Hector's Vacation

We just can't help ourselves. The food is so good and the service so friendly that if in any doubt or with a moment's hesitation and we return with great enthusiasm.


Here are a few images from the restaurant. As I've described before; the pizza's are cooked right in front of you in a clay, wood burning oven- these chefs are brothers and have been working there longer than I've been alive; the owner is the man in the incredibly fashionable hat with a sizeable stomach being held in place by a pair of braces; the walls are covered in racing memorabilia of all types, photos, paintings, trophies, plaques, etc...;
Here also is an image of the how we dine when at Santa Lucia- the tables are not organised as twos or sixes, but instead as many long rows and then you are sat next to whoever happens to occupy the neighbouring table- its quite a special atmosphere.
I was not particuliarly hungry this evening so passed on the starters, Dad went for the tomato salad with gorgonzola after my generous recommendations. For a main course I tried the Pizza Quattro Fromage while Dad had the Escalope Santa Lucia that I had a few nights ago.


My pizza was too rich, the addition of the chevre in unhealthy proportions made the creamy topping that little too dense to be able to stomach pleasantly. The flavour was undoubtedly wonderful, but just slightly too much for my(notso hungry)self. Dad thoroughly enjoyed his escalope with pasta.


The restaurant was slowly emptying as we got through our meal- a very, very odd experience for us as we almost always have to fight to get a table- as indeed we did this evening but as a two was easy enough to squeeze in, particularly for us as familiar regulars to the staff- but tonight at least half of the tables were now reserved for varying parties. I was not in the mood for a long dinner or savouring my food and we were in and out agin within 40 minutes, which suited me splendidly as it allowed for an early night.

Its an incredibly windy day. The flag poles were under strain as we drove through the town centre and the clouds were rolling in a pace. Just as we arrived at the entrance it started to rain quite heavily so we headed for the cover of a large tree by the winners enclosure. The hores for the first race were on their way down to the start so we went into the paddock to watch the race from the screens there and under the cover of the trees. It was a claimers race and not very impressive.

As the crowds returned to watch the horses be unsaddled we caught up with JH and N Clement. Hector was once again very impressed at being able to get so close up to these powerful thoroughbreds; to hear them snorting for breath and stamping their hooves on the tarmac.


He made good friends with this dark horse who he assures me is called Petrand (it has to be said with a heavy french accent apparently). I just missed taking a photo of them shaking paws with each other as I was looking the other way at the time. Shame.

When we walked back over to the screens to look at the race again I noticed in a tree right in the centre of the paddock that there was some wild Missletoe growing- looking around for an opportunity to make the most of, there was sadly none. Hector summersaulted out of my pocket and made a dash for a golden retriever sat just the other side of the paddock but fortunately got his hoodie caught on a holly bush so I could get my hands on him before he was devoured by the waiting canine.

After explaining to him the vague idea of kissing someone under the missletoe rather than just using it as an excuse to kiss the nearest thing that you wanted to, I apologised to him for spoiling his fun and suggested that we went up to the stands to watch a race instead. The weather had rather culled the numbers for today's meeting, many choosing instead to stay at home and not brave the rain and winds. From the shelter of the upper stands, however, it was not too bad. The races were certainly good fun to watch.

We met Marilyn, Mike's daughter who works for the French racing commission- dressed very smartly in a beige suit and were given passes to the 'Salon Proprietaires'. This allowed us to stand inside at the top of the stands, in the warm and dry and to also wait in the owners bar where we could watch both the French and English racing on big screens whilst being waited on by a man in a white dinner jacket- twas very nice. The walls of the room had a gold on burgundy print wallpaper that complemented the funriture very tastefully and everyone there was only too happy to cater to our every need.

While we vaguely caught a glimpse of JH and Oscar in the paddock they had dashed off into the yard to saddle his two horses before we could collar them again; we didn't manage to find them again before leaving. I did bump into Jacques Rossi and his wife, though. She explained that I couldn't have seen her for many years as last time I was 'mechant'; who, Me? They were both on very good form and as Jacques was training two horses for this race we had to leave him to talk to his jockies. One of them was Kiriki, Mike's horse, which looked a bit spindly stood beside the other and with two wins under its belt at a lower class there was potential for a good performance. We went with Marilyn up to the Salon Proprietaires where we joined John Lynam to watch the race, being run on the all-weather track in the centre.

