I wake up to the shy sound of a detuned French radio. And leave a half-drank latte – stay put – on the kitchen table. Off on my favourite hollandais bike.
It rattles, unexpectedly.
A bicyclette
[On a bicycle]
I’ve been riding my bicycle through the beach, and putting tray after tray of madeleines in the oven. It smells lovely around here. Of warm butter and vanilla.
You should come.
There are only so many things I know
Yes, there are only so many things I know.
Making wishes, of the fairylike kind. The taste of his lips; and the feeling in my stomach that it’s all just like a dream.
PS. I felt like cake; made one and ate a slice.
A friend, of the dear-to-my-heart kind, made this cake today. A few thousands of kilometres away. And I did too. In ten minutes, from cupboards to oven*.
It was eaten on the couch.
Find a map and draw a straight line – Chewy flapjacks
I started collecting objects, to make up for memories I forgot. A blue pool ball, a broken cigarette, a plastic table number.
I read words. Most of the time, at night.
Only in dreams
A dream crossed of the list. On Saturday night. It was late. Much too late to be awake, really. I was wearing my favourite leopard leggings and a thick wool dress.
Bonjour février
[Hello February]
It seems like those winter days I longed so much for have finally decided to pop by. Yes, it was cold today. Of the frostbites and hot chocolates kind.
I opened the door to a package made of Impossible film.
She fell in love with…
PS. Not of the one thousand and six hundred pounds kind (dreams). More of the tilt my own lens in front of the sensor. And yet, it feels just right.
Those three words – Gelée d’huile d’olives
[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.
Goodbye, hello
I walked along the Thames. On the very firt morning of 2011. And saw a balloon floating along. And a French bakery.
I drank lattes. Waiting for them to cool down, with the wind and cold.
You’re my favourite flavour
One day I will tell you why I’ve been so quiet this past month. Right now, it all gets down to my bed, a virus, a bottle of water, and way too many pills for one girl to take.
On breakfast for dinner – Bacon and egg sandwich
When home means finally-untangled hair, the sound of waves that won’t quit our minds – oh and of the shower he’s into two-open-doors away while this song is playing on repeat, only rain hitting the skylight is missing for the orchestra.
Bonjour décembre
[Hello December]
December is made for kissing in the mist, warm nights of magic rush and cold pink dawn, foreseen epiphanies, and perhaps, most importantly, mulled wine.
A short welcome to this new month, because – believe me or not – some things are better left unsaid.
La vanille
It’s hard to play favourite with vanilla.
Tahitian vanilla (or for the geeks out there, and that includes me, Vanilla tahitensis) is a bit of a outsider – considered its the only vanilla to contain heliotropin – with its floral burst and nutty undertones.
Bonjour novembre
[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.