JANUARY! You have to be in it, to win it... Hi again, to all of you darlings, standing patiently on Platform 13, nodding politely to 2026 and all she promises. The middle of January doesn't announce very much to the kitchen - the farm is not really yet on its way to our forks, AND... darlings..Kris and I are moving house.. Oh the stress and the strain of it. But good discovery... you really get to see all the stuff you have accumulated, not just kitchen stuff, darlings, but 9

Turns out this photo is a fake, by the way... Even though if it did fool the folks at Forbes magazine, but... that's OK. It says what I want to say, AI or not. It's a picture that "shows" French farmers protesting in Paris. They are there, by the way - as I type - with tractors and trailers, and even sheep , lining the grand Avenues and Boulevards of the Nations capital, hosing down Government buildings with the occasional muck-spreader. When French farmers are unhappy, they

I think we like to think we know what "Encore..." means. It's one of those French-isms that has been globally exported as successfully as "joie de vivre.." and " je ne sais quoi-t-ever" . It shouts "More..." or "another round".. . One last song before the lights come up. It ’s a strong and crowd-friendly, shouty word, associated with appetite, enthusiasm and thunderous applause...

January was the month my Mum used to come home with holiday brochures. Not just two or three, but one of each. They were free, you see, and that gave them an edge. They were acknowldged as intrinsically trustworthy. As reliable as the North star or Greenwich Mean Time. Smiles were real - not a cloud in sight. There were no reviews, no marks-out-of-ten . All the parents seemed to get on and Kids appeared to exist in a permanently airborne state. The entire 109 pages of fun an

Today is a particluar kind of Sunday. It's flea market day. Not any one in particular, just one close to us. In fact there is very possibly one taking place every day of the year in France. The French "brocante" . The word itself is pretty old. It comes from the 15th century verb "brocanter" meaning to barter or trade in small goods . It's roots are a bit more practical than poetic. The things for sale, were never supposed to be rare or carry any kind of prestige. It was all

Way before "stories = letters forming words", they would be carried from the mouths of our elders to the eager ears of a younger generation of listeners. Tales of fire and creation - of seas, lakes and mountains. The wonderful animations around the family tree of all things starry and celestial. These ancient tales were not fixed things, back then. There were no documented points of reference, or scrolls unfurled in proclamation. The stories moved from firelight to shadow, a

I’ve read many letters addressed to "my younger self" — tender reassurances around forgiveness, written backwards in time. They traditionally offer consolation, advice, and love to our former child—the one who felt unseen and misunderstood. There is a big hug and a loving lullaby to be less hard on yourself. These messages in the rear-view mirror are often kind and always well-intended. But they tend to lean into the (slightly) pompous clarity of hindsight. On reflection, ev

I used to love that day in school, when we were given a brand new writing book. It was a thing of mint, undefiled beauty - filling us with a quiet, focused determination to write really nicely. To do really well. I mean, OK, we were easily pleased back then, but there was still an undeniable thrill which - to this day - draws me helplessly to the pen and ink of the stationery shop. New books, new beginnings, New Years. They are all versions of a familiar and robust re-set. T

Mirrors aren’t always about what we need to fix — sometimes they show us how far we’ve come. I have used mirrors as a decorating accessory for years, to bounce light around a room, to open up a space or bring the outside in. But it wasn't until I began using them for personal growth that they took on a different meaning. We’ve all had that moment when we look into a mirror and find that new line, that little dot that no one else would every notice, but seems enormous to us. S

Chef Kris Báhn Strydonck was born in Nong Kai, in Thailand and raised by his bar-tender Mother, who claimed to work for the CIA. His culinary journey started with a Street Food cart, which he refused to push himself, saying "Darling. ..my hands are my precious".. Hello darlings on Platform 13 and welcome to the New Year !! "Sawatdee Pii Mai "... as we say back home in Thailand. I send you greetings from my adopted home in France, that I love so much.. so many moustaches, so

Out of the 65,000 thoughts we have a day, 95% are largely sub-conscious. How many of those are kind reflections, and how many are deeply critical? Well, that is difficult to know, simply because of the very nature of the “sub” conscious. Pause for a moment… What are you thinking right now? What little tiny flash did you just have? Was it gentle and loving or carry a hint of judgement?

I have heard many versions of "They say it takes... (think of a number)... days," to form or break a habit . The number being determined according to who you are standing beside at the bus stop. Also, "They" might be a "Them" as the number keeps changing, being strung between "7 days", "28 times", "3 months", "up to a year" and "just twice"... Ah..here comes the bus. Thank God...

Truffles have been around since the Pharaos were in short pants. Quite why the first sandal kicked the first truffle, prompting its wearer to bend down and take a mouthful, is another story altogether. But we have been loving them ever since... King Francis I of France (let's hope he didn’t endure the challenges of rhotacism) was the first noble notable to put truffles on the royal platter. His truffly gusto was duly noted by the brilliant lawyer-turned-chef, Jean Brillat-Sav