Well, the garden is giving grandly of it’s bounty, the terrace kitchen is up and running and we’ve got a bit of a gap before preserving season really kicks in. So I thought it might be the moment to play the grasshopper for just a little longer, and begin what I hope will be an intermittent series about the French and their passionate relationship with oral satisfaction Continue reading The Art of Eating. (Or, what living with a French boy has taught me about food.) Part One.
The post party parties continued. Even taking the marquees down was marked with a impromptu gathering of 30 humans and Thelma the goat who Christophe brought along to join us.
It was such a cool week and I wonder if we will ever be able to drag so many over to our part of the world like that again. I hope so.
Funny ol’ week. Bit of a return to source if you will.
Partying is all very well, but the garden doesn’t look after itself whilst you’re busy elsewhere. I still get shocked after all these years at how much can happen in a handful of days. Continue reading You reap what you sow, mostly.