Life

Shall we chalet? Mais, oui

Margaret Carragher went to Val d'Isere for the skiing but stayed for the home cooking after she'd tasted what her 'chalet maids' could put together in the kitchen

DURING last year's ski season, over 9,000 cakes were baked for afternoon tea, 24,156 baguettes devoured and a staggering 48,312 bottles of wine guzzled in Crystal Ski chalets around Europe.

Having polished off a fair whack of them myself in Val d'Isere last March, I'm surprised the figures weren't higher. Indeed it was the lure of such goodies that brought me there in the first place - even if I'd long been iffy about the whole chalet thing.

When you've spent all year looking forward to one precious week on the slopes you can get a tad obsessive and the potential for disaster loomed large in every imagined, chalet-related scenario: sharing limited living space with total strangers; the enforced chumminess inherent in communal dining; paper-thin walls with permanently sozzled party animals on either side. And of course those creatures of urban myth on whose cooking, cleaning and general coping skills one's holiday ultimately depends - the chalet maids. So for years I played it safe with hotels.

But then I discovered Crystal Ski Finest.

In addition to luxury hotel comforts these chalets feature a host of complimentary extras such as afternoon tea with home-made cakes, evening canapés and aperitifs, fine wines with dinner, and a cheeseboard with port, coffee and luxury chocolates to follow.

From the get-go things augured well with daytime flights from Dublin to Chambery, a generous baggage allowance and a transfer time of just a few hours to the welcomingly snow-clad resort of Val d'Isere. Time then to meet the chalet 'maids' - and what can I say? When you've been imagining a pair of flour-dusted domestic goddesses cooking up a storm, the sight of two kids in furry slippers looking barely old enough to tie their shoelaces can be - well, sobering. But then I got the whiff of something wonderful coming from the kitchen...

Fast forward through a veritable feast of vine tomato and red pepper soup, beef Bourguignon and mixed berry crumble, all served with a selection of wines by the delightfully heavy-handed Hedley Lovegrove ("the only one on Facebook") and Mark Dipper.

As the mother of boys whose culinary skills just about stretch to microwavable popcorn, I could only watch enviously as the pair whizzed around the place, brewing up coffee, dishing out chocolates, uncorking yet more wine - and all the while chatting away and ensuring that everything was just so.

Their story, they said, was a pretty standard chalet host narrative. Having skied since childhood and seen the craic that was to be had, Messrs Lovegrove and Dipper had resolved to squeeze at least one ski season into their gap year before knuckling down to the real world. To this end they'd honed their culinary skills to Crystal Finest levels - as you do - and bagged the jobs.

But it wasn't just cooking and baking. With a dozen guests to cater for, week in week out - seemingly the chalet was booked solid for the season - there was a constant round of shopping and cleaning too. Not to mention the weekly turnaround day with guests coming and going at various times, beds to be changed, laundry sorted, and mountains of food ever ready and waiting. You'd be exhausted just thinking about it but it seemed nothing could faze these guys.

Meanwhile I was sizing up my fellow guests: several couples and families, a few solo travellers - all perfectly pleasant and engaging. As we bonded over port and coffee, the snow drifted promisingly outside and someone googled the weather forecast - things were looking good.

The following week brought the sort of clear blue skies and snowy nights that have been drawing winter sports enthusiasts here for the best part of a century. Located within the Tarantaise Valley (which, incidentally, boasts the highest concentration of ski resorts in the world), Val d'Isere links with the neighbouring resort of Tignes to form the Espace Killy with 94 lifts and 300 kilometres of pistes catering for all comers from ski virgin to seasoned powder hound.

The town itself has over the years grown from a cluster of rustic farmhouses around a 17th century church to a tourist hub of international renown crammed with high-end designer shops, restaurants and bars. But for all its attractions I was more taken by my immediate surroundings.

Located in the resort centre, Chalet Balias is one of a trio of almost identical chalets (the others being Saffron and Reuben) in a traditional stone built development just minutes from the main chairlifts. Spread over two floors, Chalet Balias features a spacious, open-plan living/dining room with balcony overlooking the slopes; six twin ensuite bedrooms and a shared wellness centre with sauna, shower and relaxation area on the lower ground floor.

At precisely 7am each morning the 'maids' would arrive with freshly baked baguettes and croissants and set about cooking. An hour later, as we guests tucked into the breakfast special, our hosts would be up to their elbows in flour, creating our afternoon tea confections. Fast forward through a glorious day on the slopes and as we walloped into Master Lovegrove's legendary Victoria Sponge or Lemon Drizzle or Mississippi Mud Pie, our hosts would be busy preparing pre-dinner drinks and canapés, as the main course - always a showstopper-simmered away in the oven. On their one day off (and even then they left breakfast ready) we went to La Casserole restaurant next door for its much trumpeted tartiflette - a popular regional dish of gratin potatoes, onions, lardons and cheese. Tasty - but not a patch on the chalet version served the previous evening with salad and a smile by the ever-cheerful Master Dipper.

In just a week my doubts about all things chalet-related had been forever dispelled by a pair of kids in furry slippers looking barely old enough to tie their shoelaces. Saying goodbye was a real wrench although I'm sure I haven't seen the last of them; at the very least Masterchef beckons, if not the House of Commons. Run a chalet run a country, I say.