Salmon on a board

Food, like music, is something that can instantly transport me to a time or place, intricately associated with feelings - usually happy ones, I have to say - I don't have many bad memories associated with food (apart from tripe).

My memories of 2 trips to the States, for example, are chiefly those of the $10 lobster dinners, corn dogs, and frozen margaritas the Husband and I enjoyed on our first proper holiday together to New Orleans, and of a fabulous salad with deliciously cold white wine my friends and I ate on a roof top garden in Manhattan - very Sex and the City, although we were none of us searching for love, only enjoying each others company for a long weekend...

France is enmeshed with a series of memories for me - lusciously ripe peaches and tomatoes purchased from road side stalls on the south west Mediterranean coast, the freshest tower of fruits de mer eaten in a restaurant on a harbour wall somewhere on the Cherbourg peninsula - the crabs being fished to order out of the sea, snails eaten in various guises, the first - and only - meat fondue I've ever had, at the age of 16, the day after I arrived for an exchange visit with a family that I am still in touch with nearly 30 years later... And salmon, nailed to a board and cooked over a fire, Finnish style, when I was an au pair in my late teens, early 20s.

The salmon always fascinated me. The family I was helping out had moved to an old farmhouse that was being renovated. The kitchen was out of action and we were BBQ-ing most days. The father of the family, Bruno, would appear home from work with various delicacies, and one evening, announced we would be having saumon Finlandais. I can't remember what it tasted like (unusual) but the mere fact that it was cooked in such an unconventional manner and was edible, amazed me. At that point, I hadn't done much in the way of camping...

So it's always been on my mind to recreate this, and it turns out the Husband wanted to try it too, and eager to create some memories (not necessarily food-related) for the kids, we headed down to our local beach, Mwnt, for some late afternoon bodyboarding and a cookout on the beach. I'd like to say we caught our fish but we didn't, but you can't have everything, can you...

And literally, all you do is get a decent piece of wood - we had some oak board, nail your piece of salmon to it,

and wedge it next to your fire while it cooks.

You can always cook some sausages while you're waiting...

I'd love to be able to include beautiful shots here of the food on the beach, perfectly styled, but this is what really happened, - beach food, that we ate...

And another food memory - 6 months pregnant with Blue, in Winchester with the Husband's amazing Great Aunt visiting from Australia, eating juicy cherries in the Cathedral grounds on a blazing hot day. Every time I've eaten cherries since, I've thought of that moment. But we had cherries this evening, after the salmon, bought from a local market garden, Glebelands, this morning. We ate them as the sun finally dropped behind the 'mwnt' itself...

I think perhaps cherries will trigger a new memory from now on.

Come to my beach...

Come to my beach. 

As the sun is creeping up the valley, leave your 'to do' list, your rancour, your arguments, your fanaticism, behind. 

Step out onto the strand and breathe.

Come to my beach as the waves roll onto the shore, as the sand shifts, the pebbles chatter, the gulls wheel.

Feel the breeze on your cheeks, taste the salt on your tongue. Feel infinitessimally small and yet deeply cherished - for you are part of this place too.

Come to my beach and know that whether my God or your God created it, or whether it is simply the result of a happy scientific coincidence, this is a beautiful place, a place that is real, a place without hate, and that we are the same, you and I.

The power here is not laced with bitterness and cynicism, it does not come with kalashnikovs, with rhetoric, with disrespect or death threats. There is no reluctant respect here earned through cross words, secrets or lies, but a power and respect that comes from simply being as it should be. There is no side to the sea, no hidden agenda. It flows to the rhythm of the world.

Come to my beach and tell me your story. I'll tell you mine. Perhaps we'll find that we're not so different. 

As the sea whispers along the sand and the shells shift with every silky stroke, know that the universe is infinite. As the stones jostle with the movement of the water, know that working together without acrimony, without self, would achieve so much more in this beautiful world. We can disagree, we can believe different things, but surely, surely we can find common ground and move forward?

Come to my beach and leave the madness behind, yet return to the world restored and resolved to move forward in peace.

Come to my beach.

Curry in a hurry? No, on the beach, actually - A review of the Barricane Beach Cafe

So the second May Bank Holiday is upon us. The Husband is still in the desert and I have escaped North for a couple of days, before returning South and taking the kids camping on my own. I won't speculate about my sanity - I lost most of that on the M1 on Friday afternoon/evening -  or the likely success or failure of the planned expedition at this stage. If I'm not totally traumatised by the whole thing, I may share the highlights at some point, but for now, I am reminiscing about the first May Bank Holiday.

It feels like an age away, and yet is was only a few weeks ago, that we went with some great friends, to North Devon, and had a totally brilliant weekend away.

Liz's photo of our camp by night...

If you're interested in the campsite we stayed at, you can read the guest review I wrote for the lovely Yellowfields Camping blog. If you're interested in campfire campsites, and more back to basics camping, you really should visit this blog, but here, as you know, it's mostly about the food.

One of the reasons why it was such a great weekend was that it allowed us the opportunity to eat curry on the beach as the sun went down. In England. In May. 

Allow me to present the Barricane Beach Cafe.

When the Husband and I 'discovered' this place, thanks to a throw away comment in the 'Wild Swimming - Coast' book by Daniel Start (which I would thoroughly recommend if you have even half an inclination to swim in the sea around the UK. What? You don't? Why ever not??) we couldn't believe it. Just round the corner from the surf paradise of Woolacombe, more a cove than a beach, is the lovely Barricane, or Shell Beach, and at the top of the beach, not much more than a shack, outdoor tables only, is this cafe. Al fresco dining at its best.  

On our first visit 3 or 4 years' ago, the kids were too young to appreciate the experience (if my memory serves me well, Pink was particularly objectionable), but we recognised it as 'a special place', and I've been itching to go back ever since.

I have never been able to find a dedicated website for the Barricane Beach Cafe - it crops up, though, on other blogs. Trip Advisor has a whole load of rave reviews on it, and these are ones you can actually believe. During the day, it serves sandwiches, cakes, cold cans of drink - the usual. From 6 p.m. though, curry is served.

Currently £8 for a generous plateful, we had the choice of 'devilled chicken' or 'devilled beef' curry. More Malaysian/ Thai style than Indian, but no less delicious for that. And that's it. 2 choices. With rice and salad. Perfect (although jacket potatoes are available making it an ideal place to go if you need to satisfy less sophisticated palates at the same time).

Thrown in with that is the opportunity to eat your plate whilst gazing out to sea as the sun goes down, and feel awash with goodwill. Which, as the advert goes, is priceless.

Your view - should you choose to accept it...