There, I had the most incredible meal I have had anywhere, ever.
Before telling you about that, I'll tell you about the rest of the day.
There are several ferries a day, and mine arrived about quarter to eleven. The island is a plateau, cliffs rising from the sea on all sides, so from the little harbour there's a somewhat steep hill to traverse in order to reach the village. I walked up the footpath, which took about ten minutes (and had me out of breath a bit! not used to hill walks), but there are tractor-trailers.
No cars are allowed on Sark. The only motorised vehicles are tractors and the roads are all dirt lanes, sandy and dusty in this weather. There are no streetlights. The only noises are the wind, the birds and insects, the odd cow, the odd cyclist or walker, the odd tractor, and the sea. It brought to mind Inis Mór, a rugged, rocky island off the coast of Galway, exposed to the elements. Sark feels a bit less exposed, but maybe it was just the fact that there are a lot more trees there, and little valleys, and that the weather was warm and sunny. Anyway, it was quite odd... not quite eerie, but you know it would be if the weather and/or season were different. I read a book about Irish faery stories a few years ago - people's stories of their experiences - and they described walking about the remote, sometimes harsh, unlit, sparsely populated countryside after dark, going home from the pub or a day's work or a neighbour's house; I wondered what that must be like, and felt the same while wandering around Sark. The island's tourism motto is "A world apart", and it is, it's like stepping back in time. I loved it.
I headed to Little Sark, connected to the main part of the island by La Coupeé, an isthmus almost a hundred metres long and about three metres wide. There's a sheer drop of almost a hundred metres on either side, and railings were only installed in 1900. Sarkees are sensible - there's only one recorded incident of someone being blown off it, back in the 18th century. There's a big beach on one side, and steps zig-zagging down the cliff, but the gate at the top is padlocked, so obviously it's too dangerous now. There were a couple of people down there though, and a little boat anchored just offshore.
After wandering round Little Sark for a while - saw the ruins of the silver mines, and Port Gorey, which as far as I could see was just a ladder fixed to the rocks for boats to pull up to - I went to La Sablonnerie for lunch. It's a hotel, restaurant and tea garden, at the end of a lane in the middle of nowhere. I'd read that it was very good, the best on the island, and that Sark lobster was a speciality - I've never had lobster before, so wanted to try that. In typical 'me'-style, I did doubt myself and consider going somewhere else, somewhere that might be cheaper (the menu didn't have prices on), but I just said what the hell - I was here at least partly on a food trip - and went in.
Ohhhh, am I glad I did.
Sat outside in the lovely garden, in the shade of the trees, I ordered the lobster thermidor. It came as pieces of tender meat from a young lobster, in a pool of creamy, slightly mustardy Mornay sauce, served in the creature's shell, topped with some grated cheese. It smelled divine.
As for what it tasted like... I'm sure a seasoned food journalist would find the words to describe it, but I'm not even going to attempt it. I can't describe how I felt with that first mouthful. It was stunning. The only word I have is exquisite.
Even the side salad was great. So simple, but so fresh and crisp and made with ingredients from the hotel's own gardens, drizzled in a pleasantly mild French dressing.
For dessert I ordered poached strawberries in a sweet wine syrup with sabayon.
This was just as amazing. The strawberries were sweet and obviously fresh seasonal ones, poached for just long enough that they were soft and juicy with the syrup but still had a bit of bite. The syrup was light and very sweet, balanced by the taste of brandy in the creamy, smooth, wonderful sabayon.
As I said, it was the most incredible meal I've had anywhere, ever, and I know this was because of a number of things. The ingredients were excellent quality, and mostly local. They had been worked by a very talented and skilled chef into something truly wonderful, a work of art. French food is new to me, nor have I had lobster or sabayon before. It was in a remote location, but the place itself was an oasis of charm and tranquility. It was a treat to experience a style of hospitality and service that was a bit different to what I'm used to at regular restaurants - it was calm, quiet, unintrusive, unhurried but not slow, professional and polite (I was called madame... the French version sounds a bit nicer than "madam"), and each waiter/waitress had a certain role for all tables, rather than each one serving a certain set of tables. When I went inside to pay the bill, the bubbly, friendly proprietress appeared and offered a small, complimentary glass of homemade sloe gin, which was delicious. (I don't like gin, but it seems sloe gin is a completely different beverage.) When she asked if I had enjoyed my meal, and I responded that it was the best I'd had anywhere ever, she was so pleased and thanked me and said she'd pass the compliment onto the chef. And finally, I was just not expecting it, but appreciated and savoured every single moment. The food was excellent and truly among the best I've ever had, and will be again if I go back one day, but it was a number of things together that made the experience as a whole so special.
(Oh, and there were some lovely, very well-behaved and friendly dogs at other tables to watch, including a Westie called Magnus. What a great name! And the Japanese man also dining solo on a nearby table wandered round taking pictures of the gardens while waiting for his food, then with no apparent embarassment asked the waiters to take pictures of him with the food when it arrived - good for him.)
I left and headed back towards Greater Sark, little laughs of wonder escaping me.
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