These may look in the wrong order but the race was more than one complete lap of the circuit, so the first image where all the horses are bunched up you can see that the jockeys are really riding them and that the strides are not as long as in the finish where they are really giving it everything they've got.

Here is the winning horse and jockey; the chestnut riden by a lady is the winner's escort from the course. They are always collected and then brought back into the winner's enclosure after all the other horses have been unsaddled so to recognise the victory. Its a very pleasant formality.

Its Saturday. That means the bookies in England open early so we must rise early also. Breakfast was taken as we went along but thankfully Dad had been to the boulangerie and got us some deliciously fresh pain aux raisins which went beautifully with the home made chocolat chaud. The weather outside was undecided; Patrick warned us of rain for this afternoon and Sunday- it certainly looked like things were heading that way.

As all our preparation was taking quite a while we chose to migrate downstairs to the bar so as to give the maids an opportunity to make up the room without us in it. Whilst there we ordered 'du chocolat chaud, mais malhereusement' they were dramatically disappointing- tasting of slightly gone off cream and they came in toddler sized cups. It was lunchtime by the time we had got everything achieved for a big days racing so finished off some scraps for lunch and headed to the track. Hector and I were very disappointed to not be allowed an ice cream along the way- Dad said that Santa Lucia was not the type of place you could just go for an ice cream. WE THINK IT IS!!!

Tonight we were invited out for dinner with Patrick & Helen Barbe and Jon Lynam at the Drakkar in central Deauville. This restaurant is by far the favourite haunt for the British racing fraternity- on this occasion well over half of the people eating there must have been English. When the sales start next week the front window will be occupied by Coolmore exclusively, drinking the most expensive wines and champagnes and smoking cigars for many more hours than most people take to eat their entire meal.

Tonight, as is always the case when in the town, there were many familiar faces walking past or in the restaurant. We were treated to a small glass of champagne each as an apperitif- Hector took to this very warmly and was soon complaining of bubbles in his nose. We enjoyed a variety of very fine food, our starters were Moules a la creme, Crudites, Sea Snails, and two warm goats cheese salads; one with smoked salmon wrapped around the cheese and the other on sliced apples. Hector did not believe that the snails had been cooked and so spent at least half an hour playing with one, oping it would pop its head ot of the shell by tapping it repeatedly with my fork; eventually he gave up and in disgust threw the shell over his shoulder, narrowly missing a blonde haired lady who immediately assumed it was I who had thrown the offending mollusk.
My smoked salmon salad is a paricularly fine dish, holding a very delicate flavour where the balance between the smooth chevre and oily saume fume is just perfect. I've never found anywhere else that serves this combination but I enjoy it fantastically. There was another table of English people beside us and when Helen's sea snails arrived they were fascinated- one of their table was brave enough to try one but quickly had eyes for my salad- I told him that if I had ordered the snails he could have had as many as he wanted, but with only four pieces of goats cheese I was going to save them to myself.

Our main courses caught me by surprise, both due to hunger and being in deep conversation I failed to capture any photos of an amazing spread. Helen had a Caesar salad, I had Steak Hache aux haricots verts, Dad had Saumon grille, Patrick and John both had sole grille. My meal was fantastic and I heard no complaints from anyone else. Conversation was free flowing between catching up on all thats been since we last properly spoke and also on the upcoming racing both in England and France.

It is a very bizarre situation to be in- sat at dinner with the person who once (not quite) 'babysat' my sister and I- it was more keeping us out of trouble while we were in Deauville. Helen used to keep an eye on us or keep us entertained at the beach, the stables or most famously with ice creams and crazy golf. Now we are having an 'adult' dinner together and discussing her babysitter for her own children. Its very bizarre indeed. Hector is positively infantessimal on these terms, even if he does have a wise head on him already. Many a Deauville morning was spent sweeping the yard or mucking out the horse boxes when I was much younger- I enjoyed it greatly and on occasions earnt myself a few francs (and asthma if I worked really hard, but I've since grown out of that).

