The church bells ring in the morning, the good bakery (there are several in our village, we call it the "good bakery," as not to be confused with the others.) has a line a mile long! Sacha stands waiting his…

1988 The first time my Mother came to visit me in France her impressions were: 1) The beauty of the fruits and vegetable stands. 2) That surely she had died, tripping over her tongue due to the antiques she was…

                            I am in Rennes at my Belle-Mère’s home. We have grown accustomed to one another, The frost we use to feed each other has melted. No longer does she find…

                                        What does it mean to be French?  After living in France for over 18 years, does that make me "un peu" French? Does wine taste the…

                              The word tablespoon is worn off my Mother's measuring spoons; this is another indicator of how much my Mother cooks. This love language of hers is shared homemade generosity…

A simple soup to sing to the soul: gather sun-kissed strawberries, with a large goblet measure one, and some more of water, raise the glass high as you pour in double of champagne, Three loving spoonfuls of sugar, and six…