Une promenade à Skellefteå

MemoriesA story about , , , Written on le Monday 27 April 2015.

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Today meant a lot of things.

A four am wake-up of some kind that only sunrise can bring. And falling back asleep. A glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and filmjölk with oats and honey. A few amazing hours in a classroom, learning Swedish, one word at a time. And sitting at a café terrace in the sun at seven pm; almost forgetting that, just a few weeks ago, dusk was blooming earlier than it is now.

But mostly, it meant a long promenade à vélo [bicycle ride] through the streets and the paths and the woods of a city that will be home for the months to come.

I like it here. And I hope you will too. To new adventures and a new season. To more flowers around us and dreams in Swedish!

Les giboulées d’avril – Brioches feuilletées au sucre

Boulangerie, PâtisserieA story about , , , , , , , , Written on le Saturday 25 April 2015.

[April showers – Flaky sugar brioches]

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Today, it hailed three times. Rained once. And snowed twice. With the sun being at its brightest in between. Yes, I think April showers take a whole new meaning here.

Some other things do too.
In fact, I started this post in my head – perhaps yesterday, or even the day before – by telling you how busy this week has been. But as I’m writing this now – dressed with wool from head to toes, and sitting at the little wooden table that stands by the stacked firewood; hot chocolate in one hand, computer in the other, pink sunset and all – I’m forced to re-evaluate my Swedish version of busy.

Especially when, just a few months ago, busy meant an eighteen-hour day on a three-hour night. A few hundreds of covers and the mise-en-place to match.

These days, busy has been more like taking walks and pictures. An occasional visit to the city we’ll call home from this Monday. Perhaps, a batch of croissants; twelve of them. Or some choux, with a vanilla cream just so. A few hours spent unpacking the boxes we brought from London. And packing the essentials again. A loaf of bread; a large one mind you, but still: one. Uploading all my recipes (well, as of now, I’m about one percent into the process) to – what I think is going to be – the best/easiest/cleanest recipe database ever.

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From the lake to our table

MemoriesA story about , , , , , , Written on le Friday 17 April 2015.

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Some stories don’t need words. But let me tell you a little about this one.

It’s a story of the recent past; of a wonderful day. One by the lake and the forest. One when Kalle caught a rainbow trout. And we took it hot, carefully placed on top of his waders in the boot of our car. We cleaned it with water from the well. And covered it in a moutain of coarse salt.

A few days later, Svante heated the smoker over a fire. With wood chips and branches.
Perhaps, I’ve forgotten their name. It might have been Äl, if that’s even a tree. But I remember the heat; the perfumes.

Yes, some things can only be felt.

“I can count on one hand the things that make me as happy as seeing the man I love doing what he loves.”

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Oh, and I turned this story into a steller tale too. It’s called HOT SMOKED. I don’t post very often over there. No matter how much I love it. Maybe I should do more. Maybe.