I started the day early and was cooking French onion soup by 6.30. I just made enough for two meals – I’m not bothered about cooking for the freezer and don’t want to eat the same thing day after day either. So I had half for lunch, with toasted cheese floating on top, and the rest will be supper tomorrow.
When I go away, one of my pleasures is looking in the food shops and markets, especially at the fish and vegetable stalls. I’ve probably mentioned before, how frustrating it is to have the same old veg at every restaurant, ready-prepared salad, green beans and so on, probably flown in from Chile or Kenya, when there is gorgeous local produce out there which really wouldn’t take much time to prepare.
A while ago, a friend was enthusing about a visit to Vienna, a place he loves, and he said he would most like to rent an apartment and live there for a few months, to feel the rhythm of the city at all times through at least some of the seasons and to explore it to his heart’s content. I thought that was a jolly good idea – not necessarily Vienna, I don’t know, I only went there once as a child and don’t really remember it, but I want to buy and cook food from the markets. And explore of course, but it’s the food I really want. I have rather a hankering for Venice though I don’t suppose I ever will do it, but it’s a nice little pipe dream. My friend won’t either, apparently his sensible, unromantic wife was po-faced at the suggestion.
But I’m reminded of something my sister told me a while ago. A friend of a friend lives in Vienna and has for some time, but resolutely refuses to learn a word of German. One evening, she went to the bar and asked for “dry white wine, please.” She was very surprised when the barman put three glasses out…