An exhausted pizzaiolo, weeps softly in the dim light of a kitchen corner. Floury head, in floury hands. The culinary heritage that was boyhood, manhood and his very lifeblood, just died on the table... ...Rest in Pizza. Gone now, but ever-remembered - the classic beauty of what he called pizza - the disciplined, ascetic stretch of dough, frugally flavoured with a thick slap of tomato salsa, hand-torn mozzarella; perhaps a lean slice of local ham and a leaf or two of basil

I am a sucker for things that are not really traditional food parings. I mean I love things that do go together - fish and chips, buttered toast, and cream on jam, but I do like a new challenge. Enter, Roquefort & Honey Ice Cream. Found on a menu at a not-very-posh bistro in the stunning town of Sant Malo. There were clearly less challenging flavours on offer, and I could very much have made a far more vanilla choice, but something about it made me want to dive headlong into

It's hot here. The sort of heat that suggests any kind of movement is a bad idea. Last night I sat in the pitch-black kitchen, with the fridge door open. It was not as effective as I would have liked. It was like being interrogated by the faint smell of Melon. Now then, if we played a word association game, and I said "Summer".. chances are someone would respond "Ice Cream". It is a horse-and-carriage relationship. A friendly rebellion against the sun - saying "OK if you want

It's that time of year again. Suitcases are being retrieved from the darkest corner of the loft, sunscreen checked for "use by" dates and bathing suits - scrutinized, discarded and unceremoniously replaced. Discussions are held in-household, asking why we left it so late to do almost everything, and promises are made around wholly unrealistic departure times for Gatwick airport. Meanwhile, other-peoples-photos are already beginning to arrive on your phone, with other-peoples-

I recently stumbled across an article in Forbes magazine, comparing two pieces of real estate. The first was a 996-square-foot "tear-down" in West Los Angeles. I had to look up the term "tear-down". It is basically a house that no-one wants to live in, and is far cheaper to knock down and build from scratch, than to fix up. The second property, was a 4,806-square-foot Château in France on 24 acres, with 8 ensuite bedrooms and a guest house. They were both listed for the same

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 ab

I know... some of you will not see relocating as an "art". Perhaps viewing it more of an extremely daunting prospect, a discomfort to be avoided, or just something that other people do. Particularly, of course if it involves not a mere change of post code, but a move that crosses time zones and international date lines. We benefit from a built-in bias around the beauty of staying put. Home is where our friends are, or the kids live, or the climate suits. It's where we "belong

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

The French have a verb for a very specific pastime. The dictionary has it as - Flâner… (v) to wander about with no particular purpose. Pronounced - flan - as in pan and ay - as in hay. She (or indeed he - Le Flâneur) was an individual who elegantly ambled the streets and squares with no desire to get anywhere specific, but simply to be there. To observe. To absorb. To walk with no agenda other than the call of curiosity.

Platform 13 CEO Vanessa Grant sits down with the a local artisan who shares her story of creativity and community. In a sun-washed workshop on Rue Notre-Dame, in the beautiful bastide village of Monpazier, jewellery designer and maker Claire Lamouroux shapes stories from natural materials. Her boutique, Semilla (“seed” in Spanish), is shared with her partner Jean-Luc Pigeat — together they create wonderful, original jewelley pieces that feel both ancient and utterly present.

There was a time when a social visit began not with a text message or a hopeful knock, but with a small, stiff rectangle. The calling card was both introduction and safeguard — a way to say, “I was here,” without barging into someone’s day. It was etiquette in miniature, a pocket-sized handshake.

Look out this month (around the weekend of Sepetmber 13/14) for France's European Heritage Day events ("Journées de Patrimoine") A nationwide event where historic sites, museums, monuments, and even private estates open their doors — often with free entry or special discounts. Here are 3 on Platform 13’s Not to Miss list; with drive times from our Estate.

If you ever thought wood and clay had nothing in common, Stéphane Miglierina would like a quiet word. From his workshop in Monpazier, he takes the humble tree and the stubborn lump of clay and persuades them into a marriage so harmonious you’d think they’d been courting for centuries.

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