Food – Zou bisou

Small change

Even though I tell myself that change is exciting, necessary for the world to keep rotating, actually I hate it.

I hesitate to call them my English madeleines, but the pies evoked past lunches from another time in my life, going back to my childhood.

Nostalgia for food from Britain, and endearments from my tiny bubba.

The beautiful doctor said, “You’re my favourite patient,” and I had been a brave soldier, at least I’d only cried on the inside.

It was a beautiful day, the sky as clear as my conscience…

My family and food

Assuming I last until 80, I have around 5476 dinners left to eat, and ideally they will be 5476 different dinners, but it’s unlikely.

David told me that in an average week he can eat thirty eggs. Yes, thirty.

He was concerned for my welfare, but he said my scarf was too thin, as was my jacket, my cardigan, everything except me, that is.

“You’re so English,” he said, “peas with fish!” He is a fervent anglophile, but it wasn’t a complement.