Everything Smells Like Salt
If you wanted to get anything done in France this year I’m sorry to say you’ve missed the boat as the first public holiday rolls around and, despite the recent rain, people have eyes on summer. Next up are the April school holidays followed by four long weekends in May. There’s a slim chance of moving things forward in June but by the time school breaks up on the 3rd of July it’s out-of-office as far as the eye can see. With a sunscreen shortage at my local pharmacy and train tickets on sale I’m shrugging my shoulders with the best of them and calling it “wellness”.
I braved the drizzle to go and spend a few hours with sunny Australians at Coutume Cafe for an Alumni event for my old university (UQ) where past and prospective students could chat. I’m not sure I reassured the nervous father who asked how many hours I studied but his daughter seemed thrilled with my honest tales about student life and I went all the way down a nostalgia rabbit-hole on the way home.
We headed to the banks of the Seine to celebrate Sizdah Bedar, which takes place on the 13th day of the Persian New Year, by throwing our Sabzeh (the little bit of grass we grew from lentil seeds for our Haft Seen) into the water and it floated away with our wishes tied lovingly into the stalks. Now more than ever these traditions feel important.
I then dashed across town to l’Arrosoir, the oldest florist in Paris, for a party to launch Adrienne Ryser’s beautiful new book Fleurs into the world. Under boughs heavy with cherry blossom I admired the photography by Katie Donnelly, and more importantly her newborn daughter who appeared blissfully unfazed by the celebration around her, and over glasses of rose and ginger non-alcoholic wine we toasted the first peonies of the season.
On Friday afternoon we packed our weekend bags and braved the Easter crowds for a long weekend with friends on Île de Ré, a flat little island off the west coast where time is slower and donkeys with dreadlocks wear pyjamas. Everything smells like salt and the minute we arrived I felt my shoulders drop at least an inch.
While the kids swirled around Donin’s merry-go-round, I cruised the market filling a bag with saucisson, cheese, oysters, strawberries and big bags of salt. The chocolate mousse vendor laughed when I asked for a spoon to devour one immediately (with a thick layer of salted caramel on the bottom) until she noticed the crazed look in my eyes and handed one over with barely a judgemental comment.
For a brief moment on Sunday I was the woman I always dreamed, cycling to lunch through the salt marshes in a pink linen skirt, two small children perched on the back of my bike singing little made-up songs about our dog. Then a bug flew into my face and I got sunburnt hands and saw a photo of how I actually looked in my new jacket (picture a marshmallow).
Les cloches de Pâques (the Easter bells, there’s no bunny in France) that deliver chocolate left us a generous allowance and the kids worked off the sugar by running up and down the beach endlessly while I tried my best to be a “relaxed mum” and failed.
Have a great week,
- Emily
Cheese we’re eating this week:
Fleur de Ré - a light goat’s milk cheese with a wrinkled rind that’s seasoned with salt farmed on the island of Île de Ré.
Mizotte - named after a small herb that grows in the marshes, it’s a soft cow’s milk cheese that’s washed with white wine to get its orange rind and distinctive flavour.
Bleu des Îles, Marées et Marais, - a creamy, lightly blue cow’s milk cheese with a buttery consistency.
All three cheeses were from the Marché du port d’Ars-en-Ré.
Real Life Paris Photo
Precision driving.
Vicariously enjoying France through your posts ☺️
You crack me up.