[Hello July]
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.
Don't you love holidays ?
Bonjour juin
[Hello June]
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.
She fell in love with…
A rainbow kind of sky, as seen from my bike. It was so beautiful it made me question my love for dawn over sunset.
Ohhh such important matters…
Fields of frost – Éclairs au chocolat, presque comme chez Fauchon
[Chocolate eclairs, almost like Fauchon's]
When trees are shaped like hearts; and breakfast means just-brewed coffee slash bike ride slash jonchée eaten as soon as I’ve taken my gum boots off.
And we run barefoot in fields of frost.
The daily fix
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.
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.
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.
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].
One night of magic rush
I had forgotten how purposeless words can hold a special meaning. Just like driving endlessly on the smallest roads, with no possibility whatsoever to get lost since we have no destination.
And it feels like a moment outside of time.
Les pieds dans l’eau
A hard week ahead.
For gold of the world, I wouldn’t change
A thing. You’re my diamond.
And yes, it is totally alright to make cheesy words feel ok by writing a haiku.
Bonjour juin
[Hello June]
More than ever, this year, june feels like a new start. A kiss goodbye under the rain. Metaphorically and literally.
Also the first time I won’t be able to wish my grand-father his birthday.
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