I know of at least three good reasons why you would pose at the entrance to the kitchen and ask yourself the following question: “Do I really have to cook today ?” (yes, you probably have to cook. It’s raining cats and dogs outside and the wind is howling. Not a good day to go out!):
The love of food has its beginning in our eyes. It is first how we see it that matters, and what activates our salivary glands.
The argument has been going on since before we were married, but notwithstanding my husband’s opinion that crêpes come from Normandy (where he was born), crêpes – and galettes – originate from Brittany (where I was born).
I have a sweet tooth. It originates with my childhood (again!), when my mother sent us back to school after lunch with a plain slice of bread and two lumps of sugar in a brown paper bag. This was our snack.
Cooking always brings me back to my childhood and it all starts with my father and the countless hours he spent in our country garden, bending over the soil with his hoe or, in dry weather, carrying there bucket after bucket of water from the well. Even as a child, I knew how hard he worked and I understood the respect both my parents had for the food he grew.