Local cuisine's not to be messed with

By James Stone

It is perhaps a trifle unfortunate when holidays are remembered less for stunning scenery or shared adventures than the catastrophic effect that the local cuisine has on one's digestive system. However, it seems that - somewhat predictably in an age of 18-stone eight-year-olds - quality of food has an impact similar to that of weather when it comes to determining the success of a vacation. Is it time to book a holiday? try our Holiday Search!

Take my recent rip to France. I was accompanied by two friends I had known at school, and so all three of us had been brought up on the same dreary fare offered up in the school canteen. It was typical stuff really: ill-prepared vegetables; under-cooked meat; grimy cutlery; all dished up by people who looked like they hadn't seen a flannel in a good six weeks; and although this was unpleasant at the time, it must surely have boded well for the future - after five years of this our stomachs should have been lined with iron.

However, the canteen treatment must have worn off in the intervening years, for all three of us were quite unprepared for what was to come during our summer hols: death by shellfish. Firstly, let's start with the mussels. We kicked things off with a liberal meal of mussels and chips, a local delicacy (anything involving shellfish is a local delicacy in south-west France). Rather nice: a bit garlicky, but when in Rome, and thoroughly recommended. The after-effects were a bit shocking, but nothing majorly untoward.

Until, that is, another mussel portion was added to the mix: the next night we dined on paella. Of course we expected the odd mussel, but not enough to sink a ship. Horrific consequences is all I need say, and it certainly put a dampener on the next day's proceedings, and a strain on the lavatorial air freshener too. Cynics have suggested that it might well have been a bout of Bechuana tummy, but I'm sure even Apthorpe's drinking habits would not have led to anything quite like we experienced. The holiday was only rendered a complete write off, though, at dinner on day three: a double request for fish soup was found to be ill-fated when mussels were discovered floating in the liquid, while the third member of the party's request - for crab - was an error of gross proportions as the crab turned out to be possibly the largest ever trawled. We all put on a brave face and ate what was put in front of us, but none of us surfaced for the rest of the week.

A similar event occurred in China, but this time it wasn't a particular aspect of local cuisine that proved problematic, but local cuisine in general. The good news here, though, was that as I stayed for three months I was able to acclimatise and by the end was happily munching through dog with chopsticks without any problems at all. But for shorter stays, it's perhaps best to plump for Western alternatives.

In fact, this goes for holidays in general: head for the nearest McDonalds. It may be much derided, but it's cheap, and you will be left free to concentrate on a relaxing holiday rather than nervously rushing about searching for the nearest facilities. The 18-stone eight-year-old will be happy, too.

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