BY Paris Breakfasts.Part II

Tout Sweet - Part Deux

 I was going to post on macarons today, but I'm so darn addicted to Karen Wheeler's Tout Sweet:Hanging Up My High Heels for a New Life in France that I decided to dig out my 6-year old photos from Provence (which clearly have nothing to do with western central France, but they're the onlycampagne/country shots I've got so please forgive.

 FYI: I did all these watercolors whilst staying at Arts In Provence - one of the Fabest art workshops out there. They're British so pas cher.

 Back to Karen's unputdownable book, which I am making myself dizzy reading while walking - my niece begs me not to walk into any telephone poles SVP.

 I'm going to throw at you as many diverse excerpts as I can to give you a good taste of it:

'The house in France offered me an escape route and gave me a new focus. After buying Maison Coquelicot, I continued to live in London for another year, earning the money to do the house up. But I didn’t waste that year. I signed up for twice-weekly French classes in the evening and I read every book I could find, fiction or otherwise, on moving to rural France.'

 'Most of them were plodding...memoirs about septic tanks, elusive artisans, and epic meals. But I devoured every word, and loved their soporific, calming effect. I fell asleep each night dreaming of sunflower fields and rustic interiors.'

 'On paper at least, my life in London was a success...I owned so many handbags I could open my own boutique, and I earned enough money to pay off the credit card bills in full at the end of the month.'

 'And yet at thirty-five I was bereft of responsibility. I was the center of nobody’s universe. My life felt shallow and materialistic—as empty as the spare closet after Eric left. I’d spend the money I earned in order to compensate for the emotional void in my life. But, as I learned, you cannot buy your way out of unhappiness. And so I tried other routes. I did courses—lots of them.'

 'I return to bed, but am woken again at 7:00 a.m., this time by the prolonged and deafening ringing of the church bells on the other side of the courtyard wall. It is, I imagine, what a Butlins holiday camp must have been like in the 1950s: the bells are the cue for everyone in Villiers to get up.'

 'Foire day. The big fair that takes place twice a month.” I am confused. Is Dylan really waking me up to tell me about a fair? “You need to move your car now, before the market people arrive,” he persists. “I looked out of the window when I got up and saw your car by the mairie. But you’re not allowed to park in the square today.”

 'I throw my hippy coat over my floral pajamas and, still half asleep, follow Dylan up to the square. After thanking him for his trouble, I drive my car over to the car park of the local Intermarché and leave it there. This is not the peaceful life in France that I imagined.'

 '...with almost perfect timing Claudette arrives at the front door, bearing a tray with two cups of coffee and two slices of homemade apple tart. We eat it perched on crates in the petit salon, and it tastes, at that moment in time, as good as a lunch in an Alain Ducasse restaurant.'

 'Afterward, I drive into the center of Poitiers and walk to the main square. There is a food market taking place in the shadow of Notre Dame Cathedral and, unlike the few stalls that pass for a market in Villiers, this appears to be the real French deal. People are bustling around with baskets or pull-along shopping trolleys, squeezing, sniffing, or sampling the goods.'

 'Many stalls sell just one product—goat’s cheese, artichokes, or exotic-looking breads, for example—and the shopping process, I notice, is rife with flirtation: 
“Did you make those yourself, Monsieur?” one elegantly dressed woman asks a man selling fluffy white goat’s cheeses.'

 “Yes, with my own hands, Madame. Would you like to taste a little piece?”

“Oh, but they look lovely, your pears!” I hear another woman cry.

The produce itself looks very alluring: purple-green cabbages sprouting like big flower brooches, small black prunes glistening like jet beads, heads of purple and white garlic strung together like a necklace. There are aubergines, the same opulent shade of purple-black as a YSL smoking, piles of large mushrooms, their undersides pleated like a Vionnet gown, and stalls selling pungent frills of parsley and basil or velvety green leaves of sage, while plump and shiny red and green peppers nestle in wooden boxes. Unfortunately, none of this is much use to me as I am weeks, if not months froma functioning kitchen and living mostly on bread and brie .'

Well if this hasn't convinced you, you must read Tout SweetI give up.
Quite a few of you fell victim as I did yesterday and have a head start gobbling up this book this weekend.
BON(NE) WEEKEND!

By PAris Breakfasts.

Tout Sweet

 Biff's photo by Karen Wheeler
This morning while doing a search on Amazon for books on 'moving to France' I met up with Biff. He belongs to fabulously funny Brit author, Karen Wheeler,

 Who wrote laugh-outloud, Tout Sweet:Hanging Up My High Heels for a New Life in France. BTW I've just added walking to my Paris-prep regime of swimming + stair-climbing, so being able to read my Kindle (with one eye on the ground for unforeseen circumstances) is a great joy. Granted my hoots of laughter are scaring off the neighborhood dogs but never mind.
Tout Sweet is the perfect read for anyone who dreams of chucking away their BlackBerry in favor of real blackberrying and downshifting to a romantic, alluring locale where new friendships–and new loves–are just some of the treasures to be found amongst life's simple pleasures.

 Since Biff and his brill owner live in a small village in Poitou-Charentes (central western France) I thought it a good excuse to take them on a fantasie noire trip back to Hotel du Petit Moulin which just happens to be on rue du Poitou (home turf you might say for them...).

 I can easily see Biff bouncing down these dotty stairs. Biff may or may not be a Portugese water dog but he's still adorbs and has his own blog at toutsweet dot net not to be missed.

 I see Biff lounging in this perfectly co-ordinated bedroom.

Or leafing through the oh so tres courrant fashion journals at the hotel.

 Or better yet parking himself in the faux book nook

 For a good read (not too many words for Biff) of Pascale Estellon's lovely Mon Priemier Livre D'Activities (also matching Biff's coat noir).

 Biff's mistress, Karen, former fashion editor for the London Mail on Sunday, could relax in the perfect noire lingerie outfit with matching gloves of course...

There is the option of one of Eres new summer checked bathing suits as well.

 One MUST match one's dog don't you think? It's de rigueur non?

The added filip of a 'Chantal Thomas' fringe goes into the fantasy mix

 Plus a good healthy spritz of Guerlain's newest La Petite Robe Noire is essential.

Why not a noire carte des affaires while we're at it?

I was surprised to find these in Paris.

What do you think?

Would you or wouldn't you?

The ultimate treat for Biff and his mistress - Pierre Herme noire macarons reglasse(licorice).

Well enough of les noires fantasies...

Back to Karen Wheeler's tale of Tout Sweet, making her way renovating a run-down but very charmante cottage in Western France seriously lacking in the most basic mod-cons.

'My future, as I had often smugly reflected, seemed assured: a sexy French husband, a second home in France, and bilingual enfants dressed in Bonpoint clothing'

All this goes down the drain when said Fr man takes a walk just before the wedding. The adventures up and down will have you spinning with laughter. Karen's a terrific writer. Well she's British. Go read a few pages on Amazon and see if you're not hooked. I was down-loading in the middle of 31st Avenue (isn't the Kindle wonderful?)

Cheers and happy reading PBers.

By LéaParis- Pirapora em festa Centenário da cidade.

By LéaParis- Show de Zé Ramalho- Indescritível.