Download A Pig in Provence: Good Food and Simple Pleasures in the by Georgeanne Brennan PDF

By Georgeanne Brennan

From the writer of Under the Tuscan Sun comes one other remarkable memoir of a lady embarking on a brand new lifethis time within the South of France. Thirty years in the past, James Beard Award-winning writer Georgeanne Brennan got down to detect the dream of a relaxed, rural life en Provence. She and her husband, with their younger daughter in tow, obtained a small farmhouse with a bit land, and some goats and pigsand so started a life-affirming trip. full of scrumptious recipes and native colour, this evocative and passionate memoir describes her existence cooking and residing within the Provenal traditionan entrancing story that may whet the urge for food and the spiritperfect for foodies, Francophiles, or someone who's dreamed of packing their baggage and purchasing a price tag to the nice lifestyles.

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Additional info for A Pig in Provence: Good Food and Simple Pleasures in the South of France

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I expected a small job like painting two rooms might take a normal painter about a week. Except the landlord hired a French painter. One of the most important things I would tell anyone moving to France is not to expect anyone to be particularly concerned about finding the most expedient path to the end result. If you don’t believe me, join the queue of Parisians waiting for their baguettes at the boulangerie and you’ll see what I mean. You’ve never heard so many elaborate discussions over which baguette is better: pas trop cuite or bien cuite (pale and soft versus well-baked and crunchy), traditionnelle or ordinaire, demie or entière … Listen as you wait in line at the volailler: Is that poularde in the case going to make a more flavorful bouillon than the poulet fermier in the window?

For some reason, to the French, it always seems like a total surprise when the time comes to pay up. ” is something I’m often asked by people who think I spend my days hopping from chocolate shop to patisserie. ” Or “On Monday, I tried to return something that was broken. ” I’ve learned to give myself p-l-e-n-t-y of time to run errands, and I realized the rule, rather then the exception, is that either the place will be closed when I get there (albeit with a polite excusez-nous taped to the door) or it will have every item, such as each and every kind of herb tea imaginable, except for the most common one of all—like chamomile.

To all of you who said that I should write a book about Paris—here it is! INTRODUCTION I distinctly remember the exact moment when I became Parisian. It wasn’t the moment when I found myself seriously considering buying dress socks with goofy cartoon characters on them. Nor was it the time I went to my bank with €135 in hand to make a payment for €134, and thought it completely normal when the teller told me that the bank didn’t have any change that day. And I’m sure it wasn’t when I ran into the fifty-something receptionist from my doctor’s office sunbathing topless by the Seine, à la française, and I didn’t avert my eyes (much as I wanted to).

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