At the time of writing of this we are on the next leg of our 99 Day Journey to discover the most fabulous boutique retreat venue in Europe.

If you are a foodie – here’s the epicurean take on the second leg of this heat-seeking mission.

Let’s talk French. Someone commented that though I am not French speaking as such, I do speak Food French.

French pastries are arguably the best in the world and it is a joy to spend each day discovering them. My first apricot tart was at a railway station and was quite sublime. A beautiful and quite formal Salon du Thé in Paris called Angelina’s was testament to all the delicious array available. I did have a moment of shame that I don’t support our lovely French pastry chefs at home as much as I ought. I’ll address that when I get back.

I ate snails, gigot of lamb and cream brûlIée in a bustling bistrot. I popped a can of fois gras in my suitcase for some alone-time later – also because I like it on toast for breakfast. Then there was cassoulet and Toulouse sausages, duck confit, croissants and confiture – all the things it would be wrong to go to France and not partake of. Finding good coffee required determination. In NZ we are possibly the best in the world at the art of excellent coffee making. A few times we commented that if we were served a coffee at home like we had just been given, we would all fall about laughing and immediately send it back.

It was a bit of a shock to face the French after the very deferential Japanese. We soon adjusted and stood our ground when required, though I had to be very well behaved when I wanted to tell a small person to give up their seat for someone older. They wouldn’t have understood as the concept was probably foreign to them. Overall I found the French to be helpful, smiley and charming. There can be grumpy people anywhere and they do occasional pop up but they seem not to be country specific.

I have left France now, but I wasn’t at all ready to do so. Haven’t seen an irresistible pastry since (though my waistline thanks me) and we have consciously pulled back on French bread eating. I am still travelling with butter though, as one of the most delicious things the French do is make lovely cultured unsalted butter that just tastes like Normandy. I found some in a supermarket in NZ which I enjoyed for a while until they stopped importing the unsalted version. I did try an artisan butter in Tokyo –  hand wrapped in brown paper and string – but it didn’t compare to French version.

Couldn’t find my photo of the butter so I popped in one of a glass of sake instead. (Seemed a perfectly reasonable substitution to me.)

One evening we were invited to drinks at a friend’s home near the Eiffel tower. The family had been living in Paris for 4 years. They have never been invited to anyone’s home for a meal. That’s how the French are. They meet out to socialise. Italy is quite different. We have often been invited to join Italians at home for meals.  More on that when we get to Italy.

Last time I was in Paris I found it big, pushy and with a bit too much ‘street life’ for my delicate sensibilities. This time however we spent lots of time in the little streets of the 4th, 5th and 8th arrondissments. Very Midnight in Paris, boutique-y and charming. I have found the cutest hotel on the little island that is on my list for next time.

This is a tiny shop, fully dedicated to macarons.

One of the most fabulous things as a traveller I think is to get lost in the ready made food shops – full of terrines, vegetable dishes like slow roasted endive, ratatouille, lentil salads, baked custards, tarts and of course pastries. This time of year, sadly ,means many are closed for holidays especially the one I found last time but this kind of fare is perfect for a picnic or for when you don’t feel in the mood to go out to eat in the evening. I have learned to eat almost anything with a set of chopsticks that I have kept in my handbag from Japan. I can even make coffee with shop sticks.

Looking back, I can’t think of any new discoveries for me in France. We did notice though that there are the traditional French corner bistrots/brasseries and then occasionally we would come across a cafe that serves food like we do – avocado on toast, pancakes etc. It was fresher, greener, more ‘in the moment’ somehow – and those places were hopping, despite the fact that the staff we dressed incredibly sloppily (sweat pants and tops) while over road were the pretty French boys in their fitted white shirts, bow ties, dress trousers and long aprons. Can’t understand that. Must be the pull of the better coffee :).

I am now driving through the Andalucian countryside – very dry and not a creature in sight. It looks like the crops have been harvested and they are planning the next planting. The Moorish influence is all around in the architecture and design in this region. Apparently all the Moors were shooed out (that’s putting it politely) after 700 years of living here.

Till next time, when we’ll talk about Seville oranges growing in the streets, acres of olive trees, pale flat almonds and excellent gazpacho, sold in a box.

Bon Appetit