L’homme n’est point fait pour méditer, mais pour marcher.
It is a matter of personal taste whether one prefers ones mountains à la français or à la russe.
Snowdon is the archetypal French banquet; big, showy, and impressive. Everything at once; the cliffs, the lakes, the heights, broken rubble and smooth rock face, a slow ramble alongside an adventurous scramble. When the clouds clear, you see all, take in all, the glut from distant Clwyd to shimmering Môn, Caernarfon to the Glyders, the finger of Llŷn to the brilliant azure of the Irish Sea. A soft horseshoe encloses you: the peaceful slopes of Y Lliwedd, nestling cold Llyn Lydaw; sharp Crib Goch, bitter like burnt paprika, but satisfying; the long descent to Rhyd Ddu and the sweeping from of Moel y Cynghorion. All these dishes are laid before you, heavily achieved and heartily enjoyed.
Yet, beside this tableaux, you see the walking bourgeoisie, the casuals, the push-chairs, the elderly, those who came up the easy way, bloated with their superficial joie de vivre, their simple, belt-buckled leather shoes dully shining as they dismount the steam train. Wigs in place, they powder their faces and wobble to the top, gorging and gorging. At first a slow pavane as they process from the café, their fingers still moist with the crumbs of lemon drizzle and chocolate gateaux. Then, as they dimly perceive the summit, the music quickens to a galliarde and they leap to the beat, a vigorous volta, bounding like bunnies over moss and lichen, burying their faces into the feast.
True fine dining, however, as any chef will tell you, relies on the subtle use of courses. Modern cooking allows the ingredients to speak for themselves. The Moel Hebog range does the same for the soul.
There is much to be praised in the Hebog range; the variance of texture, . Despite one’s preference for serving style, these lucky hills may prove to be the best three-course meal in Wales.