Until my most recent visit to Geneva, a pleasure that had eluded me was the lake. Sure, I’d seen the southwestern tip, where the city straddles its constriction into the Rhone, and seen the totemic Jet d’eau, but I hadn’t indulged in any lake-based fun. Lac Leman is the biggest body of fresh water in Europe, and it has panoramic mountain backdrops and plays host to every water sport you care to name. I asked the Blonde how we might enjoy the lake – surely there was some youthful activity she had fond memories of from her years of living a few minutes from its shores? Her eyes lit up – Filets de Perche. Food. I should have known.

The sad irony that most of the perch that is enjoyed in the lakeside restaurants comes from the Czech Republic was shared with me as we headed along the lakeside in search of an appropriate terrace on which to indulge our fishy pleasures. I must admit to feeling slightly deflated by this discovery. This gradually passed into a suspicion that we would be in the Czech Republic before we found a restaurant that met the important criteria as laid down by the Blonde and Savta. The first of these criteria, perfectly reasonably, was that it was open; many of the restaurants on the lakeside are seasonal and this was November. The rest were a hazy mix of experience, location and intuition – none of which I could possibly understand apparently.

The cleverly named Restaurant Le Leman lies on the western side of the lake in Nyon some 10 or so kilometers from Geneva. A hint of desperation had set in, I suspect, and we had to compromise on location, with a road separating us from the lakeside. The interior was split into two: a wood-paneled, brasserie-style room more suited to informal lunches and the posh bit with its table lothes and, as far as I could see, no diners. The menu was fairly extensive, although between trying to persuade the little Tomato that he really should continue his nap and a single-minded focus on the mystical filets, I didn’t take much of it in. The Filets de Perche were served in three variations - Facon Leman, Limon, and Meuniere. Between us, we opted for all three, accompanied by the eponymous frites, green salad, and crusty bread, all washed down with a bottle of Mont sur Rolle, a brusque little Genevois white wine.

So what of this much-lauded fish? The delicate finger-length filets had been flash-fried and arrive accompanied with a wedge of lemon and twig of rosemary. They simply melt on the tongue. The portions are generous and the frites provide a suitably filling accompaniment.

Our lunch by the lake was held under a heavy autumn sky. The lake didn’t sparkle in a charming fashion and the low clouds obscured the Alps, so the food had to charm us on its own, and it just about did.