It goes to show, a simple Sunday dinner can become personal… Oh well. Here is the step by step of this tasty recipe, I didn’t plan it, it just happened… It all started at the market, on Saturday morning, when I stumbled upon a fine looking butternut squash…
Continue reading “Loin of Lamb with Red wine sauce and Sloe jelly”
I am in two minds about Sundays; in one hand, I love the ascension of the day until about 1pm, but then I dread that long afternoon, where I only seem to cheer up after 6pm. I think this mild trauma might have come from my younger years. “Ha! What doesn’t?” says you… What doesn’t is right. I have tried a few things to keep my mind from spiralling out of control right into the siphon of dark boredom and empty space where time enters a different dimension, at least for the next five hours or so.
Ok, a bit of fun today for lunch, it is Friday after all! I am still in my Crêpes buzz, but this time savoury. This way is far from being the traditional way to serve “galettes” but who cares. It will keep for a few days in the fridge and you can use any toppings you want and in the oven it goes! Here we go.
From time to time, we all need a bit of gentle sweetness. For me, childhood food comfort comes in the form of Crêpes, savoury or not, but also apple compote my grandmother used to do by the gallons at this time of year. I brought some back from her garden last month, trees planted over 35 years ago, ideal for a breakfast treat. Here it goes.
Continue reading “Crêpes with buckwheat honey and apple compote”
If like me you feel a little fragile today, after watching the amazing win from the Irish team against France, during the Rugby world cup yesterday, I have a lovely little salad for you. Don’t knock it until you try it, it really works! I often have this for breakfast…
Cucumber and Kiwi salad
“Blue Monday how I hate Blue Monday
Got to work like a slave all day
Here come Tuesday, oh hard Tuesday
I’m so tired got no time to play…”
In my family, we had a funny tradition. For as long as I can remember, and almost religiously, Saturday night was “Couscous Night”; when 6pm came a ringing, my Dad would drive down town to his friend, proud owner of a “zinc” ( small French bar) in a corner of Marechal Leclerc Street. “The Duke’s Mill” if I remember well, with a Formica counter, a couple of tables and a pin ball machine near the toilets. Downstairs, right underneath the bar, was an impeccably dressed dining room only used at weekends, where Joel’s wife would cook only one dish: Couscous. When the days of take away food didn’t really exist yet, at least in my town – or so I thought – Dad would drop a big pot with its couscous steamer and collect it at the beginning of the evening, full to the bream.
Hungry Breton 