The idea of having a blog came as I became increasingly tired of my job. I needed a new challenge but a relaxing one, something I would enjoy doing. For some, cooking is a chore; for me, it is a way to unwind at the end of the day, with the added pleasure of sharing good food with the people I love.
Cooking has always played an important role in my life and in my family. I remember the first cake I baked on my own. I was 7 years old and it was for my mum’s birthday. She was working that day so there was an opportunity to surprise her. I grabbed my cook book (the first I ever got, a present from my mum) and I started that chocolate cake. Of course I followed the directions, as a child would, and « asked an adult to put the dish into the oven for you » (thanks dad!). Oh the joy, as my mum got back from work, of offering her that birthday cake, I was so proud!
There was also the first time I made bread myself (my grandfather was a baker, so baking your own bread was almost an obligation): I cried, thinking that I had messed it up…
I remember the kneading, watching it grow as it fermented, shaping it and mum doing the criss-cross lines on the top. She helped me to put it into the oven, together with a pot of water – you need steam in the oven as it bakes. When we took the bread out of the oven, the crust had caramelised and the crumb was white and airy.
Then, we had the banquets. Yes, my parents like to throw parties at times, with 50-80 people turning up, and guess what? My mum, my sister and I would spend hours in the kitchen preparing the feast. Ah! the memories... That kick you get while in the kitchen, that mounting stress, thinking about the task ahead, the arguments with my father and brother, whom we would kick out of the kitchen every time they tried to help themselves from the dishes, and the alliance of three women united by the same passion but separated by their different approach (my mum, who follows the recipe to the letter, no straying allowed, my sister, who downsizes the quantities every time, and me, who sticks to no particular rule but prefers to change the ingredients whenever I please – what a mix).
There are also the summer holidays at my sister’s farm, a return to the roots and traditions of sorts: the vegetables come from the veg patch, the eggs from the henhouse, the meat from the local farmer, the honey from the hive... We make preserves for the winter, we taste the local produce with a nice glass of rosé de Touraine. And my sister and I, we cook all day long – bliss!
Last but not least, there’s cooking for Mister Lapin – my man, fyi. Usually, Sundays are binge cooking (his words). I’m very lucky to have him; he eats for four (without putting on weight, of course), loves everything I make (with compliments) and cleans the kitchen when I’m done. And god knows how messy I am in the kitchen. A man who enjoys my food without limits and who cleans for me afterwards? He’s a godsend, I know.
My only frustration is the size of my kitchen. Since leaving my parents’ home, there has not been a single flat or house I have lived in that had a decent kitchen. Either the kitchen is ridiculously small, or ill-equipped, or both. When you’re twenty, and you live in a student flat, and the kitchen is in the cupboard (literally), cooking becomes an exercise in ingenuity.
Fast forward and I have been living in the UK for six years, until that day in October 2011 when I was promoted... in France! (Back to square one?) Mister Lapin stayed in our house in Cheshire to attend his job and I found myself alone in a big house in the North of France with no one to try my last cooking experiments onto: very frustrating!
That’s how the idea of a blog started: the story of a French girl, who loves cooking, discovers new flavours and uses local produce as much as possible. Above all, the joy of cooking!
N.B: All text and images on this site, unless expressly specified otherwise, belong to So'Feast. If you wish to use any image or text from So'Feast, you MUST obtain prior authorization and you MUST link back to the site, crediting me.
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