Ah, Paris in the summer would make any Briton sell their soul, with its endless days of clear blue skies and hot afternoons that lead into perfect evenings. Truly the city of love, walking in Paris is achingly beautiful and spending an evening on the banks of the Seine with a picnic of foie gras, champagne, ham and bread with raspberries to go with mille feuille as you watch the sun set is nothing short of poetic. Having been infuriatingly depressed with the gastronomic offerings on a previous visit, the expectations of grandeur were firmly kept in check – a caution I found to be exercised by many epicureans of late.
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August 22, 2012
Epicure at The Bristol, Paris
July 3, 2012
Charlie Trotter’s, Chicago
Charlie Trotter: the man’s been a legend for 25 years having run one of the first fine dining restaurants to champion local produce and developing cross cultural cooking to a level that hadn’t been done before. Charlie Trotter’s Desserts was the first cookbook I ever bought, having left college to go work at Gordon Ramsay at the Claridges as commis pastry chef. In that book was a recipe for Goats cheese and grape ice cream – a fabulous combination and one that has been replicated at numerous restaurants. I, of course, being a bit of a rebel and over excited at having learnt how to make ice creams for the first time, decided to attempt a goats cheese and grape ice cream! I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with that, except, I used the recipe for a normal
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April 21, 2012
Afrigonia: Puerto Natales, Chile
My Patagonian romance was in a bloom, having traversed a fair distance in Argentina, it now led me across the Argentine border, across the empty expanse of no man’s land and into the small Chilean town of Puerto Natales. Here lay Torres del Paine national park, famous for its caves, its towering Andean peaks, the condor and as in my very fortunate case, a wandering puma. Even on a sunless day, the landscape never fails to flood your senses with rushes of awe and overwhelming emotion. It’s hard not to feel happier and happier by the minute in such a place, where the world you’ve left at the entrance is a far and hazy memory.
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