Friday 09.01.09
Having made the solitary ascent in the télécabine because I had not the strength nor the time to walk up; I made the short windy descent to Restaurant d'Altitude "Le Mousseron" all in the pretence of searching for my lover's spex.
There, I feasted upon Croûte Savoyarde et sa Salade Verte, which incidently, came in all colours of the rainbow; the only verte being the leaves of mache or lamb's lettuce, roquette and laitue. The other colours being radicchio, endive, feuilles de chêne and mixed in amongst them, halved, cherry tomatoes of a hue that can only suggest tastes yet to come.
The croûte fromage though, left a little to be desired...more fromage for a start, melted and without the accompanying tomato sauce and tinned slices of champignons de Paris... €13,00 and €4 for the cold red wine in a tiny pichet.
But never mind. They are trying to be different; to attract a different client. The international ski group of 'other' Europeans. It just makes me feel as if I am becoming français. I know how things should be.
The cold outside manifests in the clear sunlight as tiny crystals of ice shining in the sun against the far mountain on the other side of the abundant valley.
But as I wade through the champ that is my salad I listen to the lone family group, the other four inside the restaurant - a family of Germans. Vater, mutter und zwei kinder. The older of the two, an adolescent, has ugly braces upon his upper teeth which directs my gaze from the huge red lump that is his nose.
He turns towards me and smiles and as his family tuck into the plates of food before them, he squeezes at a huge but almost empty tube of mayonnaise and squeals in uncontrollable laughter as the creamy contents cover his french fries with all the finesse and sound of a squelchy fart.
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