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You know, it’s trips like this that make me wonder why I don’t just jack it all in and live in a Spanish city, instead of on the hectic coast. They’re wonderful. They all have the “old towns”, full of interesting bars and restaurants and museums and nooks and crannies; the hotels are almost always new, the transport system immaculate and the people nice.

For instance, the hotel I’m in now (Vincci) is clean and modern. A bus stops just outside, and I took a bus without anyone from the lower classes muttering to me, which has always stopped me from taking a bus before. In fact, last time I was on a bus was in 2003. The people here are lovely, and the weather (on the 16th August) is just right, about 22 – 25 C. Lovely. Taxi drivers are insane and agressive, but at least they are cheap.

Sure, the toilet sticks and the bloke in reception (Ruben, lovely fellow, very informative) forgot to put on the piped music in the rooms, but apart from that – very nice. Free internet, too.

Valladolid has some wonderful wines, all local, none of which I’ve heard of before. Going down very nicely. Cheap too. And strangely enough, everybody seems intrigued by the fact I’m English and not a student. They don’t get many of those around here. Ls’ Almerian accent is going down well, too.

We went to a restaurant in the old town called “Zamora” to eat. It has a very busy bar, called Ceyjo, with wonderful tapas, which is what enticed us in. Just behind the main square. Full of people ordering “Chupitos” of beer, which are about the same as an Almerian Cana. A Cana here is a tercio back home. Confusing.

Again, the food is good, if you know Spanish food. We had a salad to start, L had the roast leg of lamb, I had lamb chops. Ls was a whacking big leg of lamb, done in the oven, with no veg. €17.

Valladolid leg of lamb

Mine were a bunch of chops, with some very thin chips and a cherry tomato. €15.

Lamb chops Valladolid restaurant

Don’t expect veg with the meat, the Spanish don’t do it that way. I have to say though, the way they served the bread was unusual: it was just placed, a hunk of it, on the tablecloth. By a waiter wearing gloves and using tongs. “But that’s how it’s served!” he exclaimed when I asked if he had a side plate. In fact, he seemed annoyed.

Valladolid restaurant bread on table Valladolid food

If you’re ever in Valladolid, ignore the Archaeological museum. It was free, but I still felt ripped off. The only good stuff in it seemed to be from Jaen, heavens knows why. Go to the “Real Iglesia Parroquial de San Miguel y San Julian” instead. It’s in front, it’s free, and the frescoes, relics, and paintings are better then the museums and fascinating. Make sure you gain access to the back room. The elderly lasy guarding it was a font of information, although no photos allowed. Wandering around, I spotted a model of Jesus on the cross, under a glass coffin, with a box saying “Insert 20c here”. In a fit of madness, thinking I was in Mini Hollywood where you can get the models to start dancing around when you money in the box, I stuck 20c in. Got a huge spotlight on me, supposed to illuminate the fresco in front but all it did was attract attention. Never mind. I suppose the feeling came upon me because Valladolid is full of half restored buildings with just the front still up supported by a few metal bars, same as film stages.

Valladolid? Lovely place, I could easily spend 6 or 12 months here, but at the end of the day there just wasn’t a small voice inside of me saying “please….. just one day more!”. So, onwards we go.

The bell at Sapperton

When the weather is pleasant I like to pop over to the Cotswolds and potter around, a la Bertie Wooster, being passed from country house to hotel to friends sofa. Well, the weather wasn’t overly nice and so I bunkered down in Cirencester for the duration.

Still working on the theory that it’s cheaper to eat out then to eat at home, especially when somebody else is paying for it, I accepted the parents offer and traveled out to The Bell at Sapperton, which is a long way down small country lanes. Easy to find, but impossible to leave.

Arriving, we squeezed the rental Passat into a small space between the shiny Range Rovers which filled the car park. Upon closer inspection, they were all from Kensington. I believe the Japanese have invented a spray for your car that imitates mud, I must investigate importing it to the UK, it should go down a bomb around here.

The Bell is run by Paul Davidson and Pat LeJeune, neither of whom were around. Pity, I wanted to congratulate them.

The décor is wonderful, it’s a fully outfitted traditional country pub frequented by the upper classes. A horse poll takes prominent position outside and I’m assured it’s not just for decorative use. There is a wonderful beer garden out the front, and the main pub is divided into many seperated room, each with only a few tables, each wonderfully decorated. I don’t know how many there are, I went through 6 before discovering even more upstairs. The very attentive staff helpfully provided me with a sketch map back to my table. During my voyage back, I discovered an important fact – if you surround a doorway with signs saying “Mind the Steps” and “Mind your Head” you can sit back and laugh as your clients hit their heads and then fall down the steps.

