I received an email. Of a young pastry chef – L. – who was feeling like she didn’t belong to kitchens. We emailed back and forth. To me, there is nothing more magical than getting to do what I blindly love, and couldn’t even dream of a better place to be than in a too-hot, too-fast, too-stressful kitchen.
Don't you love iphone ?
Goodbye, hello
I didn’t take enough pictures. At least not with my favourite camera. In fact, I think I had forgotten how to see the beauty in the unexpected. Some things can’t be forgotten, they say.
Western sous la neige
[Western under the snow]
There was the noise our feet made on the ground. There was the darkness. And yet, our world felt like millions of shooting stars were falling around us.
Not just a Sunday afternoon
I could have turned this into a follow-up of a favourite feature: how to become a pastry chef? – the days off. But I guess you somehow get it. As a chef, days off are unusual enough.
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.
Le premier jour du reste de ta vie
[The first day of the rest of your life]
Today, I tied my hair into a ponytail. And slipped my bare feet into furry boots.
Up there I could barely see.
Bonjour septembre
[Hello September]
I’ve been falling asleep to bigger-than-life fairy-lights; of the skyscraper kind. I’ve been talking too loud. And I’ve French-kissed, at times with a reason, most of the time without.
Le vent
This is the gif I told you about.
Wind as a token of my love for colder days.
Days made of rain pouring down the windows. And a roaring sky. Oh and the occasional lightning too, welcomed with more vowels than our alphabet offers.
She fell in love with… #5
Guys, it’s eight pm. And I’m sitting in my bed. Looking at the sun playing hide-and-seek through the City. Perhaps, I took a picture with my phone. And one with my minolta instant pro too.
Summertime coldness – Café frappé, comme en Grèce
[Iced coffee, just like in Greece]
There is this nice place a few footsteps away from Knightsbridge. It has a counter made of salads – more beautiful one than the other – and cakes – most likely blueberry with some kind of oaty crumbles.
Bonjour juillet
[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.
Flavour combination #1 – Strawberries and coriander
This morning, I went around the garden. And ate a strawberry. Then I saw the coriander in full bloom and had a leaf. And bang!
Strawberries and coriander is such a darling flavour combination.
PS. Guess who’s back?
The reinette seems to like Anna-Sarah’s potager a little too much. She found it in the fennels today and to be honest, we couldn’t be happier.
My days are like no other at the moment.
Une reinette
[A tree frog]
At times, the tiniest things can make our day.
Puces des sables [sand fleas] jumping from one castle to another. Clouds made of clay (at Anna-Sarah’s shop where I’m writing from almost daily).
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.
Comme la rosée des matins d’été – Confiture de concombre à la vanille
[Not unlike summer morning dew - Cucumber and vanilla jam]
I walked in mud and bought some vintage tupperwares at a vide-grenier. I saw waves bigger than life. I felt them too.
Les vagues
[The waves]
I drove along the coast on Sunday. It was raining. Of the fast windscreen wipers kind. And the wind would push waves on the road.
I stopped. And my cheeks turned pink.
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