So What Do You Look For On Holiday?

Now fret not. We haven't forgotten that this is a food blog. We're not about to turn into reincarnations of Judith Chalmers*. This is penned just a few days before we're off for ten days in the sun, somewhere in Europe. I was going to say that my mind is turning to food, but truth be told, it seldom strays from there. Here are a few thoughts. I'd be interested to have yours, as well as tales of experiences, good and bad.

Since you read this blog, I'm assuming that eating experiences are important to you, but on holiday there are so many variables. Budget, obviously, although I would suggest that some of the most fun meals can be had on a shoestring. The length of time you are away. A long weekend, or several weeks? And perhaps most importantly, your own circumstances and requirements. As retired wastes of space, the Johnston vacation needs now are almost diametrically opposed to the stressed, summer battery recharging vacations of yore.

But wherever you are on the scale, let's consider what and how will you eat?

Start the day. Breakfast is a meal I rarely consume. Having said that, on a short hotel break it is (or should be) an invariable delight on day one. And if you've ventured further afield, the exotic comes into it. The most extreme example is perhaps in Japan where a buffet of unknown fish and rice and pickles can challenge and delight you. (Unless you're L, that is - not her cup of matcha.)

In a recent restaurant review I extolled the delights of the masala dosa. Very early one morning in a Delhi hotel I watched in some wonder as a chef poured a thin batter made of rice or lentil flour in ever increasing circles on to a hot plate. The resulting pancake like thing was half a metre in diameter, golden and crispy. It was then stuffed with spicy potatoes and served with sambar, a thin lentils sauce, and a couple of chutneys, often tomato and coconut. Masala dosa, a friend for life.

All holiday diaries are full of tales of lunches, long and sometimes a little blurry around the edges. Some of the best ones are unplanned, that little place you just stumbled on. Al fresco is often great, under the shade of a tree or vine laden canopy. When sun starved, it is tempting to ask for the table in the sun. Don't. By the time you're unpleasantly fried, all the tables in the shade will have been occupied by the locals who know better.

But if the temperature is moderate - a rare sunny summer day in Scotland, for example - the picnic, the ultimate outside lunch, can be a thing of delight. A few suggested rules. Somewhere near or beside water is great. You can cool the bottles before, and rinse the dishes after. But not, I would suggest, on a beach. Sand can find its way into quite unimaginable places.

If seaside eating is on your bucket list, find instead a rickety little place where you have been drawn in by the smell of sardines or prawns on a grill, and where the locals outnumber the visitors. Tom's top tip: if the menu says market price or per 100g demand in advance to know precisely how much you will be charged. I remember a miserable birthday lunch in Spain being horribly ripped off for a seafood order.

The only problem with lunch is that the rest of the day can be quite long. Never mind, you can make the aperitivo time spin out. I will argue that the aperitif/sundowner time is the most important part of any holiday abroad. Put your feet up after a long day traipsing, or get into the shade if you've overdone it in the rays. And where do you do this? It really doesn't matter provided there is scope for people watching, one of mankind's most underrated pastimes. A couple of memorable examples spring to mind.

A dozen or so years ago I was a couple of weeks away from a hip replacement operation. Being in Venice with restricted mobility isn't ideal. We persevered, but it was time to stop. Everybody knows to body swerve the tourist traps in St Mark's Square, don't they? Well, read on. Like the waiters, we sneered at those checking their purses to see if they could scrape together the price of a glass of prosecco. Looking as though we owned the place, we waved a stick and called for a bottle. 50€ as I recall.

But here's the funny thing. People in their thousands to watch and comment upon. A walking stick which was very handy for discreetly getting rid of pigeons. The house orchestra was rather good. And they brought us food. I'm not talking olives and nuts, but proper cooked stuff. And then they brought more. Our bottle yielded three lots of goodies, so much so that we had no need of dinner. Fifty euros rather well spent.

The second clear memory is also from Italy, this time in Barga, near Pisa. The vast majority of Scots-Italians in the west of Scotland trace their ancestry back here. (In the east they are mostly from a place called Picinisco, near Monte Cassino). A lot of these folk now have homes in Italy, due partly to the odd Italian succession laws.

Seated in our normal hostelry on the square we spotted two local lads, late teens or early twenties. Quintessentially Italian. You could tell by the clothes, the haircuts and the shoes. Until, that is, one shouted, in broadest Glaswegian, Ah'll be oot later. Ah've just to tae gang hame to make mah nonny's tea.

And so to dinner. Dining out on holiday. I have a feeling that's one for another day.

*If you're under 50, ask your granny/nonna.