They have but a small selection of real ales (which I enjoy in the UK), but upon Mater requesting a glass of wine she was presented with a large menu of wines by the glass, including, naturally, champers, which, I notice, was more expensive then in some London playhouses. Still cheaper than Thornbury Castle, however. Still, 6.25 for a glass of Shiraz?

The menu is printed daily according to the latest and freshest ingredients to come in. I was still reeling from the foul lamb given to me by Monty’s Brassiere in the St George Hotel in Cheltenham, which I shall write up as soon as my tastebuds recover. Determined to recover the genuine taste of English lamb I decided to order in that fashion.

Mater had the soup, Pater the smoked salmon and I the asparagus (with venison and duck egg). All delicious. The bread served was likewise tasty, fresh and bouncy. It was also free. As I have said before, I couldn’t care less paying for extra bread, but don’t serve me bread and then charge me 1.50 like so many places do. It’s fraud, fraud I tell you and the mere sight of that on the bill is enough to send me into a quiver of fury.

Anyway… calming down…

I did have the lamb for the main course, although they didn’t have the advertised celeriac salad. They did, however, present a small and tasty mixture of fresh market vegetables. The lamb? Delicious, but… why cover it in a red wine reduction? Why do chefs in the UK always think that this improves the flavour? Decent, tasty meat needs no sauce to bring out the flavour. Serve it by itself and let the diner decide what to put on it.

However, the Sirloin Steak and Sea Trout were both fresh and soon vanished.

Moving onto the dessert, cheese and vintage port were served, along with a crème brulee that went down without complaint.

As an additional bonus, we made it home without getting lost or needing to top up the Passat. God job too, after leaving 142 quid at The Bell.

The Bell at Sapperton
Near Cirencester, Glos, UK.
01285 760 298
www.foodatthebell.co.uk

While planning a trip around the ancestral homesteads in the Cotswolds, I was informed by L that she had always wanted to sleep in a castle. Her wish being my command, (and bearing in mind that castles tend be draughty places, at least all the ones I’ve been in so far) I booked into Thornbury Castle, which happened to be on our way down to S. Wales.

Arriving, I was startled by the sheer tradition of the place. Beautifully decorated and tastefully restored, it’s set in some stunning grounds and is right next to Thornbury Church, which is a wonderful backdrop as you have afternoon tea on the lawn. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, immaculate waiters were doing their thing with the pink champers, and the whole scene was only slightly marred by two elderly Lords and their respective wives, telling dirty jokes about MPs and demanding pigeon for dinner the next night. I shall refrain from saying which Lords they were so as not to be accused of namedropping.

The chambers are enormous, and ours was up in a tower up a rather narrow and winding staircase of stone. While fully equipped with all modcons, I was able to sit in an incredibly overstuffed armchair and pretend it was still the middle ages.

Dinner was one of the best I’ve had in a long time. Mr Lee Heptinstall and his little chum Marco Mellace certainly know their stuff. I had the seared Scallops followed by Loin of Exmoor Venison, L had the Ballontine of Beetroot Cured Salmon and Taste of Local Duck. We discovered that the elderly waiter was Spanish, and had been at the castle since day one (32 years, if you’re interested). Much chatting, we discovered that his brother in law was from Almeria, and so we got an extra large helping of cheese from the trolley.

The Lords again sat next to us at dinner, and upon leaving one of the Ladys came over and apologised if they had been too noisy (they hadn’t, simply being happy in a very discreet, upperclass way). A nice touch. It must have been the handmade silk and cashmere jacket I was wearing.

The entire experience was one I intend to repeat as soon as possible, and was marred only by the bill the next morning. I should have expected it from a place that offers to fly you down from London in a private helicopter. I shall not tell you how much it was, only that for the same money 20 years ago you could have brought a house here. *

http://www.thornburycastle.co.uk/

*Should anybody have a parttime job going for cash in hand, please do let me know.

Yamato (Granada)

Japanese Sushi Restaurant Yamato, Granada

I love sushi. Wonderful stuff. While the Palacio Imperial do a good hash of serving up the basic stuff, it never really satisfies me. So I always try to mix a trip to Alcampo with a visit to the Sushi restaurant just down the road (forget it’s name, it’s just in front of the Tryp Hotel two roundabouts down).

But whenever I’m in Granada I have to pop into Yamato, in C/ Colcha 7, just up the road from Plaza Nueva. A little place, often full, it has a small bar downstairs and a few tables upstairs. A large menu, with a few Japanese non fish platters for the carnivores among us. Seems to be the only pure “Japanese” restaurant in Granada, with the exception of its sister restaurant Kirin, which isn’t as good, and is more orientated towards cinemagoers.

Where is it?

Phones: Yamato:958228370 (Kirin:958260096)
Address: Yamato: C/Colcha 7. Kirin: C/Parraga 9

Directions: Yamato is just off Plaza Nueva and Kirin is beside the Aliatar cinema.