u m a m i

To St Malo to see the sea, and a word about the Bigarrade

May is a curious month. There are three public holidays scattered in the first half so the French try to make long weekends around those dates and the city feels quieter than usual. The sun has been out since last weekend and we who have been locked in by the cold and blustery weather of March and April are taking the opportunity to go out and enjoy some warmth.

Even now, two weeks after our little weekend holiday, every time we take V out she asks if we're going to the seaside. St Malo and Mont St Michel obviously made an impression on her. We stayed in a small hotel in the walled city, took walks around the rampart, rode carousels, walked on the beach, collected seashells and it was absolutely lovely. Definitely a big improvement on the chateaux-tramping of our previous vacation in the Loire Valley. The eating was good too. Lots of crepes, in particular the butter and sugar ones at Chez Margaux. Also lots of seafood, like pink roses with intact ebiko, cold crab and my new favourite, sole meuniere.

Posting will be sporadic again because next week I join third and fourth sister in New York for a girly vacation. I need to shop for some skincare products and children's clothings. In the meantime, if anyone is coming over to Paris the go-to restaurant is definitely Bigarrade. People say it is this year's Spring. I'd say it is much better, euro for euro we get more value for the money as exemplified by a great dinner we ate last night. The multi-course menus (my 45 euro Gourmet one: 2 apps, 1 fish, cheese, 3 desserts and husband's 65 euro Gourmand version which adds one more each of appetiser, meat and dessert) were exciting, brilliantly delivered and very yummy. My favourite dish was a small dessert of mango dessert topped with dried olives, just the thing for a jaded palate.

         

La Bigarrade, 106 rue Nollet. 17th arr. M: Brochant.

T: 01 42 26 01 02

Glad to be back

Rome was great. The ruins, the piazzas, the green topiary-like trees (names, anyone?), pizzas and amazing Italian wines. Our B&B that was a former palazzo. Gregarious old ladies in black. Deep fried foods. Artichokes. Barolo, mmmm.

Still, we're truly glad to be back home. And none more so than my poor sister C. Her 4.30 pm flight was cancelled because of the air-traffic controllers' strike. Cancelled. Without notice. Without alternative recourse. She was only able to leave with a 6 am flight this morning. I was thankful that my flight left at 7.50 pm, only 15 minutes later than scheduled.

Though the holiday was super, getting there and returning home were low points. Transport strikes. Long queues everywhere. Being at the mercy of indifferent workers such as a super-bitchy signora with fake tan who actually sneered at a hapless French passenger and made fun of a Chinese traveller who couldn't speak Italian or French. Confusion. Miscommunications. My boarding pass said gate B3, the TV screen said B9. At B9, travellers on a Lufthansa flight realised a little too late that their gate should have been B1. Mad dashes and groans of dismay all round. Just when I think I am getting used to living in Europe, along comes something like transport woes to rough it up again. C'est la vie!

And on a very positive note, this morning I saw a comment from Dale, a reader who made Yuk Si from a recipe I posted way back in July 2004. My mum will be really tickled to learn that her recipe was turned into an art performance!

Hi,

I tried your recipe except with kangaroo meat.
I'm Australian after all. I made a sweet version which was
very acceptable in taste, i just need to practice the texture,
although i got it right, but need to work on the crispy/fluffy
side of it.

I actually made it for an ART performance and then made a
desert for the audience to try!! :)

THANKS for your info!

Dale.

P.S. It's cold here. Forget autumn, it's bloody winter already. A cold wind is blowing through most of Europe and we're not spared. I have to wear ski cap, socks, long sleeved tops and long pants to sleep. Mimi point blank refuses her bed, preferring the bottom of ours instead, and her appetite is bigger now- well, rabbit stew for breakfast would do that to one- and she is now so long her clothes no longer fit! Rufus gets her wardrobe and struts like a tinkling popinjay.