a visit to one of the penthouse suites with its rooftop terrace. Despite the blustery conditions, we stood and gazed out over the Channel with its twinkling lighthouses and passing shipping. This, together with our dinner in Calais 12 days earlier, neatly bookended a most enjoyable sojourn in England.