Christmas Day in the Haut Doubs at Courvieres

Christmas Eve was a lavish feast with a meal prepared and cooked by Patricia, which included many courses and delights; from baked snails, smoked salmon, caviar blini, foie gras served with with sel guerand and fig jam, baked coquille st jaque tartlets, all served before a main course of kangaroo steak. Just when I thought I might be approaching the final hurdle an extensive cheese board was placed at the table which was finally followed by the traditional desert of buche de noel.

As we chatted over the desert and coffee, it was pointed out to me that in some parts of France it remains a tradition to have thirteen deserts to complete the Christmas meal. This was said to be in honour of the twelve Apostles and Jesus at the last supper. The connection with Christmas was lost on me. However, half way through the story it wasplain to see, that although this was a tradition of the Midi, it was also in practice in Besancon as I was well on my way to completing this most noble and gourmand of traditions.

A view of Courvieres

Christmas Day dawned bright and cheerful and after a light breakfast we made our way up to the Haut Doubs. Most of the heavy snow from the week before had disappeared, but vast patches and fields of snow still lay on the ground where the shallow angle of the sun's rays could not reach. Courvieres was very different in the bright sunlight, and as my body was screaming out for activity, I went for a short walk with Corrine. Despite the bright sunshine it was bitterly cold, but the afternoon sunlight brought a beautiful rich colouring to the high altitude landscape.

Winter landscape around Courvieres

Buzzards glided on the stiff cold breeze allowing them to hold an almost stationary gliding pattern above a small hill crest as they kept a close eye on the fields below them. The fields were bare apart from the obvious activity of the indigenous rodent population whose digging could be seen everywhere. Cattle are indoors in sheds at this time of year and the fields lack their customary presence. A cunning few cows had lured their owner into a false sence of security and mounted a covert operation. From a discreet distance I noticed they had managed to unlock their barn door and were making tentative preparations to make a run for it. I am a fan of these guys and did not interfere with their plans. I have added a photograph below of one of these great gentle Montbeliard cows whose milk is used to produce the famous Comte and Mont D'Or cheese, and which my bag was laden down with a few short days later.

Montbeliard cows and they way they might look at you

The landscape remained silent apart from the freezing wind that hurt my ears, and the idyllic silence was only momentarily broken by the a singular piece of modernity that had managed to gain access this place as the TGV shot across the plateau en route from Paris to a not so distant Lausanne. We slowly made our way back to the farmhouse of Corrine's grandmother, where friends and family had gathered, for a seasonal celebratory splash of a tasty cremant du Jura, and another chance to savour a slice or two of buche de noel, followed by coffee and papillottes (praline chocolates wrapped in bright foil). A sweet end to a refreshing day.

Winter landscapes of Franche Comte and the Haut Doubs

Amsterdam: Patisserie Holtkamp, Sinterklass and Zwart Piet

For the last seven years I have been visiting Amsterdam during the second week in November and every year I was delegated the task of acquiring a birthday cake. This proved to be more difficult than one might have thought and I would spend an afternoon walking around Amsterdam trying to find cake shops and patisseries who might produce a cake to order and furthermore ice birthday greetings on the cake to the lucky individual involved. As far as I could discern there was no tradition of giving or presenting a birthday cake which also meant that buying birthday candles was a near impossibility.


From year to year various shops would have closed, and or not be prepared to produce a cake. Two years ago I happened upon a patisserie called Holtkamp at 15 Vijzelgracht. The smooth channeled lines of the wooden shopfront and Art Deco leaded glass panels are a stylish introduction into a decadent world. Painted swirls of stylised patterns repeated around the interior of the small shop complete the decor, and within that small space were showcased a selection of the most luxurious and beautifully prepared cakes, pastries and tarts.


In the past most cities would have had their celebrated patisseries, being the center of people's attention for any special occasion. Many of these patisseries present their specialities produced to a very high standard, which are quite particular to them and their city, and only imitated elsewhere. Holtkamp stands out as one such patisserie in Amsterdam producing cakes and other confections that you might only find in Holland or indeed Amsterdam.


Among the cakes and tarts on display are the pastries such as the amandal boterstaaf, which is a rich glazed butter pastry roll with a sweet almond paste centre. Other cake shops sell a variation which is called speculaas-staaf and has whole almonds dotted in line on top of the pastry.


I generally visit Amsterdam in November at a time when the arrival of SinterKlaas and Zwart Piet by steamboat into the city is celebrated. This festival takes place in mid November and is celebrated throughout Holland, Flanders and parts of Alsace. For the first time visitor to Holland there is something of a culture shock when you see the locals blackening their faces, wearing read lipstick, moorish costume, and wearing afro-wigs, wandering about the streets playing music and handing out sweets.


The tradition is that SinterKlaas [Saint Nicholas] and his assistant Zwart Piet [Black Peter] arrive from Spain to deliver gifts to all the young children who have been good in the past year, on the eve of the feast of Sinterklaas on the 6th December. In the weeks leading up to eve of Sinterklaas, children traditionally left a carrot by the chimney for Sinterklaas' horse. If the children were good Zwart Piet would climb down the chimney and leave a chocolate letter, the first letter of the child's name, a marzipan animal or speculas-staff. If the children were bad Zwart Piet would leave a pile of sticks or an old shoe - a possible signal that if behaviour did not improve these implements might come into play!!


