My friend Francoise lives in an old stone house in a small French village, with her husband, two children, and a cat. Francoise has a studio where she teaches pottery and sculpting.
We arrived on a rainy day, the grey sky was not inviting to interior photos though I took a few nevertheless.
An antique piece of lace hangs in one of the pane glass window on her back door. Sweet. Inviting. Delightful. Charming like Francoise.
Unassuming creative touches.
Francoise's large kitchen, like most older French village homes, is where everyone gathers. The open fireplace is stacked with wood, a zinc bucket ready to carry coals or water, a blue baby chair adds color. Francoise's pottery sits on the mantle: Nudes in the winter who do not feel cold.
A massive armorie holds the kitchenware: Linens, dishes, pots, pans, glasses, confiture…
The kitchen walls are exposed stone, the ceiling is over fifteen feet high, tiled floors, with a large wooden farm table in the center.
Cozy. Rustic femininity. Memory filled home.
Francoise and Sergio prepared pumpkin soup, sauteed scallops mixed in a green salad, a potato and onion frittata with homemade mayonnaise, a fruit salad and a cheese platter that made every mouse in the world die of jealousy.
Loving family. Good friends. Good food. Happy home.
What more could anyone want?
Before dinner Francoise and I walked to the local village bakery and found what we had been looking for….. Kouign amann.
The day was complete.
Butter, butter, butter, sugary, chewy, carmelized sticky happiness.
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