It is the first day of the summer holidays and that signals a really obvious thing – huge movement of traffic throughout France’s autoroute network, with millions heading for le soleil! Read More
“Huh?” I hear you saying. You’ve never seen a raw sausage sitting on top of a dinky vintage toy cleaning set? Well perhaps you might want to settle in so I can explain a little. More than a decade ago, arriving in France completely green, clutching a sheaf of less than a dozen words of french, I discovered straight away the existance of a host of linguistic minefields. There were and still are words that I like to take a detour far, far around to avoid accidentally saying something that will make me sound an utter fool. But because I like you, and I am a tad more toughened up by embarrassing language slip ups under my belt, I can share with you at least an absolute doozy of a confusion that beseiged me at the very beginning of my french life. Read More
Chasing slippery egg through flour and damming it up before it escaped. A dust of gritty nutmeg sullies the strong white flour, a good sized pinch of salt scatters across the deep dark richness of ground sarrasin. Kneaded together forms a shade of pale, speckled grey. A melding of contrasts to form the smoothest, most generous dough.