L'Escale, Schull. Xavier Legrix, the reluctant chef.

Xavier Legrix does not look happy. It's a July weekend, the place is packed and I've asked him to show me the lobsters I'm only thinking about eating later. My visiting Parisian friends are discerning - even by French standards - and I, in constant anticipation of my next meal, would like to make sure the lobsters are alive and will be properly cooked.

"I have 5000 more out if you want to look them over too." He says, irritated, as I glance round the thronging, deeply unsexy (bar the view of Schull harbour in front) fast-food joint and wonder if I don't just take the live beasts and cook them myself at home. But I don't have the kit to hand, or the time. We'll risk it.

"Thank you. I'll probably be back later. Can I book?" I realise what a ridiculous question that is just as it's half way out of my mouth and Xavier turns on his heel back to the kitchens with the wriggling lobsters, shaking his head.

Ten minutes later I call him, "Can we bring our own wine?" (At least if the wine's ok a possible disaster might be avoided? ) "No. We have plenty of wine, but thank you."

We're not off to a great start, but it turns out that my French friends, staying at the Harbour Hotel and who by tradition must always walk home from dinner on holidays, had decided on L'Escale too. They had been chatting with their compatriot Xavier earlier and by the time we were at the top of the fish and chip queue he smiled at us, warily.

We ordered a feast for three.The lobster, monkfish tails (lightly marinated before being battered), cod, chips and langoustines were good enough to take our minds off the clamour of clattering chairs as customers go up and down to pick up trays, candy floss and crepes. There's a stray dog begging for a cold chip or two, parents failing to parent their loud offspring over louder music and a stocious French man and wife who insisted on talking to us as if we were the last handful of French people on earth.

I almost felt like apologising to my noble lobster that it all had to end for him (her?) in this way. Not on porcelain and linen after being lovingly manipulated but unceremoniously poached beside the chip pans, then served on plastic disposables with pots of slimy, industrial mayonnaise. But he still looked unbelievably alluring with head and claws in tact and tail sliced in two. It was perfectly cooked, tailmeat firm, claws more tender, and tasted sweet, rich and seaside-y. As with the langoustines, when everything is this fresh, there is no real need for any accompaniment. With shimmering water so close and the soft sea breeze, it almost felt as if we were on the deck of a boat eating our catch, and not in any kind of restaurant at all.

Xavier's wine (a Pouilly or Sancerre, I can't recall) was good, and of course we enjoyed the whole diner-spectacle immensely, the 19€ lobster and chips giving my friends one of those high/low experiences you love when you're travelling and discovering new places.

Afterwards, Xavier took us on a tour of his impressive wholesale fish operation. Behind the Escale is a large processing plant, sitting 20m from Schull pier, where fish and seafood are landed from his boats, sorted and stored on ice, ready to be shipped to Rungis and some of the Parisian market's best known restaurant buyers. There was indeed a wall of tanks, packed full of lobster and a few langoustes (spiny lobsters). Xavier, passionate about his thriving business, explained that the restaurant was never really meant to exist, but the opportunity for summer trading was just too good to miss and like most restaurants in Schull, he opens for the summer months only.

From September on in Schull, the pop-ups close, the same 'for sale' signs go up again and the place shrinks back to fit local life. But as I make my way back to Ireland from six weeks in France, I can't help (wishfully) thinking there's room now for someone new to work with Xavier's (and Fingal Ferguson's and so many others...) produce all year round. Someone who wants to make a living, not just a high season killing. Start with lobster, fish, mussels, burgers and chips. Make them all well - make that mayonnaise! Then a good ketchup and a good tartare sauce too. Add a few good wines, Irish beers and cider in a more comfortable, grown-up room. Like the courageous few who stay open all year round out west, it's time to reclaim some of our best produce before it all zooms off to Paris, to cater for and care about local people who will come and come back again, not only the one-off summer sailors and tourists on a Wild Atlantic Way pitstop.