December is upon us and I am travelling to Spain tomorrow to do a little work, and thereafter spending Christmas in France. Little traditions such as the festivities surrounding Zwart Piet and Sinterklaas, the marzipan sweets and almond cakes in the low countries make these celebrations special, are unique to these regions and come as a complete surprise to me. It has been a few years since I was in Spain during December, and I look forward to tasting their seasonal turron, and other sweets and cakes. While I have never spent Christmas in France, I am likewise looking forward to experiencing their traditions first hand and possibly savouring a slice of bouche de noel.

Four safe Mediterranean ports; June, July August and Mahon

Fenix reaching at 11 knots boat speed in 22 knots wind towards Menorca

Having caught my flight from Rome to Sardinia, I was collected at Olbia by Jonna, the Swedish chef, and ferried up to Porto Cervo. During the Summer months this glamorous village on the north east corner of Sardinia is full of fashionable and wealthy tourists. However, during early November it is all but deserted. Even the port, and the nearby Cala de Volpe, were practically empty; all the big yachts and motor yachts having moved on to winter elsewhere.

We set out early in morning departing Porto Cervo and making our way up through the islands emerging out into the Straits of Bonafacio. For the remainder of the day, with Corsica not too distant on our starboard side we sailed west towards Isola Asinara, passing this the furthest north western point of Sardinia just after midnight.

After sunrise the wind began to build again and swing around into the north west. This certainly made the passage quicker but the sea was beginning to become lumpy. The forecast was also changing rapidly and the detailed projected forecasts left us with a bit of a dilemma, as we were due to meet a strong south westerly wind around midnight. The wind was forecasted to rise to 35 knots, and this would have made our passage from Menorca to Mallorca very uncomfortable and the added possibility of damage would have been unavoidable.

A view of Mahon approaching Pinto Island

We quickly scanned the charts for a safe haven and decided to make our way to the port of Mahon on the south east corner of Menorca. I had learned about Mahon and the historical significance of this safe natural harbour during the 18th and 19th centuries over the years, but had never actually entered the harbour or landed on Menorca. In the last few years I had been reading the Aubrey Maturin series of novels written by Patrick O'Brian, and had often wondered what the port was like; the Balearic islands and in particular Mahon feature in a number of the novels. It has been difficult to visualise this port and its unique ability to have a large number of line of battle ships and smaller vessels at anchor.

Pinto island and part of the naval dockyard in port Mahon

The house where Admiral Lord Collingwood based himself following the battle of Trafalgar

We arrived at the entrance to Mahon around midnight. The dark menacing shores did not seem as close as they actually were, but the entrance lights were well positioned and we easily worked our way into the narrow port, which is almost three nautical miles long. We passed a number of small bays before passing Quarantine Island on our starboard side, and shortly after we were at anchor. The night and next day proved to be as windy as forecasted and Fenix swung around as the gusts met her after descending the cliff and accelerating along the water. Outside the narrow entrance to the port the agitated sea was crashing against the rocks and we knew we had made the right decision.

A view across the terracing to the old town of Mahon

A day ashore meant that I could explore and wander about the town, which is situated at the top of the port on an escarpment that runs along the full length of the harbour. From the modern ferry terminal, Mahon can still be accessed by the pigtail steps. A narrow network of streets linking small squares are a feature of the town as are the distinctive English sash windows. Some of the largest buildings in the town are of course the churches and they dominate the squares and punctuate the skyline.

A distinctive door knocker in the old town of Mahon

local confectionery

The fish market at the top of the pigtail steps built in 1927

Unfortunately the fish market was not open in the time we were in Mahon and it would have been interesting to get into this purpose built market and view the local catch. Given the weather there was not going to be much of a catch to view so we contented ourselves with peering in through the gates.

The English took possession of Port Mahon in the early 18th century and thereby obtained one of the most sought after harbours in the entire Mediterranean. From this safe haven the Royal Navy could hold up, reprovision, and manage blockades and attacks throughout the Mediterranean. Admiral Lord Collingwood assumed the leadership of the Mediterranean fleet upon the death of Nelson at the battle of Trafalgar and remained in the Mediterranean, was based at Mahon until his departure on the Ville de Paris on the 3rd March 1810. Shortly after leaving Mahon he died at sea.

Under British control an extensive complex of dockyards and wharfs were built which still exist today. Fortifications were strenghtened at the entrance of Port Mahon; the construction of a series of five martello towers protecting the entrance, along with other defences on either shore just inside the entrance, made the port impregnable rendering a naval attack on Mahon virtually impossible.

Martello towers at the entrance of the port of Mahon

We were due in Palma da Mallorca on the 5th for works to be caried out in the modern and busy yard there. On the morning of the 3rd November we slowly worked out way out of Port Mahon passing the Isabella fortress and martello towers as we went. By sunset we were approaching Isla de L'Aire and thunder storms illuminated black clouds on the horizon. Rain was not far off and a number of showers came and went through the night as we approached the east coast of Mallorca.

Lighthouse on Isla de L'Aire just after sunset

Port Mahon was an invaluable port to the English during the Napoleonic period and quickly earned the the popular praise that there were only four safe ports in the Mediterranean; June, July, August and Mahon. Without doubt we were very happy to exploit the sheltered anchorage just below Collingwood's House, where the Ville de Paris was anchored once upon a time.