And A Good Time Was Had By All

During our first off-season visit to Sitges someone recommended a restaurant called Monroes. We went in for their Sunday roast, an ample traditional English meal. I could do an entire post on the food at one Sunday roast. We thoroughly enjoyed it. It was somewhere between Ben's friendly berating of the customers and Pablo's generous savory cuisine we began to realize we could live in Sitges. 

Fast forward to last week. Sunday roast ends for the summer in April. The bookings start dwindling as customers elect to spend their Sunday afternoons on the beach. So the guys cut it off for the season. We had attended the last roast of the season among the final trickle of customers. At that scantily attended dinner the suggestion was made we gather on the beach next Sunday instead. We agreed. 

The next Sunday, the partner and I were the only ones to make it to the beach. The partner thought he'd be funny by leaving an angry phone message. Something to the effect of: Look, we we're all going to the beach together and you stood us up. Next Sunday we expect you to come to the beach and we expect you to serve us a full Sunday roast, naked, to make up for you forgetting. (Oh, by the way I should mention we go to the clothing-optional beach. I should probably do a post on that sometime.)

Sunday morning we received a call: "Your naked maitre d', your naked head chef, and your naked waiter will meet you at Cap de la Villa with your Sunday roast for the beach. Wash your willy and be there in one hour." 

They had been up since 9 that morning shopping and cooking in preparation for our jaunt to the beach. When we met them near the center of town they were laden with bags of hot and cold food, bread, beach towels and sunscreen. We brought water and shandy (beer with lemon) We made our way to Balmins on the far side of town. 

Once settled onto our beds and lathered in tanning lotion, they began passing food. First English-styles sausages. Then sausage rolls (sausage surrounded with flaky puff-pastry and delicious with English mustard). Then they brought out Cornish pasties (think roast beef, gravy, and vegetables wrapped in a pie crust a little larger than one's fist) with Branston Pickle. Now, to be honest I've had Cornish pasties on a couple of trips to the U.K. before, and I honestly thought I really didn't like them that much. These were delicious. Amazing. Apparently everything else I've ever had that was called a Cornish pasty was in fact a mere shadow. 

The cold dishes came a little later. Bread with pate. Egg mayonnaise (akin to what they call in the southern U.S. egg salad). Boursault Cheese. Mixed olives, pickled onions and gherkins. And then fresh strawberries with sugar. 

We lay a few meters from the lapping waves and soaked up the sun. Brief spurts of conversation waxed and waned through us. I went to the snack hut for more drinks, fruit-flavored ices, and ice creams. We admired the views, inclusive not only of the beach, the rocks, the distant town, the sailboats on sea, but also the naked and semi-naked men frolicking and meandering around the surf. Daryl (our "naked waiter" who wasn't actually naked) flirted shamelessly with a gorgeous South African man stationed on his towel behind us. I think all of us stared in amazement at a particularly well-endowed Spanish man (who probably suffers from bruised knees if he runs). 

It was a beautiful day. But unfortunately it did have to end. About the time Ben, Pablo, and Daryl had to head back to get ready to run the restaurant that night, I was beginning to get nervous about my intestines. So we headed home. Some of us a little extra crispy (the partner fell asleep and didn't reapply often enough), but all of us well sated and having thoroughly enjoyed the experience.