This is the gif I told you about.
Wind as a token of my love for colder days.
Days made of rain pouring down the windows. And a roaring sky. Oh and the occasional lightning too, welcomed with more vowels than our alphabet offers.
Some days are ok. Others are grand. I remember that day when we felt like we owned the world. Kissing at every street corner and not even noticing the happy dance snowflakes made around us.
Guys, it’s eight pm. And I’m sitting in my bed. Looking at the sun playing hide-and-seek through the City. Perhaps, I took a picture with my phone. And one with my minolta instant pro too.
[Iced coffee, just like in Greece]
There is this nice place a few footsteps away from Knightsbridge. It has a counter made of salads – more beautiful one than the other – and cakes – most likely blueberry with some kind of oaty crumbles.
The sound of his voice in my head. And his hands tickling the back of my neck.
The lullaby of raindrops crashing on the ground.
The purr of a washing machine. Or even better, a never-ending passing train.
It’s raining. And somehow, we’re once again having winter in July. It seems to be a standard these days. And really, I could just write a letter to July.
[Yogi tea journey cake]
It was the end of autumn and my days were spent on a farm, milking goats and making cheese. I met her. She had a name from the earth and an Australian accent.
This morning, I went around the garden. And ate a strawberry. Then I saw the coriander in full bloom and had a leaf. And bang!
Strawberries and coriander is such a darling flavour combination.
One. Coconut water. Feel the heat. A heat like you’ve never felt it before. Or at least you’ve forgotten. Yes, at times, it is pointless to try and remember things that can only be felt.
[A midsummer dinner - Apricot and pistachio tart]
I had a pâton of pâte sucrée in the fridge. And a little bag of roasted pistachios a friend brought back from Lebanon. And of course, too many apricots sitting on the counter.
Being a pastry chef is most possibly the best decision I’ve ever taken. Everyday, I have no words to describe the bliss I feel when I’m busy making things. Yes, making. With my hands dirty, and more often than never, with my apron too.
Yesterday, we found a basket on our fence. The third this week. It’s made of osier and hung by a metal hook.
Inside, we could see apricots. And at times, cherries.
Yesterday, two am.
Tonight, we ate al fresco. In our garden. Who said you’re not allowed to play make-believe anymore?
I made dessert. One strawberry tart, only it’s so much more.
May has been a little crazy. Of the runs in the park slash flight to France slash rosé et mauresque with Anna-Sarah (every single night) slash book writing slash turning my kitchen into a mess to the point of no return slash painting on porcelain plates kind.