Le Légué. Tea at L'eau Rouge.

So we wandered on, and said hello to some of the other inhabitants of the port, who, like us, were profiting from the last warm rays of the last of the October sun,

and at the last leggy flowerings of  window boxes and planters.  It must be a fairly civilised place where these can be put out looking directly onto pavements.  The general absence of casual vandalism here still surprises and heartens me ( yes, there is graffiti tagging, and there are inner city riots and car burning and thuggish demonstrating farmers and all manner of other dreadful things, but the pointless and wilful petty breaking up of other people's property still seems relatively rare).

and we looked at the Dutch potter's place,

and noted one of the less elevated eateries,

then it occurred to me that we were suffering from mid-afternoon wilt.  And that the reason for this was the congenital British affliction of needing a cup of tea.  At the same moment, my eyes alighted on the shocking pink facade of L'eau Rouge.

The doors of its glazed porch were open to the sun and the breeze, and its low tables and straw chairs looked most inviting.  Behind the counter were dozens of tins of different teas, and stacked up on its oiled wooden floors were crates and boxes of wine.  This, I thought, is one cool place.  I have obviously stumbled upon a hub of bourgeois bohemianism, I've heard about this kind of thing...

A conclusion I have lately drawn, is that, in the countries where something is a staple, in general the inhabitants like it straight, not messed about with.  Where it's bit of a novelty, or somewhat recherché, there is aften a vogue for all kinds of mannered varieties of it.  In fact this is probably a totally specious hypothesis, based entirely on what we have observed about the respective French and British attitudes to coffee and tea.  J's cousin who was visiting from London lately went into a cafe with her, and when J asked her what she'd like, she said she'd just have a medium latte.  I don't think you will, said J, you'll have a grand crême and be thankful.  Iso's mum embarrassed her daughter and nearly got into a fight with a cafe owner in Lamballe when she asked for a cappucino and also received a grand crême, which she she insisted on pointing out was not what she asked for.  Really, wanting your coffee whitened at all is considered fairly outré here.  Similarly, on the whole, Brits, though we may care to specify Indian or China, perhaps prefering Darjeeling or Earl Grey, or Lapsang if you're really precious and weird, really just like a cup of tea.  French tea-lovers however, indulge in all kind of outlandish and frankly often disgusting infusions - tea with caramel, vanilla, mango?  Go on with you...

However, the selection at L'eau Rouge did intrigue me.  We compromised, Tom had a 'brunch blend' of Assam, Ceylon and something else, and I went for a rarefied leaf from Nepal, which was said to resemble Darjeeling but to be even finer.

They came in the most delightful glass pots with integral infusers.  They looked so delicate that we weren't remotely inclined to be philistine and proud and ask for milk.  And rightly, the teas was utterly delicious, smooth and flavourful.

We were also offered a friandise, in this case a spoonful of apple compote sprinkled with brown sugar, which went very well.

Molly had a white china bowl of water, served on a nice clean floorcloth, which she drank from appreciatively, then settled down on the parquet and behaved herself like a lamb, partly I think because of the open airiness of the place, which meant she could look around and not feel hemmed in and bored.

It was really rather expensive, but such a delightful relaxing experience, it was well worth it and quite rounded off our afternoon.  We didn't look at any of the books, embarking on Goethe's Faust in French was perhaps more than one pot of tea's worth.  Apparently, they have open house for philosophical chitchat every Friday too...