Distracted Dad
Richard Hearn eats his way around Cornwall
We continue in Cornwall. I’d like to tell the story of the rest of the week through the medium of food, as we ricochet around the county to the rhythm of mealtimes. Day three and Youngest™ shows astonishment when someone clears our table. It hadn’t happened before. (To be honest, Youngest™ looks astonished at pretty much everything – see Latest Homes issue 655). This event occurs in the gloriously-named Pasty Presto chain. We might prefer an independent shop, but by wiping some formica and smiling, it is the best so far.
Things do improve. Cornwall is perfect for a pie-lover. They might call it a pasty, but it’s a meat and pastry combination, let’s face it. Some people use ‘pie in the sky‘ to mean a daydream. Pies coming out the sky actually is my daydream; although, let me just set one record straight. While I was on a diet prior to our wedding, a friend of my soon-to-be wife reported to her that I was walking down George St eating a pie. Let me say again: it was not a pie, it was a baguette.
We head for Port Isaac, the picturesque harbour where they film the cosy drama Doc Martin. Food? Lamb souvlaki (what else?) followed by a trip to the fudge shop. The box of fudge is so heavy it reminds me of a prized collection of meteorite fragments I’d once held during an astronomy lecture.
“I’m not sure how ethical it is to eat something more intelligent than you, but George W. Bush used to eat cow. And potatoes”
On Friday, we go to Fifteen, Jamie Oliver’s venture near Padstow. A great antipasti – the best food of the week – is followed by Octopus Risotto. Is it right to have that? I’m not sure how ethical it is to eat something more intelligent than you, but George W. Bush used to eat cow. And potatoes. If they renamed the dish ‘Octopus on a bed of rice’ at least it would have hinted at some final comfort.
Next, another pasty moment, which I’m not proud of. Closing time, someone looking a little like me (his wife and child also at the window, him in the shop) usher me through to choose before him. I manage to pick the pasties he (and his family) wanted. Yes, I do feel bad, but he did usher me through and there’s probably CCTV footage to prove it.
On our final morning, to use up food, I combine croissants with clotted cream. My summary? Bit rich. Halfway back, we stop at Little Chef. I take a sip of coffee. Not great, but I wasn’t expecting miracles. It is worsened by a clear imprint of lipstick on the side of the mug. Bored of complaining and trying to find positives, I choose to think of it as a kiss from a stranger.
