Chez Bruno

My earliest experiences of French restaurants were of the cheap variety: often (although maybe it was the holiday mode speaking) far far cheaper and far far better than their English counterparts. It was only relatively recently that I started to sample some of the exceptional places, with prices to match. One of them was Chez Bruno, near a town called Lorgues, in Provençe. I was staying with Cousin Pen and this was intended as a "thank you". She was reluctant to accept the invitation and talked darkly of Bruno receiving guests who arrived by helicopter from Italy. I could not resist it. So we went one Sunday lunchtime.

Memories of our meal include: choosing which type of truffle to have from a “truffle menu”; I had no idea; nor did Pen, who left it to me; and I picked one that was neither the most expensive nor the cheapest; there followed a whole truffle in pastry; with the main course we had a kind of Gratin Dauphinoise with truffle (which Pen, rightly, raved about long afterwards) and, to finish, chocolate mousse (also with truffle) which was very good. It all left us feeling a little dazed. Bruno himself came into the darkened dining room and circulated among the guests. His greeting to us was somewhat perfunctory but the meal he had provided us with was one whose highlights I can remember fifteen years later.

A bowl of cold chocolate

I hold the view, shared with my father, that chocolate is generally not worth eating unless eaten cold straight from the fridge. When you haven't been bothered to make a pudding and there are guests for supper, you can do worse than cracking open a few different bars of chocolate, break them into squares (or triangles if there is any Toblerone available) and then offer them round in a bowl. Cries of delight.

Hot drink

I am often sceptical when people tell me that they enjoy experimenting with food but I have just attempted one such experiment: a mug of milk with three chunks of Thorntons butter tablet and some mixed spice (which apparently contains various sweet spices including cinnamon and coriander seed) sprinkled on top. Into the microwave for two minutes. Warm and comforting.

Chocolate eclairs

These, to my mind, are like Crème Brûlée: properly made, they are unbeatable. But crusty, stale, soggy, or filled with fake cream, chocolate cream or slightly sour cream, I would rather eat a bowl of bread and butter. The chocolate on top, in my view, needs to be a fondant, not hard; the cream should be double. Eclairs should burst their contents into your mouth, like the streak of lightning after which they are named.

My great great aunt, Sadie Bonnell, lived to 105 and I last saw her on her hundredth birthday. But it is her ninetieth birthday that I have in mind, and it is that day which the photograph below, taken in June 1978, shows. My mother made ninety miniature chocolate eclairs for her birthday tea. Years later, she wondered, half-jokingly, why she had bothered: the two did not enjoy a warm relationship. “Auntie Da” she was known as: short, apparently, for “Sadie Darling”. A real misnomer, said my mother, who told the story of a Boxing Day lunch to which Auntie Da had been invited: “She looked at my lovely cold collation and said there was nothing there that she could eat. I offered to make her some soup and she said I wouldn’t be able to make anything acceptable so quickly. I nipped into the kitchen and knocked up some turkey and vegetable broth, which she guzzled, and then went to the cold collation, previously rejected, and stuffed her face there too!”

I recall another occasion when I must have been aged about nine or ten. We were staying with my grandparents and Auntie Da had come to stay. I did not fully comprehend at the time just how much tension her presence caused – although I enjoyed observing the ructions. They usually came accompanied with soft rumbling from my grandfather - “Auntie!” - when she went too far. One came over supper, when Granny brought in pudding: sliced peaches. Auntie wasn’t happy with her helping as it came with cream, and she demanded one without. Granny whipped the rejected bowl off Auntie’s table mat and stalked back into the kitchen muttering something like, “Well that’s great!” The next evening there were more sliced peaches available and Auntie was asked whether she would like any. She would, “but it’s really just an excuse to have some cream”, she said. I found it hard not to giggle.

The most infamous story of all comes from the nineteen sixties when she was living with her niece, Irene, and Irene’s husband, Bill. The final straw was at a meal when Irene served up Brussels sprouts and Auntie leaned over, grabbed one, and squeezed it over the serving dish, commenting that it hadn’t been properly drained. That was the last straw and she went to live in a home in Droitwich, where she lived out her remaining thirty or so years.

Chocolate slot machine

It is rare that my brother is able to dredge up embarrassing memories from my past of which I have no recollection whatsoever. Last night, over whisky, he told me of an occasion over Christmas about thirty years ago when we had both been given one of those chocolate selection packs: Bounty bars, Milky Ways and so on. At the time, he was very keen on the concept of the slot machine - pressing buttons, pulling levers and so on. With a degree of cunning that I find it hard to imagine I possessed at the age of nine, I persuaded him to join in a game in which I had invented a chocolate slot machine. I think it was made out of a duvet. All he had to do was press imaginary buttons and in return he would receive a bar of chocolate. The only payment was that the slot machine's controller would take an initial bite out of the bar of chocolate in question. What William failed to recognise at the time was that this was HIS selection pack of chocolate and I was therefore appropriating my brother's rightful property...

Clare Allfree's chocolate sauce

Clare told me that this recipe was handed down to her by someone, handed on in turn by somebody else. There's a godmother in the story somewhere. There is something oh so smugly satisfying about such recipes, preferably written in fading blue ink on yellowed pages. This is how it goes and you will see that proportions only are given. Quantities are up to you.

1/3 plain chocolate.
1/3 golden syrup.
1/3 butter.

Melt in a saucepan. Stir and mix well. When it bubbles, it's ready. Spoon or pour over ice cream. I have a little ladle from Arundel that fits the purpose perfectly. If there's any left, it keeps in the fridge for ages.

Simple to serve at supper parties. Can be warmed up. Although I'm suspicious of the mantra "Everyone likes...", reactions are predictable and enthusiastic - especially when the sauce freezes on to the ice cream and becomes toffee-like.