Le Drakkar itself is a very individual restaurant- the walls and ceilings are oak panelled with booths of different shapes and sizes where you can eat inside, or perch yourself at the Veuve Cliquot bar for cocktails. We were eating outside, as is the fashion for all the restaurants along this particular road. When the sales are on they extend out onto half of the road with tastefully decorated temporary marquees as business requires many more staff and the tills are continually ringing.

We finished off the evening with Cafe au lait and Helen had one of the French speciality Espresso's- thimble sized in portion but with the effect of having a female weightlifter from Yugoslavia slap you in the face- master Sprague would kill for even a sip of this stuff. Hector had to ask for a straw so that he didn't get the frothy milk on his nose after making quite such a mess at lunch time.

After waking up early, enjoying another French baguette for breakfast and having a lovely long soak in the bath we headed up to the course. The wind was really blowing but with no one out ahead of us and no one harassing us from behind this morning's round was to be one of our best yet. The drives tended to stay on the fairway and even if the approaches tot he green were a bit wayward we still managed to make up for it with much more consistent putting. Its amazing the difference a good putt can do to a scorecard.

We got round the morning in 42 and 44, our best scores yet. Hector accompanied us on this occasion but seems to be tiring of the enjoyment, particularly as the brief moments of light rain mean that he can no longer practice his acrobatics or else his hoodie will become heavy with water and grass stains. He chooses instead to remain in the bag, and this was to be his last visit to the fairways of the week. He enjoyed the journey back all the more for it.

After polishing off quite so much ice cream Hector could barely sit up and chose instead to pass out on the front of the car where he remained, groaning, for the entire journey back to the golf course and proclaiming that he was going to burst stayed in the car for the afternoon. Dad and I set out for another round, our last of the week as competitions are played on the weekends, and looked to make further progress. We did indeed play well, finding the greens and sinking putts despite the howling winds and light rains that hampered the flight of the ball in the air.
On our way back to the hotel we drove across a bridge on which this sign was mounted- a constant reminder to the region in which we are based, Normandy. It is not far to the Pegassus bridge made famous by many war films and there are numerous gun batteries and bunkers scattered along the coast. As a child I was always fascinated by visiting these places- they were made all the more interesting by the stories that they were accompanied by from our very great friend Bin Derby, who always remained very anti-German having lived through the war as a serving tank commander.

Just to make a change we decided to go out for lunch today in Deauville- there is a very nice restaurant just opposite the Hotel Normandy- my most favourite hotel to have stayed in. The square in front of the hotel is beautifully adorned with hanging baskets, flower beds and manicured lawns- at night the trees are subtly lit and graced by couples taking romantic walks after their dinner. During the day the place is buzzing with people too'ing and fro'ing as everyone migrates between the town and the sandy beaches. The Barbara is under-rated as restaurants go; they do fantastic crepes and even more splendid desserts- perhaps the main reason for visiting. For many years we've popped in there for a quick meal; in and out between races.
Today we went straight in on the main courses, I had a calzone while Dad was unoriginal with the pizza du chef. These were impressive efforts as the egg cracked into their centres provides an excellent excuse for devouring the crusts- just like a good old English boiled egg and soldiers. Its genious and I've never seen it done in England- no doubt on grounds of health and safety.

I'm not so keen on the chilli oils, though my Dad swears I must have been adopted for my dislike of spicy food considering a bit of heat is applied to the best of meals given the chance. Hector was involved in a deep starring competition with one of the chillies to the back left of the bottle and was extremely miffed to have missed out on half of my calzone already by the time he conceded defeat the the chilli, which by this time had psyched him out by talking Parisean- its a bit like cockney but with longer syllables and more swearing.

We made up for it by sharing a Barbara Cup- banana, vanille and Creme Ice cream with a rich chocolate sauce, wafer biscuit and topped with Chantilly. Absolutely calorific and certainly made the trip into town worth it. Hector couldn't help himself and quite literally dived straight in, burying his nose in the chantilly and licking his lips with great content.

The mess he made required a serious clean up operation, my serviette was ruined. Dad had his favourite 'surtout'- Cafe Liegois, apparently found nowhere else beyond the Normandy towns.
Its not cheap, but the quality and quantity put London restaurants to shame.

