I have a serious case of wanderlust today: a nostalgic feeling for some beautiful places I’ve seen and an overwhelming desire to go back.
That’s not how the day started, however. I actually woke up today with a very strong sense of regret. Ever wake up and out of the clear blue you just start thinking back to a time in your life or a thing that you did that makes you feel really bad? Why do we do that to ourselves?
I started thinking about what I did for love 10 years ago.
And it was all wrapped up in a place: La Belle France.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve had a serious love affair with France. I had a French provincial style bedroom set a la Sears and Roebuck, a French phone, a penchant for Impressionism and French design – like fleur de lis, toile, and matelasse coverlets. I've had a love of the beautiful French language ever since fifth grade.
My mother and I watched the French Chef religiously. I remember my mother making French Onion Soup. She made it the "right way", making a stock from beef bones. Julia Child impressed upon me that there were standards for cooking, and the standards were set by the French. One birthday, I gave my mother a gift of Julia Child's The Art of French Cooking. When my mother passed away, those volumes were some of her things that I wanted to claim as my own.
Of course, Gus lauded the praises of Maison Robert on his show. A mon avis (in my opinion), Gus's approval lent a certain cachet to a restaurant whose merits were already well-established.
In my twenties, I had the wonderful opportunity to meet a woman with dual citizenship who introduced me to her life and joys across the pond. Her first-hand accounts of shopping at the markets in the Dordogne region and her descriptions of walking through steep, winding paths to her medieval home in Sarlat, illustrated how beautiful daily life could be.
My mother and I watched the French Chef religiously. I remember my mother making French Onion Soup. She made it the "right way", making a stock from beef bones. Julia Child impressed upon me that there were standards for cooking, and the standards were set by the French. One birthday, I gave my mother a gift of Julia Child's The Art of French Cooking. When my mother passed away, those volumes were some of her things that I wanted to claim as my own.
Of course, Gus lauded the praises of Maison Robert on his show. A mon avis (in my opinion), Gus's approval lent a certain cachet to a restaurant whose merits were already well-established.
In my twenties, I had the wonderful opportunity to meet a woman with dual citizenship who introduced me to her life and joys across the pond. Her first-hand accounts of shopping at the markets in the Dordogne region and her descriptions of walking through steep, winding paths to her medieval home in Sarlat, illustrated how beautiful daily life could be.
Since then, I’ve had the chance to live in France. In Paris, I studied French at the Alliance Francaise and completed a Wine and Spirits program at Le Cordon Bleu. I’ve explored many beautiful regions of France and have so many memories of beautiful things I've seen - the open air markets, lavender fields, charming shops, provincial tablecloths - and things that I've done - like dining in a special place for hours with wine that perfectly enhances the experience and melds with the food. I miss France and long to go back again.
Marzipan figures
