I dash to the kitchen. Quick check here too—sometime she is having her morning cup of coffee here. Nope. All clear. Now I just have to take Mark to the classroom and hopefully, she will be busy
“Eat rice. Eat Cheese”. Typical Mark, bridging French and Chinese cultures. Still a North American kid, though—he won’t sit at the table, he’d rather “watch TV”.
My culinary journey started when I left Nantes. In Asia, Latin America or North America, I discovered staple food and dishes that were completely new to me. Here is my advice to start a culinary adventure, at home or abroad.
When was the last time you tasted something without knowing that it was? We live…
Help. I think I’m turning into a giant ravioli or sorrentino, filled with jamón y…
Yesterday, around 1 a.m., I felt like having some chocolate. I walked around the block…
“Oh, this looks good!” I sigh, drooling in front of the food pictures displayed on…
Chinese people eat constantly. As soon as we are done with breakfast, my father-in-law’s family…
In France, I was in charge of grocery shopping. I didn’t mind. Exploring supermarkets, browsing market stalls, (re)discovering products and studying food trends is fun when you are abroad.
Much has been written about French food, from the classic “French women don’t get fat” mystery to haute cuisine drool-worthy cookbooks.
Nantes has several famous and fancy pâtissiers, such as Debotté or Carli. Their shops are fascinating, with elaborated colourful pastries on display. Frankly, I think sticking a spoon into these art pieces is a crime.
Breakfast here is invariably “un desayuno típico” with “gallo pinto”, the national dish—beans, rice and spices mixed. It is usually served with eggs, natilla (sour cream) and fried plantains. It’s filling. And pretty tasty, really.
Forget everything you know about Tex-Mex food—sure, you can always find nachos, burritos and quesadillas in Mexico but this is not what Mexican food is about.
Walmart, Mega, Chedraui… by now, we’ve visited quite a few supermarkets in Mexico, mostly (and officially) to get some supplies for Mark—diapers, wipes, food—but also because I am addicted to their bakeries.
French love their pastries and chocolate, even more so around Christmas. There are chocolate boxes…
I started my Sunday by hauling a 4.8 kilo turkey from the market back to my parents’ place. We managed to fit the—dead—bird into the tiny fridge. It will be stuffed and cooked for Christmas.
Everyone has heard about French eating snails and frog legs. Fun fact: I have never ever seen frog legs and the only time I saw snails on the menu was in these tourist trap restaurants in the Latin Quarter in Paris. These foods are a bit of a stereotype, like saying “Chinese eat dog meat”—the average French person doesn’t actually crave snails or frogs. On the other hand, some beloved foods are… well, strange from an outsider’s perspective.
Because I didn’t grow up in Canada, I sometime don’t get what all the fuss is about. These “treats” weren’t part of my childhood and it’s harder to adopt them later in life. Or maybe I’m just a picky French girl after all. So here are some foods Canadians seem to be crazy about… and I don’t get why!
France wouldn’t be France without its boulangeries and pâtisseries. Bakers are probably the most-loved artisans and everyone love their treats, from simple buttery croissants and pains au chocolat to elaborate cakes.
Even though I grew up in France, the drinking culture never cease to amaze me. Okay, maybe “amaze” is the wrong word: it actually scares me more than anything. “La modération” is a foreign word here, in Brittany.
The weekend is market day in France, and as you know, French take food seriously. Hundreds of locals browse the crowded étalages of fruits, vegetables, specialty food and other delicacies, from spicy salami and ham to crêpes and goat cheese, from fancy cakes to freshly-caught fish.
I love vegetables and I must admit that I don’t understand why they are at…
I don’t know for you but at home, grocery shopping is the barrel of the Danaids. There is always a key product missing—it’s like our fridge is swallowing the contents when we are not looking.