Photo Credit: Esther Sokolow
In this largely reflective interim between School and Work, I have become rampantly prone to indulgent woolgathering anent fond study abroad times flown past. Thus explained my pesky tendency to pore over photos, somehow immune to hoary status despite multiple viewings. I never imagined that I would form such a solid friend base after a mere 4 months of communal dorm living; many of these ravishing, intelligent people are sure to remain catercousins for life.
Naturally, our final group-sponsored dinner at La Maema Plage Restaurant in Cannes saluted the conclusion of a whirlwind semester abroad, a metaphorical YAWP to the high heavens as we forked off to our respective paths. Bittersweet? Oui, how tritely so!
Photo Credit: Jessica Weir
La Maema Plage counts itself as one of many chichi private beaches familiar to those living the cannoise ideals of uber-luxury and decadence. Which is to say, none of our (student) party could claim any connection!
Because our generation has become digitally dependent, we wasted no time in beginning the photographic rituals at the restaurant’s backdoor beach patio.
I brought the face.
Appe-teaser besides bread, h’okay! Almost all table-side either found olives repugnant or harbored unfounded fears of the fatty green morsels. Translation: I was granted free access to practically ever last silky olive oil-and-herb-drenched olive, clearly not a situation conducive to moderate eating. Let’s just say I kept up my side of the, ahem, unspoken agreement.
Dining oceanside whilst consuming alcohol! And we can put the hobo associations away as there were no brown bags on the premises.
Photo Credit (last 4): Esther Sokolow. She sure is one heck of a photo-dynamo!
While French chefs rarely dazzle me incoherent with unique plant-based culinary creations, I’ll settle for simple fare artfully-done; what foodie can snub their nose at a dish which glorifies whole foods in their purest flavors? Raw veggies, I see ya there.
This plate des crudités satisfied my inner bunny as I chomp-chomp-chomped away on an array of impecably fresh and crisp vegetables all lined up trig and proper. The accompanying magic sauce (that I fear was mayo-based) is not pictured, but friends can attest I ate truckloads of the stuff.
I cannot feign that this risotto deserves hyperbole of elephantine proportions (far from it), but it was a satisfactory vegan non-pasta entreée in a town in which such a thing has virtually gone the way of the dodo: flightless and shrouded in myth.
Dessert echoed the rest of the meal’s inherent simplicity: pucker-sweet strawberries with a hint of sugar syrup. You’ve tasted strawberries before? So you can remember.
Roundabouts now, the good times effortlessly rolled as I surrendered myself to the vivacious social music of the night.
Strawberries to match my freshly-dyed red hairs. It isn’t cake, but that’ll do pig, that’ll do.
Photo Credit (last 4): Esther Sokolow
In aesopian fashion, this critique solidifies a moral cachée: when in Cannes, get your tushie over to La Maema Plage! They will most likely need advance notice of your vegan needs, but plenteous good eats are to be had. Bring along some dear friends and I just dare you not to indulge in bacchanalia and merriment.
La Maema Plage Restaurant
Boulevard Jean Hibert, 06400 Cannes