france

Ahh, tomatoes. What temperature is right for them?

About how I ended up in a French hospital, and how it's been. Some angst and pretty dodgy looking food pics follow.

As I slowly settle in to my new life here in France, I'm finding out about quite a lot of interesting local suppliers of the things that I want to eat, wear, sit on, or otherwise use. But I never thought that I'd find this: French natto, as in natto made right here in my region of France!

In February 2009, I left the house I'd been living in off and on for years, and embarked on a quest for a new place to live. Last week the quest finally ended, and we're now settling into a new house, which is actually a pretty old house, a new country and a new area for us - Provence, France.

Last night I finally got to see Julie and Julia. Here is my very long and otaku-ish take on it.

We left Provence this week for a little trip to the Midi-Pyrénées in the southwestern part of France. We've been trying to save money by cooking at home most of the time since we started our nomadic existence in France (see previously; not that that's much of a hardship, since the produce and other foodstuffs in Provence are spectacular). But this week we've been staying in an apartment in a 17th century townhouse right around the corner from the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum in the heart of Albi, the capital of the Tarn Department. Since there are tons of great little restaurants here, we've been indulging ourselves a bit.

Originally published on December 9, 2006: We won't be able to go to Provence this winter because of work, but I still dream about it, and plan for the next trip hopefully in the spring. Here is an article from our trip last year, about a wonderful truffle market in northern Provence. I hope you enjoy it!

The lady vendor with the intense blue gaze and the black beret on her head looks a little like a French Resistance worker from an old movie. She gestures with her hands as she talks, occasionally taking one of her wares gently in her slender fingers. Around her a curious group of people gathers, looking and sniffing intently, asking questions. I slowly inch my way to the front and look into the bowl, then up to her face, my meager French deserting me. She smile and tells me to pick one.