[Wool leggings]
My day started like this. Warm wool leggings, cushy slippers, and a cup of coffee of the burn-your-tongue kind. Only to end up, pretty much the same and with a good read included.
Sur un nuage
[On a cloud]
For days when the sky feels like a cloud, of the gigantic kind. And our homes are made warm with gas ovens.
I’ve yet found what dough will become a cloud in my kitchen. Perhaps, my very favourite matcha shortbreads. Or the cinnamon cookies that made my childhood a forever-Christmas.
Thank you Nikole for making such beautiful objects that – waiting to be used – sit on my bedside table, as a collection of treasures.
What is your favourite cut-out cookie recipe?
How to become a pastry chef?
I’m currently writing a series of posts on how to become a pastry chef.
What it involves on a day to day basis, what we do – whether we work in restaurants, pâtisseries, hotels, or even caterers, which paths we took to reach our dreams…
So if you have any questions that need answering, please ask away in the comment section!
Et des morceaux d’arbres tomberaient du ciel – Le cake très chocolat
[And pieces of tree would fall from the sky - The ultimate quadruple chocolate loaf cake]
I plan to spend this autumn collecting dead leaves and horse-chestnuts, drinking coffees with warm mittens on, drawing the nights away, and day-dreaming about je ne sais quoi.
Bonjour octobre
[Hello October]
Hello, it’s 32°C out there.
This morning I went swimming. One last time before the French holidays come to an end.
Oh, this past month has been great. I’ve been enjoying the summer I never got this summer.
On summer secrets – Feta and lemon dip
This is what happens when it’s summer. Or at least when it feels like it.
We swim in the sea, or more accurately, we’re forced by that wave which chose the exact moment we stepped into the water to break into – what feels like – a herd of horses.
Mind your French – Le fondant au chocolat
[The ultimate chocolate fondant]
In London, we’ve had winter in July. Air damp with rain. Kitchens warm with soup on the stove. Oven smelling like chocolate cake.
And now, in the south of France, we’re having summer in September.
Instants, dans la cuisine
[Moments, in the kitchen]
Sat at the table for breakfast. A breakfast that smells of toast and salted butter – the one with crisp fleur de sel – and, of course, coffee.
A little sweller – Petits quatre-quarts, au chocolat ou pas
[Little poundcakes, with chocolate or not]
It smells like the week-end around here. Actually, it’s been smelling like it for a week now.
And boy, week-end does smell good. Just-brewed coffee and toasted baguettes.
Une maryse
I got quite a few emails regarding the word maryse. One of you even wrote a kinky poem, because – yes – Maryse, is also a French name. It involved some whipping and folding too…
So well, I’m launching yet another category: le kitchenware.
Les jonchées
fromager/crémier (the first, in front of the main entrance)
rue de la halle, 17450 fouras
rue de la halle, 17450 fouras
I could list the places I belong to. But, at the end, it would just be a meaningless thread of city names, and at times, neighbourhood or county names.
Réussir la crème pâtissière, pas à pas – Mastering pastry cream, step by step
It was a day at the end of September. A couple of years ago. I put on my pied-de-poule trousers for the first time since the internship I had done the summer before at Pierre Hermé.
Bonjour septembre
[Hello September]
I am away from London for a month. Yes and whole entire month.
And as I was landing at the smallest airport I have ever seen (so small I couldn’t help but take pictures of the very vintage aérogare straight from the plane tiny window*), I knew I would miss that city which has not-so slowly grown on me**.
PS. Ben Spalding at the loft project
Marylebone, London, early August
It was a Wednesday. We walked through Manchester square; looking at trees turning to that golden shade we all long for. Then three hours later, we realised there was something else we longed for.
Les prunes
[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.
The smell of the ocean
Today, I booked a flight to a place I haven’t been in a year. But even with my eyes closed, I would still be able to ride my bike to the little fortress by the marais [marsh].
Roganic
19 blandford st, W1U 3DH
http://www.roganic.co.uk/
http://www.roganic.co.uk/
Ben Spalding has puzzle pieces tattooed on his arms. Eating at Roganic did feel like putting all those bits together. One at a time.
We sat at the table, with rescued wine bottles as water glasses.