Apple pie shortbreads

On snow. The first snow didn’t settle onto the ground. That night, the clouds broke into minute snowflakes as we stepped out from the house. And just like I did last year and the year before that, I stopped and stared into this black and white kaleidoscope for what could have been a nightlong, a lifelong really. It’s been snowing every day ever since. Flakes ...

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Par le pont suspendu – Caramels au beurre salé façon tarte Tatin

[Through the suspended bridge – Salted butter caramels, not unlike a Tatin tart] We went for our favourite walk this morning. Usually, we’d be back by the time we left, but today was different. We woke up a bit later, under the sun we’d lost for snow over the past few days. Not that I’m complaining; just like norrsken [northern lights], I think I’ll never ...

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PS. We picked apples and made cider. Oh and an apple cake too!

One morning, we woke up to lights through the wooden blinds barely covering never-ending windows. Coffee got made. And we sat on the steps overlooking the garden. Early signs of autumn, drawn to the earth in the shape of dew that made our feet wet as we walked to the apple tree. Apples as white as snow. His dad said they were called Transparentes blanches. ...

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But we had us – Un gâteau aux pommes et au cidre, un peu comme une tarte tatin

[A cider and apple cake, not unlike a tatin tart] There was that night made of champagne, flickering candles, crisps and smoked salmon sandwiches, the last of the foie gras smothered onto big fat chunky pieces of baguette, an endless game of trivial pursuit where – as it turned out – the one person who refused to play (my father, apparently stuck to his mots ...

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