La Compostelle Restaurant, Tusson, Charente, France

La Compostelle Restaurant,Tusson, Charente, France

Visited January 2012

Situated in a conservation village on the road between Aigre and Ruffec, La Compostelle  run by husband and wife team Laurent and Cecile is a converted bar in the centre of the village, staggering distance from Le Grenier Chambre d'Hote owned and run by Christine and Tony Cooper if you are not local this is very useful.

We dined on a winter evening to celebrate a house purchase and I would describe the atmosphere as smart-casual. As with everywhere in France at least trying to speak the language will help, even if the basic formalities, shouting in pigeon English won't.

At the moment French Cuisine seems to range from the gut crunchingly soporific, to being so light that you leave searching for a kebab shop.

La Compostelle sits comfortably half way between the two extremes, lifting local and regional delicacies to a level of sophistication where it can all be enjoyed as part of a substantial four course meal. 

The Foie Gras was excellent as a starter as was the Magret du Canard for main course. The eventual dessert was acceptable (which is about as good as it gets in any French restaurant, good bad or indifferent, sorry I am not keen on desserts but the rest of the party raved). The cheese however was awesomely awesome. Perfect temperature, peak ripeness and of the highest quality.

La Compostelle is a very good 'Destination Restaurant'. Well worth the effort of making the trip.

Fountainhead Retreat Hotel Riogordo Spain

As well as raising puppy and restoring a house we like to eat and travel, earlier this year we spent a week at the Fountainhead a hotel and restaurant near Riogordo in the mountains about 45 minutes north of Malaga. Here is my review.

Fountainhead Andalucía

Perched on a terraced mountainside in a Moorish/Art Deco cottage, surrounded by wild Fennel, self-set Almond trees and ancient Olives, I can see across the deep wide valley to the bald grey mountain tops crowned with wreaths of blue-grey rain laden clouds, at odds with the sun drenched lower slopes whose legions of regimented Olive trees do battle with the precipitous slopes keeping at bay the otherwise advancing erosion typified by the naked rim of summits that surround us.

Fountainhead is described as a ‘Five Star Retreat’ I would prefer to describe it as a ‘Five Star Refuge’. We hadn’t finished dinner on the first evening and we were already planning a return visit. At the end of our seven night stay, if anything our desire to return is even greater.

Fountainhead defies comparison with anywhere else we have stayed, or heard mention of. From the moment the wizened, old, family retainer lurches and drags himself down the steps to the car, waving his arms discordantly, howling ‘Sanctuary, Sanctuary’. You are cosseted in the warm attentive folds of this excellent, warm, family owned and run Shangri-La. 

Actually ‘Front of House’ is the domain of Peter (not the afore mentioned Quasimodo) and son Angus, Peter is urbane, witty, intelligent and an ‘all round’ really nice bloke, Angus is well on his way, but no doubt with his own slant on life and the universe. 

We drove from Northern France over three days and left the main road to tackle the infamous front driveway to Fountainhead, despite some comments this is not a problem; if you take note of the wreaths and shrines that denote previous fatalities you should be ok. To be honest all you need to do is engage your brain and drive carefully.

Over the brow of a hill Fountainhead appears, a white and yellow pueblo suspended amongst Olive and Almond Groves with gradients of 1 in 3. 

Peter, alerted by grinding gears and spitting sand is there to greet you and escort you to your suite, with a full fridge and views to die for (remember flowers and shrines). 

Now, dinner, what can I say? There is a standard choice of 5/5/5 (starter, main and dessert) with the likes of Langoustine Broth, Chicken Livers, Bream, Lamb, then chocolate torte or cheese or something else.; but you have all read these menus before, so is this a case of ‘same old, same old’? No, quite frankly it is not. 

