France Part II, and chicken w/ morels and rice pilaf

[ezcol_1half] ONE OF THE BEST DISHES I COOKED. I AGREE. [/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end] Lourmarin is what it promises, a picturesque village in the Luberon region in Provence, and more. No matter what kind of cynicism you bring along, or distaste for anything that seems to fit too squarely into Martha Stewart magazines, you come here, you see it, and it's hard not to surrender, even just for a moment, under Lourmarin's somewhat curated but irresistible, undeniable charm. We arrived at 7 o'clock in a summer evening when this village draped with honeysuckle vines and buzzing bumble bees were casted under a slanted, pale blue light. With just one deep breath of its brisk, floral and light beige linen atmosphere, everything felt just right. May I even remind you that this was after 9 hours of driving from Lyon cutting through the gruesome, annual European migration to the south in the middle of August? If it weren't for the highlight of us stopping midway at an orchard, and me may-or-may-not having stolen a bright red apple and ran, the day would've all seem to be in ruin. That ain't pretty. But Lourmarin made it worthwhile. [/ezcol_1half_end] [ezcol_1third] (may or may not have stolen an apple from

FRANCE PART I, and Lyonnaise sausage w/ warm beans and sage butter

[ezcol_1half] All the best things in life are clichés. Paris, is a cliché. I've fought consciously throughout my adult life not to fall for it, or at the very least, say it out loud, fearing I'll sound like a girl wanting to model or a guy in a sports car. It oozes unoriginality. But in the end, excuse mine if you will, as we sat predictably at an open cafe at 6:30 am, watching this city in beige and pastel grey slowly waking up in a wash of golden summer lights, acutely aware of its both corny and extraordinary allure. Paris, I succumbed, is Paris for a reason. But I knew that four years ago, when I visited Paris for the time time. This time, I wanted more. And I didn't mean a private jet from somewhere like jettly.com to take me there (although a girl can dream, right?!). I wanted more not from Paris, but from the country that it has instilled great bewilderment for inside my mind. If that was Paris, then what is France? An embarrassingly stupid question no doubt, for a pre-middle age woman to ask but frankly, I'm too old to pretend that

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