It must seem completely wacky to off-islanders when they discover that even inhabitants of this island paradise we call Gabriola need to escape for relaxation once and awhile. The truth is that no matter how beautiful and peaceful the view from the kitchen window may seem, when you turn around, that brilliant spring sun jarringly reminds us that the windows need cleaning, and suddenly, dust-bunnies appear everywhere. You could try to flee outside, but there you will be rudely reminded of patios that need sweeping and gardens that need tending, and no matter how much you love gardening, it is a back-wrenching task.

And so, in search of a little break, Jordan and I headed to Tigh-Na-Mara, a lovely resort and spa only 20 minutes north of Nanaimo. There we enjoyed a relaxing view of the ocean from our room—in the “Gabriola” building— without the least compulsion to muck about in their gardens or sweep their decks. We squandered hours of good gardening time in a spa, complete with massage and pedicures, followed by two nights of dining in the restaurant which features Iocal foods; from organic lamb to Fanny Bay oysters to halibut.

Halibut: could there be any finer white fish? It is truly the chicken of the sea. Sorry, Charlie! While I have had many fine halibut dishes this halibut season, including one served with a marvellous feta cheese, caper, and tomato cream sauce à la Jordan, the Halibut Wellington I ate that first evening will linger in my taste sensory memory forever.

This Wellington, like its namesake, Beef Wellington, consisted of a filet of halibut, coated with a pâté of crab meat, shallots, and shitake mushroom, perfectly baked in a puff pastry crust. I don’t recall anything else about the meal; I was in a sybaritic trance.

I didn’t even get my knickers in a twist over the use of the term “Wellington” for what should actually be called, “Filet de Flétan en croutê” : I knew what they meant. The classic Beef Wellington consists of a filet of beef, coated in a pâté de foie gras (UGH!) and another layer of duxelles. For those of you who have no idea what a duxelle is, it is roughly a paste made of mushrooms, shallots, and butter. (I had to look that up!)

Beef Wellington was the “must-serve” entrée of the ‘60s if you (according to Joy of Cooking) wanted to “out-Jones the Joneses.” It was presumably named after the same guy the boots were named for, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington; the guy who turfed Napoleon. Which is why, I suppose, you won’t find any mention of Beef Wellington in a French cookbook. There you will find only, “Filet de Boeuf en croutê.”  

Today, when nothing seems sacred in cooking terminology, “Wellington” is used when any meat or fish, even eggplant is coated with a pâté de anything, encased in a puff pastry shell, and baked. I have also seen phyllo substituted for the puff pastry. Scandalous! But even I was too relaxed from a day in the spa to let the vagaries of cooking lexicon trouble me.

Alas, as always must happen, it was time to pack up and leave our room by the sea; time to head back through the world of malls and traffic. At times like these, I always recall one of the lines from my absolutely favourite play, Shirley Valentine.

“Shirley, every year, millions and millions of people go on holiday-and every year those same millions and millions of people have such a good time that they don’t want to go back.”

It is always sad to leave a perfect weekend for home, but aren’t we fortunate to have to come back to Gabriola? I couldn’t wait to check out what new things had been happening in the yard, and what new birds had arrived while we were gone. A lot can change here in the spring in just two days.

Gabriola is, afterall, my “Shirley Valentine” place; the vacation we took 14 years ago that turned into our home, when like Shirley, we desired nothing more than to “drink a glass of wine in a country where the grape is grown. Sittin’ by the sea just sippin’ wine and watchin’ the sun go down.” We now even have our own hot tub (or Jacuzzi: “The Greeks invented it, you know!”) and I have my “Shirley Valentine” chairs and table on our patio where, although not exactly by the edge of the sea, I can sit drinking a glass of wine, enjoying the peace of my yard, the birds, the sunset, and stars in a perfect sky.