My New Paris Kitchen
complete with catastrophes
People love to say, “No matter where you go, there you are,” but it’s not entirely true. There is no question that just as certain people bring out the best in us, and others draw out our very worst (sometimes even by their presence alone), places also affect who and how we are. For that matter, so does the weather, so do our clothes, so do our houses, and on and on. It’s why, if we want to be happy, everything and everyone we surround ourselves with should be chosen mindfully, at least to the extent we have control over them. (Obviously things like outside temperatures and mother tongue are tricky.)
Coming to Paris was a smart move. I left the city just over 10 years ago, went to Toronto, happened to meet my future husband, Peter, within a week, and ended up staying for a decade. I made some excellent friends that I’ll have for life, but I did not thrive there. Luckily, Peter speaks French, loves Paris, and has a job that lets him be mobile, so here we are, back in the City of Light like a couple of 20-somethings, testing the waters, and looking for adventure. We’ll see where it leads.
Paris, right now, is bringing out the best in me. Spring is coming, I have a new neighbourhood to navigate, the bells of Notre-Dame are pealing as I type, and, of course, I have a new kitchen to befriend. I promised you a visit, so here you go: