The end. Of this, that is.
I was writing when the timer went off. Upstairs, sitting cross-legged in front of my laptop.
It wasn’t as cold as the outdoors would suggest. Perhaps, from the oven. Or the sweater he must have draped over me while I was reading words that once were thoughts.
Read more[Hello March, goodbye March]
I’ve felt raindrops running through my hair; and my dress too. I’ve made a cake. And another one too.
I’ve seen blossoms on every tree. I’ve walked in empty avenues, with my eyes closed and his hand on mine.
Read more[Olive oil jelly]
In autumn, with figs, a young brillat-savarin curd, and a warm sponge so full of vanilla seeds it’s almost grey. Perhaps, a few toasted and salted almonds for crunch.
In winter, with caramelised apples, a white chocolate granita – not unlike snow, crystallised rosemary, and fresh apple bubbles.
Read more[Hello November]
Is it just me, or do you also feel like that – more than any other month – tarts belong to November?
It usually happens without a warning. And without a calendar.
A day or so after waiting on the sidewalk – jumping, whistling, screaming – for a cab to have its light on.
Read more[Plums]
Let me introduce a new category. The market.
A collection of random thoughts – and perhaps, recipes – about my favourite fruits and vegs from the market.
Last week, I picked up some English plums from Waitrose. Yes, the bag simply said English plums.
A mandarine soup that tastes better than bitting into the real fruit. The crunch of dark chocolate.
I always seem to think I don’t like citrus and chocolate. But I do.
And this experiment would taste delicious with a quenelle of ricotta mousse and a couple of almost-candied kumquats.
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