Deal is a wonderful place, a genteel resort all narrow streets and great little shops. I bought some vegetables for dinner on Sunday, as I had decided to do a roast dinner. At a surviving butcher on the high Street, I bought a joint of beef, and everything was set for a great meal on the morrow.
Once Jools was out of her class, we headed to a bar for a drink and a bite to eat.; she had tomato risotto which she said was very nice indeed, whilst I had a melted French cheese and bacon sandwich; which was also very good indeed.
As if by magic, the sun came out and so did the people. As is the British way, even though it is still winter, as it was sunny they were going to walk to the beach, look at the sea, sit on benches and eat ice cream. And so it was. There wasn’t a breath of wind, and the sea was like a millpond; or as I would say these days, it’s good survey weather!
We drove to a fruit and vegetable stall and picked up some more stuff for the weekend, including firewood and kindling as we now have a wood-burning fire in the living room, and there is nothing quite like looking into the roaring fire in the evening.
We headed home for coffee and to settle down for a quiet evening of football on the TV and more fire watching. In the end we decided to walk onto the village to try the last of the five pubs and to have a meal out. The Hope, named after a ship that floundered at the base of the cliffs, was pleasant enough, but it was quite clear from the looks and being ignored that maybe we were not local enough. But we had a pleasant steak and ale pie and a nice pint before heading back to stare into the embers some more before it was time enough to head to bed.
If anything, Sunday dawned even brighter than the day before, and we decided to head out early and walk along the cliffs to Deal, the next large town north of here. It’s about six and a half miles, and so would be a good mornings walk. We had also planned to leave here so that we got to the café on the cliffs at the edge of St Margarets just as it opened at nine for bacon sandwiches and a coffee for Jools and a pot of tea for me. As the week before, the chef kept bringing out trays and plates of fresh cakes and scones for the days customers, and all very tempting it all looked too. As I paid the bill a steaming tray of fruit scones was brought out, and it took some resolution to just turn and walk out the door without another cuppa and a scone or three….
The walk along the cliffs is always such a pleasure, the azure blue sea down below contrasting with the steep white, chalky cliffs. We paused on occasion to take pictures and to pass the time of day with other walkers. All along the coast line there are the remains of fortifications from various wars, but mostly WW2, and towards Deal is no exception, be it the foundations of gun emplacements, firing ranges and lookout posts. Just as we can see France on a clear day from the cliffs, the Germans could see Dover from the cliffs around Calais, and both sides traded shells from huge guns all throughout the war, to the extent that Dover was called hellfire corner, and I can tell you the people who stayed and worked here lived through some very tough times as noiseless shells would drop out of the sky without warning, right up to the last days of the war, or once Normandy had been invaded. Even today, there are still gaps in rows of houses where bombed buildings were never replaced.
At least walking to Deal meant the cliffs gradually got lower and lower, until at Kingsdown, the cliffs faded to a stony beach, and the walk into Walmer, past the first of two castles built by Henry VIIIth. The sun was now strong enough to take our coats off and we passed families out walking or just enjoying the early spring sunshine.
Just outside Deal, the beach became full of small fishing boats and small smoke houses that still do their own kippers and smokies. I had realised that to cook roat potatoes and a decent Yorkshire Pudding, we would in fact need tins for the cooking of said items. Thankfully there was a cheap as chips cookware shop open, and laden with tins and goose fat for the potatoes we lorded it back home in a taxi.
In a joint effort we cooked the beef according to the book by her who must be obeyed, the Goddess Delia; twenty minutes at gas mark 8 and then 50 minutes at 5, whilst cooking the spuds. Having a glorious kitchen fitted with a cooker with not four but eight rings and two ovens meant a decent roast was just a case of getting it all to be done at the right time; dish up and a slurp of red wine and it was perfect.
The one off moment was the discussion on the recipe for Yorkshire Pudding; I have always used plain flour without any problems; Jools said that it should be self raising. Anyway, the plain four made pudding rose like a crazy thing and was nice and crispy, and big enough to leave half to have cold on Monday night with cold beef.
Yum.
Yes, the dinner was a triumph, even if I say so myself, and being a joint effort made it even better. Washing up done, we collapse on the sofa with a well deserved coffee and snooze.
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