Though simpler than the excellent fare produced by the Aida’s cook, Ren Valiu—or, indeed, by her anxious counterpart at the Avai estate—the inn’s food was nonetheless memorable, the steamed fish simmered with chives, shallots and something I didn’t recognise, thin slices of a pinkish fruit that was almost citric while still being slightly sweet. Cooked, the texture was already meltingly soft; after soaking in the light, buttery sauce, it was divine.
