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He’s not exactly effusive, but actually, fried until crisp, these andouilles are markedly more pleasant than my previous experience of them cold from the butchers, and they certainly don’t dent my appetite for a sweet crêpe with apples and the famous Breton salted caramel sauce. Matt goes for one flambéed at the table with booze poured from a little copper pan, which embarrasses him no end to my actual and lasting delight, and we celebrate with a glass of cider brandy before wobbling back through Dol’s charming half-timbered, solid little main street, with its medieval houses and plaques proudly celebrating the town’s unlikely links to the Scottish House of Stewart. Haggis crêpes, there’s an idea, I think as I fall asleep with my nose pressed up against the ceiling.

Km: 48.4

Oysters need little introduction, save to say that Brittany produces some exceptionally fine examples, which are best – as with all oysters in my opinion – served naked or perhaps with the merest dribble of shallot vinaigrette, preferably within sight of the salty waters from whence they came.