My Aunt is a very beautiful woman; she married a beautiful man and they had three beautiful children. This is the perfect start to a Fairy Tale and I am going to leave it like that, as all I have from them are just good memories. One day, we got invited ( or we invited ourselves, not sure) in the remote parts of “La Creuse”, an unfortunately named region of France wedged between Limoges and Clermont-Ferrand, near the Auvergne. Translated in English, it basically means “The Dig”. They unsuccessfully tried to change the name of the the “County” or department as we call them in the hexagon, but with no luck. Yes, we got invited by Mrs Gillet, the old lady on the right of the picture, mother of Bernard, father of my beautiful cousins who always smelled nice of some softener and after shave. She invited us to spend a bit of time, us Bretons – because we loved her son like our own. She made a local recipe that day, while my sister, my cousins and I entertained the soon to be dinner rabbits in the cage outside; a potato tart! What? It was so good that my mother spoke about it on a regular basis for at least 20 years after that!!! But never tried to recreate it… I craved for many years, this simple and humble recipe. So today, as the fairy tale of December is on its way, I decided to make my own version… My December recipe perfect for this rainy week!
I think I have made a new friend ( my young colleague “Chelsea” calls it “Bromance”…). I am not joking; we all need pals in this crazy world. I try very hard not to mix work and leisure on this blog, but unfortunately it is such an intricate and indivisible part of me, I even wonder who I am anymore. That is why I run away sometimes, away from the acting, away from my daily mask where I keep my true character alive. There is a common denominator though, a link between the two personas that very few understand. I have been preaching for a long time about the importance of good music in retail, it is a tricky exercise, using feelings, understanding what you do to create the perfect atmosphere. Don’t get me wrong; what I play in the shop is very different to what I listen to in my car; even if what I listen in my car will motivate me to the day ahead.; I know, it’s complicated. The reactions are incredible, but the best are when customers don’t say a word and everything falls in some form of [sorry for the pun] harmony.
I had a strange dream last night; I was in a Californian pub when Charles Bukowski invited me for a bite to eat in one of his favourite place. There, were musicians and dancers, a dark wooden environment, a bit like an old fashioned Irish joint I guess. We ordered some beers first, then my companion hailed the waitress – without asking me – for a chickpeas burger and a plate of tomato and garlic beans for himself… The entertainment of my psychedelic night experience was going well. Charles and I, or Hank Chinaski as he likes to portrait himself, were enjoying ourselves… Until I asked him, in our alcoholic fogginess, if it was OK to take a selfie… He didn’t mind, but I felt I had let myself down on that one! I was so ashamed with my move, that I woke up… Leaving my host to pay the bill. Man, I have to stop eating Parmigiano Reggiano in the evening!