[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 recipes ?
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.
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.
From me to you, Gaïa – Cake de voyage au yogi tea
[Yogi tea journey cake]
It was the end of autumn and my days were spent on a farm, milking goats and making cheese. I met her. She had a name from the earth and an Australian accent.
You’re my favourite flavour – Summer 2012 edition
One. Coconut water. Feel the heat. A heat like you’ve never felt it before. Or at least you’ve forgotten. Yes, at times, it is pointless to try and remember things that can only be felt.
Un dîner d’été – Tarte à l’abricot et à la pistache
[A midsummer dinner - Apricot and pistachio tart]
I had a pâton of pâte sucrée in the fridge. And a little bag of roasted pistachios a friend brought back from Lebanon. And of course, too many apricots sitting on the counter.
All mornings should be like this – Custard-filled cornbread
Yesterday, two am.
Tonight, we ate al fresco. In our garden. Who said you’re not allowed to play make-believe anymore?
I made dessert. One strawberry tart, only it’s so much more.
Réussir le fondant pâtissier blanc, pas à pas – Mastering white pâtissier fondant, step by step
One of the first things you see through a boulangerie-pâtisserie window in France is a herd of glazed éclairs and choux. Pretty in pink, brown, white, and more often than not, green too.
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.
Surprise, surprise – Madeleines aux framboises
[Raspberry madeleines]
This morning, the sky turned black, of the bruised kind. And then, clouds started to grumble, roar really. For minutes. And before we knew it – {insert French accent here} surprise, surprise {end of French accent} – rain was pouring down in the kitchen window.
Not unlike living in cotton – Scones, scones, scones…
So it seems I’ve told you I’d see you soon with tips for the perfect scones. Apparently, soon can hold different meanings.
A birthday to the sound of drum n’ bass, and glow-sticks around my wrists.
On clouds blanketing everything we see – Roast chicken and root vegs
An hour ago, I took a whole – 1,5kg kind of whole – chicken out from the oven. Just for myself.
You see it started this morning when I first opened my curtains to a day where clouds blanket everything we see.
The end – Coffee and chocolate self-saucing cake
The end. Of this, that is.
I was writing when the timer went off. Upstairs, sitting cross-legged in front of my laptop.
It wasn’t as cold as the outdoors would suggest.
On thunderstoms and first kisses – Caramelised Jerusalem artichoke velouté
It’s been oh-so-quiet around here lately. Perhaps, that’s what happens when I have too much to say, too much to do, too much to look forward to.
But last night, I saw the dark sky turn into fireworks.
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.
Find a map and draw a straight line – Chewy flapjacks
I started collecting objects, to make up for memories I forgot. A blue pool ball, a broken cigarette, a plastic table number.
I read words. Most of the time, at night.
Those three words – Gelée d’huile d’olives
[Olive oil jelly]
In autumn, with figs, a young brillat-savarin curd, and a warm sponge so full of vanilla seeds it’s almost grey. Perhaps, a few toasted and salted almonds for crunch.
In winter, with caramelised apples, a white chocolate granita – not unlike snow, crystallised rosemary, and fresh apple bubbles.
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