I sometimes feel this blog can be a bit “first I did this, then I went there, then I did that”. Well, as such it’s a true record, but not perhaps the most gripping of accounts. So here’s something a bit different – short accounts of encounters I had in Exeter and Topsham yesterday.
First up was the chap alongside – Collin Pereira. I met him in a small market area in Exeter. There were 8 or 9 temporary market stands set up, selling fresh produce of various sorts – fresh fish, newly-baked artisan bread, eggs straight from the farm (these included duck eggs and quail eggs), a butcher – you et the picture. Among them was Collin’s stand. His tag is “India in a Jar – with a Dash of Devon!” Basically, he’s selling jars of chutneys and pickles that he’s made (or, given the volume, had made to his recipes), incorporating local produce. He’s a chef. Previously he’s worked in a number of restaurants all over the country, having first come from (I think) Goa. He currently has his own restaurant (in Paignton, I think) but he’s also started this retail business, selling from markets and shows all over south Devon. He was a most charming and friendly man – very entertaining and enthusiastic. We had a couple of conversations. The first was early in the morning when I first saw his stand when I was on my out to do the Roman Walls walk. I promised I’d come back later after my walk and once I’d had the chance to talk to Val. So I went back at lunchtime and we continued our conversation; again, interesting and enthusiastic. I bought a couple of jars – Devon Venison, and Turmeric and Black Pepper. Here’s a link to his Facebook page. I enjoyed meeting him. If the chutneys are good, that’ll be a bonus!
During the morning I had coffee at The Coffee Cellar on Exeter Quay. I mentioned in yesterday’s post that two foreign tourists in succession proffered £50 notes for individual coffees, and the Barista took the notes. I had a short chat with him when I was being served. He was a young man, possibly a student, and he made me an excellent cappuccino. I’ve always seen it done with the chocolate being added at the end, but he didn’t do that. He sprinkled the chocolate on top of the espresso before the milk was added; then he gently poured the hot milk down the side of the cup, thus floating the chocolate on top. Then, by carefully and skilfully pouring the final bit of the milk into the middle of the cup, he made the patterns that we’re all familiar with. Quite the best cappuccino I’ve had, I think. I hope he didn’t get fired for taking the £50s.
When I was at Topsham I had a drink or two outside The Lighter Inn. There was a couple sat at the next table – late 30s, perhaps early 40s – and I couldn’t help overhearing their conversation. By the way the conversation was going between them they didn’t know each other very well and were exchanging their personal histories. At the outset they were sat at 90º to each other at a round table but an hour later, by which time it was getting colder, they were sat along side each other, their voices had dropped, their heads were close together…. a definite connection was being made. It was good to watch two people come together like that. I’ve seen it happen before; I vividly remember a couple of teenagers on a train to London get talking, get interested in each other, and then she got off the train (at Luton Airport). They had time for one kiss at the carriage door, and then she was gone. This was all before mobiles let alone social media, and I don’t think they had exchanged any information with each other. When he went back to his seat after helping her off the train he was desolate-looking – something potentially important had been there for him (and for her) and they’d let it slip away. I’ve often wondered if they ever found each other again.
Back to this trip. When I got back to Exeter I decided to eat somewhere other than a pub – despite my best intentions, I’d had something-with-chips fo r dinner three nights in a row. I picked Café Rouge and called in there while on my way to the hotel to shower and change, to check that I could have a table later. The waitress confirmed the booking and didn’t bother taking my name – “I will recognise you”, she said. What, could it be that she’d remember the elderly, rumpled, somewhat-perspiring old gent with the croaky voice? Yes, it turned out that she could when I returned an hour later. The meal was excellent, and the service was even better. I never got her name, but she did her employers’ proud. I’ll think of Café Rouge next time we go into Sheffield for a meal.
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