Serious question

Just when I was thinking two carnivals in a week would suffice for a lifetime, a third came long. And a fourth beckons.

Menton is a fine resort situated just after Monaco ends, going east along the Riviera, but before Italy starts.


Why the words - "shall we go to the La Fête du Citron ?" - even occurred to me, let alone escaped from my lips, I cannot tell.


One answer could be that it gave an excuse for another trip along the coast by rail, this time straying eastwards beyond Nice.

I mustn't prattle on about the joys of taking a train journey on the French Riviera; just do it if you find yourself in the area.

Nor should I attempt to describe La Fête du Citron at undue length. It's not so different from the carnivals of mimosas or whatever, and even the colour wouldn't change much if it were not for the similar abundance of oranges.






So getting back to the subject I identified in my headline, what exactly is the point of polenta?

It was served with stewed beef as part of an agreeable enough meal at Le Majestic, a brasserie located between the station at Menton and the ticket office where they charged you 14 euros a head to proceed to the promenade and find somewhere to stand and watch the parade.

For the last daytime procession of the carnival, Le Majestic was taking no chances and offered a single set menu - the beef, preceded by an excellent rough pate with, fittingly, lemon tart to finish and a little jug of wine thrown in - for 21 euros.

The ambiance was jolly, helped along by two bibulous couples on a coach trip from Sancerre - "what name do you give your husband's private parts?" one of the messieurs asked at one point.

Looks more interesting than ours
Picture: Nofolete

But no one could quite work out why the beef had to be accompanied by polenta, except that we were so close to Italy.

It just seemed to be slab of nothing, edible but desperately uninteresting and devoid of taste unless you smothered it in the sauce from the meat.

That blogging standby Wikipedia describes it thus:

Many new recipes have given new life to an item which is, in essence, a fairly bland and common food, invigorating it with various cheeses or tomato sauces.

But giving something that has no taste "new life" by adding cheese or tomato is surely like making the phone book sound great by getting a wonderful singer to warble extracts from J or K. Or have I missed something?

The last of my carnivals is this Sunday and the good news is that it's in Le Lavandou. I'll eat at home.