France is famous the world over for its attention to mealtime detail. None more so than the Christmas Eve celebration of “Le Réveillon de Noël”.

Generally, the French go at Christmas less hard than elsewhere it is celebrated. They don't post a shopping day countdown, or fall out of bars wearing reindeer horns from mid-November. France (mercifully) lacks the pub culture that brings the English "together". Nor, might I add, do they have TV programs of a necessary standard to keep people at home on the sofa. I cannot think of a single French TV show, where a Christmas Special wouldn't be acutely painful. Instead, the Fr

We all hear of superfoods - Goji berries, chia seeds… the list goes on and changes like the seasons. Fortunately, emotions don’t follow these trends, but as we head into the season of gratitude, let me highlight why it is your Superpower and why it’s the ingredient you’ll want in your morning mental smoothie. November is the month of gratitude. Being American, I used to celebrate Thanksgiving, and as an American in France, if there’s one of us within 100kms, we tend to gather

OK.. I will admit, I did not know that was what a pre-picked lentil looked like. Which got me thinking around what else I did not know about lentils - and don't imagine I am suicidally bored, or at the wrong end of a bag of California's finest gummies. There is always a tin in the cupboard, thanks to Vanessa, who will gleefully stir them into to pretty much anything. I saw lentils more as a food to be consumed when all else is gone. When the sirens blast, sending us scurrying

In France, where "bread is life", what happens when the bakery closes? Few countries keep such extensive data around bakeries as France does. According to a 2017 government report, 73% of the French population lived within half a mile of a Boulangerie. Of course, in a country where 8-out-of 10 people live in largely urban areas, it is plainly not a city-dwellers problem. It is in rural France where the loss of the village bakery strikes like a family bereavement. For the purp

Is food really better in France? Not in that romantic "strolling through the market with a cute wicker basket" way, but in a pure sense of basic taste. And I am not talking about Michelin-starred fine dining or €500 truffle tastings. I am referring to bread, cheese or tomoatoes. A roasted "poulet frites" in a budget bistro. The kind of food that should be pedestrian enough not to even warrant effusive praise, yet still makes you pause, mid-mouthful and smile. Butter, infused

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There are few ingredients as humbly useful as the onion. It appears in every kitchen, at every stage of unprompted regrowth and under every list of ingredients. Raw and sharp in summer salads, melted and brown in winter stews, or quietly working in the background of rich sauces, often without due credit. The French don’t just cook with onions — they have built the entirety of French cuisine around them. France grows more onions than any other country in Europe, and you can ta

Golden apples. The asteroid-like quince is the last fruit to ripen - the one that waits until the year breathes out. Hard and bitter when raw, it softens only through patience and care. Once sacred to Aphrodite, it remains a quiet symbol of transformation: if you take your time, you'll get your reward. It's not the best looking fruit in the orchard, but nature is not so bothered with looks. Perfect imperfection is sometimes just right. The quince is a golden relic of autumn t

The rather sultry soundtrack of November is not only about cold fingers tapping on the barometer and raindrops on rooftops. Over the ploughed and purposeful fields of Lot et Garonne, the air is full with the honky tonk of departing geese. Like feathered fighter jets, you will hear them before you see them — a ragged, cloud-bound squadron, formed as a straggly V, calling desperatey to each other to keep things together. It's comfortingly instinctive - a DNA thing. I love seein

Let’s start with the obvious: the French eat. With butter, with wine, with joy. Meanwhile, across the channel or indeed the big pond, we seem to eat with an undercurrent of apology. We talk about “being good” when we skip dessert, or “cheating” when we don’t — as if a pastry were a moral failing. Somewhere between the calorie counter and the confession booth, food stopped being nourishment and became a referendum on self-control, by which we often judge ourselves unkindly Thi

Platform 13 CEO Vanessa Grant sits down with the a local artisan who shares her story of creativity and community.

“Travel whispers to the soul’s boldness. It asks not for the absence of fear, but the courage to lead into the unknown, to embrace both the journey and the self that is discovered along the way”.                      Attributed to Mark Twain                       Every step beyond what is familiar is an invitation to growth. We do not travel to coll

October in the Dordogne is quieter now. The fields are slowing, the walnuts gathered, the vines picked clean. But for bees, it’s still very much office hours. The hum in the hives may have softened, but inside, a busy workforce is still clocking in. Bees don’t get the autumn off. While we shake moths from sweaters, and begin baking with cinnamon, the bees are in full admin. mode — stocktaking, rationing, and preparing the winter filing cabinets. By October, the queen has sort

September is a bit of a hinge month, a threshold that resists placement in the pigeon hole. It is neither the lingering ease of summer, nor the crisp certainty of autumn. It hovers in a space of its own — a pause in the rhythm of the year, a seasonal ellipsis. Spiritually, September invites us inward. The sun still warms our skin, but the evenings hint at a chill that asks for sweaters and thoughts of firewood come. This duality reminds us that change is rarely abrupt; it is

If Fridays had faces, it would be the mug shot of a pair of donkeys. Unhurried, not bothered, standing in the most shetered part of a wet meadow, the very picture of end-of-the-week sufficiency. The error we make, according to most donkeys, is in seeing these sweet and gentle creatures as slightly under-evolved horses. It is a subject of both slight resentment and constant discussion in all places where donkeys gather. They readily admit they lack the sleek flanks and polishe

Vineyards are surely the most civilised of our ancient cultivations. Humanity seems to have evolved liking its plants arranged in tidy rows, but while carrots and corn stand tall and straight, like obedient soldiers, vines have a rebellious elegance that cannot be stood to attention. They lean and twist with weary dignity, brothers in arms, performing more important work. Across the world there are boatloads of grape varietals, from Abrusco to Zinfandel and all stops in betwe

As a wine area, the vineyards of Bergerac are seen by many as a bit of a “dabbler” - with some steady reds and winsome whites. They are all north of OK - but their sweetest secret is a little pocket of activity called Monbazillac. These relatively small parcels produce the most golden wines, hugged in autumn to a degree of ripeness known as “noble rot” - basically elegant mildew - that positively shine - showing up in tasting notes as honey, apricot, and spice; the Dordogne’s