One name that has been snaking its way through these little vignettes is ‘Les Galapagos’. It is always the first place I go to after having unpacked my bags, and it never fails to make me feel at home. I meant to write about it earlier, but found it extremely difficult to photograph in a way which captures its essence. I include two photos which are the least bad, but really have to describe it to convey a proper picture.
I had for a while used the place for early morning coffee, because it was central and one of the few restaurants that served coffee at that time in the open air on their patio. I was usually the only customer, and coffee was served by an old man who seemed friendly enough but was not part of the regular serving staff. The food was rumoured to be only soso, and I never saw any reason to dine there.
One day I decided to visit La Bourboule not in Summer, as usual, but in November. I was exhausted from working too much for a while and in need of a quiet break from it all, and secluded La Bourboule in the off-season seemed a good place for that. It was pitch black when I arrived at the train station, and I had a lonely walk down the main road towards my hotel. I felt a little depressed, and thought I had made a mistake to visit during such a dismal month. Then I saw glowing in the darkness the warm orange lights of Les Galapagos! It spelled ‘HOME’ in no uncertain way, and I felt strangely comforted as I trundled by with my suitcase. Half an hour later I had unpacked and was ready for dinner after seventeen hours on the road, and naturally my feet carried me back to that hearth-like Brasserie. There were few customers, but a feeling of cosy comfort pervaded the atmosphere. The food was good and plentiful, but what really set it apart from other restaurants was the people who served it. They were – indeed are - so kind and concerned for their guests’ wellbeing that I felt as though I had returned into the warm embrace of a long lost family. (Since I am not a restaurant critic I feel I may be allowed to write that way!)
I found out later that the restaurant had changed hands shortly before I arrived that November, and the food, which I thought had been unfairly maligned, had actually vastly improved. Les Galapagos specialise in local foods, and serve beef from Salers cattle, cheese like St Nectaire, and beer from a small brewery nearby (I am quite fond of the Noire which is a dark ale). For dessert I tend towards the Brochette Ananas, a large amount of pineapple with a scoop of pineapple ice-cream. Aside from the massive portions I can’t fault the food in any way.
Speaking of massive portions, I tried my theory re the portion sizes and the canalisation holes out on half a dozen locals. My first attempts served only to baffle them. I am not sure whether this was the result of my startlingly original theory or of my startlingly original French. However, my second attempts were more successful, because I had prepared a detailed drawing to illustrate my points. Not only did I make myself understood, but everyone nodded in agreement that I had indeed uncovered the secret of their portion sizes! I even received two additional facts to underpin my theory. One, fat people float better than thin ones, so are higher on the water which makes their disappearance into the canalisation holes less likely. Two, fat people are less likely to be blown over by strong gales. I should add that one of my respondents expressed her worry that this theory would provide a good excuse for her husband to abandon his attempts to lose some weight, and asked me not to publicise it any further around town.
