When The Begin Begun

1955 was clearly an important year for the Gulf of St Tropez. It was in that year that the eponymous Club 55 first served a hungry film crew, who were shooting a film by Roger Vadim, called “And God created woman”. Long before I was old enough to go and see the film, I had fallen in love with Bridget Bardot.

I first visited 55 in 1970 when I was involved in a fashion shoot for one of our clients, a then famous London store, and our snapper was David Bailey and he introduced us to the delights of 55, in those days, still run by Père Colmont and a real treat to be there.

Now, of course it is amongst the most famous restaurants in the world, but as the late A A Gill reported, not for the food.

In the same year on another part of the Gulf, another beach restaurant was opening. This one at the bottom of the gulf on the route to Ste Maxime, and it was owned by a holiday club based nearby. In 1989 it was bought and sold and became “Le Pingouin Bleu”; and it still is.

Reminded of it by some good friends, we hastened to take lunch there. The haste was brought on by an impending trip to the UK to make some deliveries, visit good friends and attend an operatic delight at Glyndebourne, and my editor does not take kindly to being let down.

The route to Ste Maxime at this time of year puts me in mind of the American couple holidaying in Ireland in a hired car, and finding themselves lost, stopped a local in a small, but picturesque, lane to ask for directions. After a short time for reflection the Irishman said ‘Ah sure now, if I was going there, I wouldn’t be starting from here’.

So where ever you start from, there will be a bit of traffic, but it is that time of year.

The Pingouin Bleu sits comfortably on the sand in an area shaded by old trees beach which the space is littered with tables for hungry diners. The beach itself is covered in loungers for those foolish enough to want to expose their most delicate parts to the injurious rays of a foreign body.

We eschewed the sunbathing opportunity, age and wisdom to our aid, but were entranced to see so many families making up for their vitamin D deficiencies., in fact so entranced were the bathers that one lady, with, as they say, more front than Selfridges, was making a selfie film of herself.

We were seated in the shade at an old pine farmhouse table and cold drinks were soon in our hands.

We were amused to see the old barbecue pouring its heat and lava out readying itself for the lunchtime rush.

The menu was written on an old blackboard and offered a pleasing choice of fresh fish, including wild young turbot and wild Saint Pierre. They were not at the cheapest end of the menu, but a printed one that they had prepared earlier offered a fair selection for those who might want a light repas, in order to return to their lounger, or those (like me) who might see lunch as an important fuel stop.

We started with a Salad de Chèvre Chaud, to share. It was huge and would have left me gasping had it been a main course. Delicious, the chèvre had been dribbled with honey before being grilled and the very fresh salad was tastefully and plentifully dressed.

She who likes a nice piece of fish ordered the Turbotin Sauvage, and thought it a touch too much work to deal with all those bones, but try as she did, was unable to finish; too much was the cry.

I had chosen the Moules au Chorizo and was delighted with the freshness of the moules and the spicey hit of the chorizo; and when the moules were all gone the remaining soup/sauce was another meal in itself.

I shan’t talk about the banana split I had for dessert, but people from other tables were shooting envious glances.

Somehow a dessert from the 60’s was entirely appropriate in a beach restaurant which in itself was a throwback.

Those were the days my friends; and they have not ended.

On the other hand and at the other end, Normandy I mean, should you find yourself in the picturesque seaside village of Etretat, the place where Boudin took his great friend Monet, and said paint ‘en plein air mon ami’ and so he did. Perhaps the ‘berceau’ of impressionism?

It is a small village with a long Normandy beach and is famous for a hole in the rock (much painted and photographed) which forms a peninsula with the next village. Small and therefore challenging to park a car, it offers a range of restaurants, mainly with sea in mind.

The one I chose was L’Huitière, with an upstairs dining room affording special view out to sea, but even better views of the car park where all kinds of comedies were taking place.

I had 6 oysters followed by a fresh crab with mayonnaise. A half bottle of a flinty Muscadet, washed it all down. There can be no greater contrast between the North and the South, and at this rather warm time of year, I almost wished we still lived there.

Pip, pip

Trencherman