[Daydreams - Vanilla riz au lait and more]
It’s ten am. The wind is howling through the windowsill. And the rain battering against the glass.
Yes, I’ve told you before, it’s my favourite kind of music.
Don't you love honey ?
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 croisés) became the one who knew all the answers, our joker as we called him whenever we got clueless about a question.
Pure morning – Burnt honey, vanilla, and parsnip ice-cream
It’s the light, a cold blue grey. It’s the window, adorned with pearls. It’s the wind, carrying the scent of moss and ocean.
And just like you don’t even have to think to know you’ve fallen deep-hard in love, I didn’t have to look through the open window to know we’d been surrounded by cotton overnight.