We have eaten at Gidley Park and the Le Gavroche amongst others and these are fantastic restaurants, But Helen the chef at Fountainhead can count herself the equal of Michele Roux (Jnr) and Michael Caines, her food, imagination and sense of style is every bit as good as the best the UK has to offer. We realised this on ‘day two’ in that we had actually run out of superlatives and sat dumbstruck when the empty plates were removed. 

Peter’s Dry Martini is traditional copious and excellent, dry as a bone. He appears to treasure his wine list and rose to the evening challenge of ‘you choose’ without faltering and managed to match white wine with every meal which is no mean feat. We are in Sherry country and his range and knowledge is excellent, this is not the stuff that sits in your granny’s sideboard only to make a brief unloved appearance along with turkey for Christmas. 

If you want to get out and about, Peter runs various tours and took us to the Alhambra, acting as our guide he knew it inside and out and spoke with real affection as well as deep knowledge.

If like us you want to take a gradual tour around the best restaurants available then add Fountainhead to your list which is also available to non-residents if booked in advance.

The suites (and there are only 4) are cleverly arranged to have decks and plunge pools that are not overlooked and enjoy uninterrupted and dramatic views of the surrounding mountains. All meals apart from dinner are served in your suite and you decide what that consists of.

All good thing must come to an end and the only time we used our car was to leave and go home, when I paused at the top of the valley for one last look I almost expected Fountainhead to disappear in a swirl of mist just like Brigadoon, too good to be real (until next year).

Boot Camp

For Che the last week has been a form of boot camp that owners of only one dog never get to see.

Wrenched from your litter, mother, home, familiar noises and smells. Prodded poked and ooh'd over, then without much ceremony dumped on a car park floor to be sniffed up the backside etc by an unknown 150lb bitch, let's be honest here life is not going too well. On top of that some middle class middle aged revolutionary goes and names you Ernesto Che Guevara Lynch.

Then the bitch decides to have a go at you even before you get in the house, all in the name of pack discipline and confirmation of pecking order. Well enough is enough, you don't care if she weighs in at 67kg and you, even after a large lunch, tip the scales at only just under 8!

Indignant you growl and snap at the bitch's nose. Score 1/0 at half time.

And what's this 'house training'? All of a sudden it's of interest where you  pee and poo, how does that work?

What is this 'in' and 'out' 'no' 'good boy' and 'Che no'? And all the time you are getting this vigorous social training from a bitch you don't know, who snaps, growls,chases you around the garden till you are knackered and belts you on the head with a floppy paw, then she wants to play. 

Whilst humans will pay a lot of money for this treatment is this confusing or what?

Breaking the Rules (a little)

The loss of Trotsky left a gaping hole in our lives, he was torn from us at literally a moment's notice. One minute a healthy fit seven year old German Shepherd, by the morning he was dead in front of the lounge fireplace having been killed by Bloat.

Put simply Bloat is what appears to be a spontaneous twisting of the gut and  mainly affects larger breed. If you get the dog straight away to a vet who has both the technology and skill, the dog has a reasonable chance of survival, if you can't do this then you have a dead dog and in any event there is a significant chance of it occurring again.

As to what causes it and minimises the chances of Bloat occurring, the jury is out and the Internet is full of conflicting advice, so point your mouse and take your pick.

I suppose one thing that can't do any harm is small regular meals, but whether or not it actually helps god alone knows.

France in the summer is scorching and we had Trotsky buried before mid morning. We raised a cairn over his grave and Matt our builder has found an ancient carved stone for us to inscribe. Around his grave we will plant Magnolia Grandiflora an evergreen with beautiful flowers.

As I write I can still see him, huge for a GSD, but fit lean and pure white, with apricot tufts on the tips of his ears, running towards me with a large limestone rock in his mouth. He would fill up the boot of our Mercedes Estate in an afternoon and we would have to empty it to get the dogs in.

Gandhi our Leonberger bitch was finding it especially hard. I had seen her walk up to Trotsky's dead body sniff him and walk away, you can't tell me she did not know that his spirit had left him. Although the younger of the pair she had been the Alpha and had never been separated from him, she just moped around the house lethargic and off her food.

