It is still dark outside, and through the window comes the clatter of the wind across the roof, the susurrus of snow falling in the engulfed garden. Here in the kitchen, there is the burble and hiss of the De'Longhi espresso machine, the rattle and hum of the refrigerator in the corner.
By rights, there should be the sound of a toaster too, but it will be an hour or so before I can even think about toast. I have awakened with a migraine - thought about doing prescription meds when I opened my eyes but opted for a beaker of industrial strength espresso instead. The stuff in my cup approaches the consistency of solid propellant rocket fuel and could be dispatched with a fork. Steam rises in arty curls from the surface, and a splendid darker froth rings its shores. The fragrance of freshly ground Cafe Union espresso beans from their roastery in Montreal is ambrosial. Think I will draw pictures in the foam. Yup, I can do this.
Why is it my thoughts always turn to Paris when the weather is like this? With badass beaker in hand, I am looking through my rainy day "stash" of Cavallini rubber stamps, vintage postcards and notebooks - the little ones with maps of France, old French postage stamps or the Eiffel tower gracing their covers. Then there is a recent (bargain) addition to my cookbook collection, François-Régis Gaudry's loving tribute to the culinary treasures of his hometown, "Let's Eat Paris". His creation is worth it for the Leeks Vinaigrette and Béarnaise recipes alone.
When the migraine has expired in my espresso sea, I will curl up in a corner and read something in French, perhaps the latest Fred Vargas.
2 comments:
AND you can read a French book! My admiration only grows, girlfriend. I would have to refer back to a dictionary too many times, but it's a language I love and miss hearing and speaking. Hope the migraine dissipates.
As I read this delightful observation in the darkness of my own morning, I am so pleased to have found you. You always inspire me. Thank you, Cate.
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