If you didn't know, or had possibly forgotten, its Chloe's birthday today so lets all wish her a very happy birthday, send her lots of presents and give her many hugs. Unfortunately Hector and I cannot be there but send much affection.

Maybe we'll be there next year.

After a couple of hours in the sunshine which the late afternoon brought us we decided with very little thought to go back to Santa Lucia, though, this time with the intention of trying something new. The place was not nearly as crowded tonight, perhaps because it was quite windy outside so no one was choosing to sit under the canopy.
We sat inside next to a family with two young children; while we were thinking about what to order the two girls had just got their ice cream and were busy spreading it around the plate-oh to be young again. This time the waiter bought us out some bread sticks- now theres a foodstuff that Hector really enjoys. Having watched too much BugsBunny he was very taken by crunching the entire stick into his mouth in one go by taking small nibbles- and making a lot of mess all over the table.

While we made our decisions Yves Saint Martin- perhaps France's all time greatest jockey- came in for a meal with his wife and family. This brought great excitement to many of the faces in the restaurant as the racing fraternity all recognised him instantly and the owner welcomed him in with open arms and a kiss to each cheek.For starters I chose the Salade Santa Lucia, which had parma ham, creamy gorgonzola, mozzarella and fresh tomatoes; Dad chose roasted aubergines in parmesan.

The portions, as ever, were very generous leaving us extremely content and almost regretting the orders of our main courses. Comme d'habitude, Dad (with his ability to make polite conversation with a lamp-post) started chatting with the waiter, commenting on it seeming quieter than normal this year, but the waiter laughed this off saying that it didn't seem quiet if you were working at the restaurant even if the hotels were empty.


It turns out that waiter, like my Dad, has been here for the last 28 years- he works with his younger brother and says he has always enjoyed the work; no doubt that is why he doesn't look old enough to have been there for so long. Our main courses arrived looking very impressive, we'd both ordered a veal escalop but while Dad went for the Milanese, simply breaded with lemon juice, I chose the Santa Lucia, which arrived with a piece of ham and melted mozzarella cheese on top; both had spaghetti with a tomato sauce on the side. This meal was extremely filling and I went back to the hotel feeling very full indeed.

This morning we were all up early due to a small error on my part; when I plugged the clock back in last night I managed to set the time one hour ahead so Dad left to get his paper at half eight not half nine, and I was up for about nine. This meant that after feasting on 'pain, beurre, confiture, tarte aux pommes et chocolat chaud' we left for the course by half ten. When approaching the course in very windy conditions there was barely a sole out there, yet as we stepped up to the teea lone woman had appeared, but playing by herself we were not worried about having ot wait.

Yesterday the round was made very stressful by having to start on the 7th and then playing round to the 6th as a consequence of following a family of 5, 4 of whom were hacking their way around the course. Today's round was much better with scores of 46 and 48 in a quick time of only one hour fifteen minutes, compared to the average of about two hours so far. We dived back to the hotel for lunch and decided that as we were back so soon we'd try to get on the course again straight away to leave us some time by the pool in the afternoon, allowing for the Deauville weather to redeem itself and clear up to be a beautiful evening. As indeed it did.

The second round was held up at first by two men who were doing a circus act, so comical was it to watch. Fortunately they let us through at the second, though with the self imposed pressure of having to impress them and prove that they were right to let us through- I sent the ball heavily slicing to the right and ended up crossing the neighbouring fairway as well. Miraculously I recovered for a 5 on the par four. With the path clear both of us played well even if Hector wasn't joining in and was only giving mildly encouraging looks from his pocket in the golf bag. Dad and I were driving well and I was holing many of my putts, this lead to our best rounds yet of 42 and 44.

At the 9th hole I hit a superb drive, enourmous distance but fading towards the end left me with a very challenging second shot from within a small clump of trees- the "hit it and hope" philosophy paid off well as a low, skidding jab at the ball gave me a good position to approach the green and I ended up with a birdie 4.


This left me very happy for the day. Hector had spent most of the afternoon in a generally unimpressed mood and when it came to packing the clubs away he was unwilling to help out, finding it fit only to slouch around and point out that the red golf bag should go on top of the blue bag.