[Hello April]
The not-so-official April day-dream list.
I want café frappés, the best euphemism of a kind that involves milkshakes for breakfast. I want to wear a sequin top and leopard ballerines from dawn till the next.
Rêveries – Riz au lait à la vanille et plus
[Daydreams - Vanilla riz au lait and more]
It’s ten am. The wind is howling through the windowsill. And the rain battering against the glass.
Yes, I’ve told you before, it’s my favourite kind of music.
Bonjour mars
[Hello March]
Right now, there is a snowstorm happening behind my window. Not unlike London turned into a snow-dome. I used to love them. And really, not much has changed since.
But if there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that by the end of the month, trees will be coated in a snow of blossoms.
Baity kitchen
172 walton street, SW32JL
http://www.baitykitchen.com/
http://www.baitykitchen.com/
I’ve told you about Baity before. Well, mostly about that absolutely adorable guy with the glasses and his Greek iced coffee.
But, really, this place is the dimestore diamond of Chelsea.
How to become a pastry chef? – The dark side of stainless steel
I received an email. Of a young pastry chef – L. – who was feeling like she didn’t belong to kitchens. We emailed back and forth. To me, there is nothing more magical than getting to do what I blindly love, and couldn’t even dream of a better place to be than in a too-hot, too-fast, too-stressful kitchen.
Goodbye, hello
I didn’t take enough pictures. At least not with my favourite camera. In fact, I think I had forgotten how to see the beauty in the unexpected. Some things can’t be forgotten, they say.
Western sous la neige
[Western under the snow]
There was the noise our feet made on the ground. There was the darkness. And yet, our world felt like millions of shooting stars were falling around us.
Not just a Sunday afternoon
I could have turned this into a follow-up of a favourite feature: how to become a pastry chef? – the days off. But I guess you somehow get it. As a chef, days off are unusual enough.
But we had us – Un gâteau aux pommes et au cidre, un peu comme une tarte tatin
[A cider and apple cake, not unlike a tatin tart]
There was that night made of champagne, flickering candles, crisps and smoked salmon sandwiches, the last of the foie gras smothered onto big fat chunky pieces of baguette, an endless game of trivial pursuit where – as it turned out – the one person who refused to play (my father, apparently stuck to his mots croisés) became the one who knew all the answers, our joker as we called him whenever we got clueless about a question.
And all the trimmings
I’ve been trapped into a world made of stainless-steel and ovens going off. A happy – and at times, not so – merry-go-round of services, and gin and tonics. Of course there was an occasional bloody mary too.