It was against this backdrop that we decided to get another dog soon rather than later. We settled on a Leonberger as they are a steady family loving dog with a beautiful temperament.

Being a rare breed puppies are few and far between, taking most of my own advice I found a breeder in south Essex with a male puppy available.

I made an appointment fGor a telephone interview and spent half an hour running through a list of prepared questions noting down the answers. 

Based on this I caught the ferry and drove up to continue the research process. I didnt go with the intention of choosing a puppy, at five weeks one looks much like another. The idea was to talk more with the breeder, look over their kennels and meet the parents of the puppies to gauge their temperament. Happy with the breeding I left a £100 deposit, intending to come back at eight weeks and choose a puppy to take home.

In the event my son Olly was over in the UK for a natural pool construction course so it fell to him to go and choose a puppy which he did on the advice of the breeder, as experienced owners we ended up with what appeared to be the most outward going boisterous puppy of a litter 14, we named him Che.

Dozing Dog

Choosing a Puppy

I am not sure we ever get this right and tend to go at it with the same lack of logic employed when choosing a partner or deciding to start a family which in a lot of ways we are actually doing.

Should we have a pet?

Do we have the time the space the finance the support when we want to go on holiday?  Don't worry about that we can work around it. Cat or a Dog? Can't stand cats so it's a dog. Then what sort of dog, big small pedigree or mongrel? Our choice of dog says a lot about our own strengths, weaknesses, and preferences, least said the better.

Choosing your dog

OK we have made an illogical unsuitable choice as to breed disregarding all of the temperament and medical issues involved in what can be the product of  a very narrow genepool, do we get an adult or a puppy?

Having a puppy is great as they do not have any baggage and are easier to train, unfortunately they pee and defecate everywhere and take almost as much attention as a child. Working and house training do not go hand in hand.

It is very important to pick the right breeder and it is an idea to do an initial telephone interview running through a list of questions for about half an hour. After this a visit as soon as possible even before the litter is born so that there are no distractions is important. You need to be satisfied that the puppy is coming from good stock and not a puppy farm.

Meet the parents, if you are not allowed to see and socially interact with the male and female then don't buy the puppy, if the parents are aggressive you can have a problem puppy on your hands.

Once you have chosen the breeder and are satisfied with the parents then picking a particular puppy from the litter is really nothing to get excited about, their personalities are only just starting to develop so apart from sex and not picking a runt an interested outgoing friendly puppy should fit the bill.

If you trust your breeder be guided by them that is what they are there for.

Introduction

This blog has been prompted by the arrival of Ernesto Che Guevara Lynch (Che)  following the death of Trotsky in August of this year 2012. As I write Che is curled up back to back on the lounge floor with Gandhi; and Olly is snoring on the sofa after night duty with Che, our new 8 week old male Leonberger puppy. Trotsky is our late and much lamented white GSD, Gandhi (named after Indera) is our six year old Leonberger bitch and Olly is my 19 year old son. Hilary, wife and mistress of the house is coming home to chaos having spent the weekend in Salzburg on a Girlie Weekend, Mozart and Status Quo.

We split our time between Jersey and the Charente Maritime in France where we are restoring a 17th Century Farmhouse. Olly is working on the house along with his friend Cam, the builder Matt Regan, plumber Adam Kimber and pointer Michelle Hinsbey. Me, I project manage, cook and chop bits off my finger. Hilary controls all and everyone via a spreadsheet, bank account and iron will.

So you can read about and contribute to the joys of, bringing up a headstrong Leonberger who will in all probabiliy reach over 150lbs in weight and want to rule the roost, the argument against commercial dog food, the joys of cooking and the negative impact of Celbretary Chefs (as a genre) and last but not least the battle to restore a lovely old house deep in the French Countryside using original materials such as Lime, Clay, Oak and Straw.