He wore a cardigan and mustard pine green. He had cooked one of my favorite dishes.
was Sunday evening and he wanted to celebrate our reunion.
I had just spent two days Paris, in good company.
On the train back, I was a little thirsty. I watched the city lights flicker crossed quickly, I put the collar of my jacket.
My neighbor made a salad dressing oil on stale (I have a little problem with corn salad), I hid behind my novel. I liked the sandwiches
Swedish homemade bread and cake-lemon basil, by cons false grandmas doing everything dried savory cakes and pies to leave me blank marble (not to say my nerves a bit ).
I also liked the pale evening light on the Tuileries, a kind surprise when leaving the subway.
I loved his stories, his silent listening.
There was a lovely dinner with a girl who wore a purple vest with little umbrellas and another that had a new bag, and a great smile. The tempura udon to smoking were rather well with the smoked glass of Pouilly. Animated conversation ( love you again for classmates? Is it possible to return from Japan without an excess baggage so? You still read food magazines? Do you like working at night? This is how Annie Bertin ?).
I met two silhouettes perfect. In Swedish Coffee , where we monopolize a table while the afternoon (because it is definitely a favorite spot for long discussions), there was a Japanese who was wearing a short jacket, a little thick, for tile over baggy trousers, baggy, a little short, blue and red, and navy blue socks with white polka dots in small ballerinas garnet quietly opened at the end. A Beaubourg, waiting P. in the great hall, I can not help but notice a very thin girl, with hair Hitchcock, wearing a straight coat, black patent leather ballet pumps and a bag of the thirties.
course, I wonder what she'll cook with powdered anchovies and gochujan purchased from K-Mart just before catching the train ...
G., for his part, for various reasons, had not missed a special occasion dinner would be regressive and comforting. There was initially some mini-slices of pizza making sure not to burn the lips and then pork stir-fried with ginger , like that was my mom that I love so much that I can eat the snack (which I prefer at this time there is a bowl of fried rice with hot cold. Too funny. Too delicious, by I do not know what alchemy). It was a classic that I found in the boxes it was preparing Sunday to feed me the week of the year contest first year of medicine. Probably my favorite classical when I think!
G. did not call my mom for the recipe, he opened the book Sala Bai and was inspired. My mom's recipe is even simpler, it's almost confusing. The only tedious task is to chop the ginger into thin strips but, and this remains a mystery to me, she was always devoted to my father (as it was returning to my grandfather to my grandmother. It must be a trick to obsessive boys). It brings back
ginger in a neutral oil, stirring constantly. When it starts to just hang it poured into the wok pork finely minced. She moves well and there, blindly, she seasons: palm sugar, soy sauce, fish sauce, then cover and simmer over low heat. Before serving, several rounds of pepper (Cambodia, to stay in tune).
One would not like that, but it's absolutely insane, a term which applies also jumped G., enriched with caramelized onions, perfectly flavored and full of juice to wet rice. Plus, the taste of his feelings. Actually, I've asked him to again.
For dessert, I promised a surprise live his favorite Parisian patisserie . That evening, there was Momo , lightning chocolate-passion, delicate, sweet and tart, accompanied by a baobab this famous girl whose new bag had already said everything. was, shall we say ...? Too quickly devoured.
* a song that we like and that I heard last night, absolutely no chance in one of the great emissions Laure Adler and whose distribution has unexpectedly transcended my plate of moussaka (at zucchini ...) swallowed with caution for a guard.
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