More often than not, talk turns to food. Conversations vary, situations differ, but ultimately, we all end up talking about food. And eating it.
Getting up in the morning is becoming less of a delayed task. It seems that the Es Paradis effects are starting to wear off, although I do have the beginnings of a cold, its manifestation easily tracked back to a night dancing in water followed by a mad sprint in the early morning freeze. Sitting on the sofa, looking out past the swimming pool to the ocean below, I sniff and feel a tickle at the back of my throat, a bad sign of things to come. Kathy is in the kitchen, firing up the state of the art, high definition oven. Minutes later she serves up smoked salmon on a bed of fluffy scrambled eggs. Hits the spot.
The sun shining outside and the overall good vibe encourages activity. Kathy and I put on our optimistically packed running shoes and gear and head out for a trot around St Vincente. It's late morning and the sun beats down on the tarmac, the heat bouncing back into our faces, as we run. It's a strenuous exercise session along winding roads and rising hills, avoiding cars and cyclists. It's all a bit much for me and I do a lot of walking, Kathy running back and forth around me with the ease and determination of a marathon runner. We take a side street up to a church on a nearby rise, pass through its car park and back down the hill again, peeking into a French style cafe on the way, ascertaining its adequacy for dinner. French food in Spain? Next.
I fall in a heap back at the villa, exhausted. Tam walks into the kitchen, towel draped around her, swimming gear on. She has just completed numerous laps of the shoreline and looks like she hasn't broken a sweat. The thought of swimming in the ocean makes me feel even more exhausted. Harry has had a nice sleep in and is now playing with toys, scampering around the floor, listening to songs and readings, working out how to operate the Sky box. His frenetic pace and thirst for activity exhausts me further. Paul and Christy announce a trip to the shops to stock up on food, Tam and Kathy agreeing to help out. I raise my hand in surrender and end up sleeping on the sofa. When they return, bearing fruits and every other type of food you can think of, as well as copious amounts of vino, Kathy heads into the kitchen again and invents a magical lunch - lettuce wraps with ham and cheese and veggies and dressing. We step out into the sunshine and relax on the chairs and sunbeds, soaking up the good times, eating the lush food.
It's about time we thought about what we are going to have for dinner. There are a few restaurants down on the beach but we did that last night. Tam spotted a pretty cool restaurant stroke bar at the far end of the beach - one of the many fine establishments recommended in our Villa Guide, graciously left by the owners. But the weather, the atmosphere and this rocking pad are all conducive to staying home and cooking up our own kick arse dinner. There's plenty of food in the fridge and pantry, so we are all set. It's barbeque time!! A few hours before sundown, Paul and I go to work on the barbeque (doing the man's job), cooking fish, an array of sausages (including some lush chorizo that literally sweat fatty goodness) and other traditional fare. The barbie works well and the ladies have created some amazing salads that go well with the cooked meats. Add to that homemade sangria and numerous bottles of wine and we are sorted.
The bellys are full and the sun has gone down. There is a cool breeze and the only sounds are those of the ocean. It is peaceful and lovely. Kath and I take a late night walk on St Vincente's beach, romantic under the star studded sky and the white moon. There is hardly anyone around, most of the tourists have yet to arrive. We are alone. We lay down next to each other on the beach and look around, to our left, to our right - the moment is perfect and we are in a daring mood. We know we shouldn't, but what the hell, you only live once. I whisper in Kathy's ear and we get down to it, wrapping our lips around a luscious serving of ice cream purchased from the late night shop. The ice cream hits the spot; the midnight weather perfect for it. We can't believe we have the energy but we go again, this time leaning towards the chocolate covered variety. After that, we decide it's time to return to the villa, so we take it slowly up the hill, stomachs full, satisfied smiles on our faces.
Upon returning to the villa, we find everyone else has retired to their quarters for sleep; it is close to one o'clock. But the night isn't over yet for us. The pièce de résistance: we take a seat on the upstairs terrace, sit back, look up at the clear night sky, listen to the sound of the waves, and sip on Baileys and ice. It goes to show, it's not always about the food.
Photo from tasting menu.com