Things that #3… I dream about

A for ever summer. Perhaps in Iceland. Yes an endless summer exploring the muddy roads of the island couldn’t sound better. Picking raspberries. And blueberries too. Maybe even cloudberries. An illustration in chickpea magazine. And an article in kinfolk. Making desserts after hours; one day when I’m not working too much. Always. Days spent at my grand-mère‘s house. It’s been too long. Taking more pictures, ...

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Petit précis d’iPhone-me-crazy, prononcé iPhoneography

[iPhone-me-crazy 101, pronounced iPhoneography] I have too many cameras. A Canon DSLR, which I only use for this blog. Two pentax ME super, which I loved to pieces and used until they could no longer work. A polaroid SX70. I need to buy more film, for the record, as I’ve run out two years ago. A Fuji Instax mini. Again, more film needed. A Minolta ...

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Love like a sunset

There was an endless road to the north. Always. We drove over ponds and lakes; at times, even the sea. There were trees everywhere we looked. And really I had never seen so many. Ever. Before. We stopped for gas, perhaps an excuse for coffee. Many times. A latte. Perhaps a kanelbulle. And more often than not, a hot dog, of the French kind – ...

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Bonjour février

[Hello February] I’ve been catching up on blogs lately. A thing I hadn’t done in a while, and a thing I’ve missed doing. I’ve found some new treasures that will forever remain in my rss feeds. And I’ve read through old favourites, not unlike love letters from my early teen. Aside from that, well, it’s been raining. Sometimes with a reason, most of the times, ...

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J’avais oublié – Kanelbulle

[I had forgotten – Cinnamon buns] I had forgotten about the smell of bonfires and forests; coffee made in a cast-iron pot, with as much water as we put ground beans. I had forgotten how blueberries taint your hands; and your lips. And how small they are meant to be. I had forgotten how it feels like to gaze at the milky way, when the ...

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How to become a pastry chef? – The dark side of stainless steel

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. But it’s only fair to also talk ...

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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. I rode my bike through a rainbow of sunsets. Most often than not, with a baguette and a bottle of wine cosily snuggled into the wicker basket. We cooked and ate ...

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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. On us too. There was a make-believe hanami. Who said trees don’t blossom in winter? But mostly, there was us.

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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. And when they happen, so does a concentrate of life. Sleep, eat, drink, be merry. Fall in love or not. Kiss or more. And at times, recipe organising ...

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