My personal chef

When travelling I never leave home without my own personal chef.  It's just how I roll these days.

Aggie loves to cook and I love to eat (actually we both love to eat) so it's a travelling match made in heaven.  

The morning ritual is Aggie in the kitchen slaving away over a hot stove (or oven as the case is at the moment - we have no stove top - long story) while I set up the "dining area".  

This morning's location - The Deck.

I suspect Aggie gets the raw end of the deal but trust me the above doesn't just happen.  Trading in my uggies for thongs, I trotted out to the backyard in my PJs to pick some fresh flowers (the choices were endless as our backyard is bigger than Texas), find an appropriate sized vase (none available so a glass it was) and drape our blankies stylishly over our chairs, well I felt I'd done a half day's work already.  Yep I was ready for food.

Menu de jour - bacon, egg, and cherry tomatoes on a bed of baguette slathered in butter.

The creaminess of the egg together with the burst of flavour as I bit into my first cherry tomato made my taste buds tingle with delight.  Oh chef, you've done it again.

After such a full-on morning it was time for an Earl Gray and a few more chapters.

Life really doesn't get much better than this. x

Monsieur Buttermilk

Heading south to the midi-pyrenees for 2 weeks was something we'd been planning for months.  To say we were excited was a definite understatement.

Our first full day exploring Figeac and we were hanging out for some traditional country French cuisine.  It was a decent sized village and we thought we'd have heaps of restaurants to choose from.  Let the hunt begin.

Wandering down street after street and finding Italian, Indian, Greek on the menu we were a little confused.  Hmmm...lots of options but Figeac definitely had issues.  We sensed a real identity crisis.

We were getting hungrier by the minute and as we have a history of not making good decisions when food deprived we needed to give this some serious consideration.  Our motto is, and always will be, life's too short to make a bad lunch choice.  After much discussion along the lines of...starving...have to eat now or fall over (all up took approx 3 seconds) we decided on Les Anges Gourmands as it appeared they actually served French cuisine.

We both ordered moussaka.

Our "French" food was really good and just what we needed to warm up our bods on this cold day.  True comfort food.  Tucked up warmly inside the little restaurant, sipping on our red wine, listening to Diana Krall in the background well it made for a lovely afternoon indeed.

With full bellies it was time for our caffeine fix before we hit the road back to Fourmagnac.  Deux cafe cremes s'il vous plait.  

Two black coffees arrived promptly with jugs of milk on the side.  Brilliant - the more milk the better.

Aggie poured hers into her cup, raised her eyebrow slightly and took a sip.  Screwing her face up she peered into her cup she said "That's buttermilk".  Buttermilk...what the?  We were lost for words.  What was going on in this French/Italian/Greek restaurant?  Were they messing with our heads or was this just how they rolled in the midi-pyrenees?  

I was full of questions:  "What are you going to do?  Are you going to drink it?  What should I do?  Do I pour it in?"  "Will you drink it?" Aggie asked.  "I don't know" I replied, however I thought one in all in.  Taking another peek at the buttermilk floating around in Aggie's cup, I steeled myself and took a sip, after all how bad could it be?  Bad, really bad.

We called Monsieur over, however he didn't seem in the least bit concerned and was unsure what all the fuss was about.  We were devo as we felt we'd really bonded with him over the moussaka, however I think any rapport we'd built up may now be kaput.  He took Aggie's cup and brought her another with some more milk.  We prayed it wasn't more buttermilk.  A big sigh of relief as our prayers had been answered.

By this stage my coffee had gone cold but I drank it anyway as I didn't want to damage this Figeac relationship anymore.

To this day I'm unsure if Monsieur Buttermilk (above) really did serve his coffee that way, or if he'd just laid one on the night before and mixed up his "laits".  Who knows.

Anyway apparently we're still in his good books as whenever we walk by Les Anges Gourmands he gives us a wave and a big smile.

Yep these ladies are in. x

My first kiss...in Paris

Today started like any other.  Except I was in Paris, not Melbourne, and heading to the market, not work, with my good friend and travel buddy Aggie.  Yippee.

The sun was shining, the pigeons were cooing, and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I waited for the lights to change at rue de Rivoli thinking about what goodies we'd buy at the market.  "Excusez-moi a quelle heure est-il?” I heard a man ask.  I turned to my right and laid eyes on a tall, dark stranger.  Really….could my day get any better?  Up until 5 seconds ago my thoughts had been on how much buerre we'd buy, but funny how quickly things can change.  I told him the time which I’m glad was on the hour as anything past the half hour I find quite challenging and it could have gotten a little awkward.  He smiled and asked if I could help him as his watch had come off and was having problems getting it back on.  Hell yeah.

Mission accomplished he looked into my eyes and muttered “merci beaucoup” as he gently lifted my hand, and softly kissed it.  My legs started to tremble as it was one of those magical moments when everything around you stops and you’re truly in the moment.

Thud.  That was me coming back to earth, bum first.  Okay this is how it really went down.

“Scuuuuuse...scuuuuuse”.  I turned to my right to see a drunk who was swaying so hard he was making me dizzy.  Whoa it was only 9am and this dude looked like he'd been hitting it all week!  True he did ask for the time (I think) and did ask for help to do up his watch.  Actually not so much asked as placed the watch in my hand and stuck out his arm.  I think it was a Casio (plastic & white), however my eyes were watering so much from the booze on his breath that I can’t be 100% sure.  It was probably a god send he was unable to string two words together as the more he kept his mouth shut the better.

To be fair Monsieur Boozalot did grab my hand and kiss it, however I’m unsure if he was being a true gentleman or merely trying to stay upright.  Aggie wasn't excluded either as he leant forward and planted one on her hand too.  At this point I suspect he may have tripped over his own feet as he lunged forward grabbing her hand to avoid face planting the pavement, but as drunk as he was I must say his touch was gentle so credit where credit's due monsieur.

Following the handpash Aggie and I made a hasty retreat and raced across the road.  Unfortunately the light was red not green (now we weren't just not able to speak the language fluently, we'd also lost our ability to differentiate between colours) and nearly got mowed down by oncoming traffic.  Giggling deliriously we headed to the market and bought buerre and lots of it.  I mean after all it had been a stressful morning and we deserved a little treat.

I love that I’ve got a vivid imagination and think I’ll stick with version one for just a little longer.

Ah Paris it's good to be back. x