Do you know what happiness tastes like? I do. It’s a silky emulsion of crushed garlic, egg yolk and Provencal olive oil and it’s best tasted in a Mediterranean port town in the golden hours before dusk. At least, that’s my most recent experience. Quite to my shock and delight, I’ve just won an aïoli-making…
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As I write this, I’m sweating through another French heatwave. Please note this is a climate phenomenon, not a fancy euphemism for an affliction suffered by women of a certain age. If you’re currently in winter’s grip, you might think a heatwave sounds lovely. Trust me, when the temperatures soar above 40C and it feels…
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For reasons too complicated to explain in detail here, I recently found myself teaching four groups of school children how to make rocky road. In French. Yes, I know. I’m not sure how I get myself into these situations but once the gate clanged shut, there was no getting out. (Literally – French primary schools…
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Meet my latest ally in the war against food waste: Chipie, aka Goaty McGoat Face. Handsome, isn’t he? Goaty and his two allies have been an unexpected bonus of my current (temporary) home in rural southwest France. I’ve never been terribly fond of goats, but I’m warming to these three every day. They’re becoming increasingly…
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I’m currently trying to get to grips with a range of different French idiomatic expressions involving food, such as ‘raconter des salades’ (literally: to tell some salad – to spin a story), and ‘la moutarde me monte au nez’ (literally: the mustard goes up my nose – I’m getting really angry). This has reminded me…
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