You drove me through the province for hours. we exchanged as many words as we could and wished to, that is to say — very few. the springtime weather was mild, a little rainy at times. around mid-afternoon, we stopped at a small mountain village. you seemed to know the place. i trust you at all times: i did not ask you any questions. i was in a so

Coucou, revoilà les ptipois pieds et la rentrée de septembre. on commence en beauté avec cette merveilleuse entrée de thon rouge en tartare et en tataki au foie gras : c'est au jardin des sens, à montpellier, et nulle part ailleurs. et l'on continue dans la tendresse avec l'agnelle des pyrénées rôtie à basse température de christophe phil

Ce post est un peu comme le bandeau "derniers jours" sur l'affiche d'une exposition. hier soir, au jardin des sens, à montpellier. une des dernières fois que je mange dans ce grand aquarium de verre soutenu par de hauts piliers minoens, ceint des couleurs d'un jardin nocturne et du bleu d'une pièce d'eau. vous aussi, vous devriez vous dépêcher

There is a veil of gold above me, an eye watching me through a cloud. i am not aware of how many spirits converse in heaven for my sake, but i know full well that you are one of them. of course you cannot really converse with them. you are the angel in a corner, dark and handsome, sitting thoughtfully with your arms crossed on top of your knees. yo

I cannot write all the time.i cannot write about it.i cannot write about it at any given time.i cannot write about it unless the sensation is right. i have to get the permission. i can also try to recollect.do you remember that opera stage, my dear ?i don’t know how far the roots of our love really go. but i know where something began. it was bri

Est-ce qu'il commence à faire froid ? même pas. le fabuleux bouillon d'endives de jean-marc notelet, chef de caïus — l'indispensable bistrot-gastro du quartier ternes —, a rendu folle de bonheur ma camarade de table, éveillant chez le chef ce petit sourire en coin, pince-sans-rire, que je lui connais bien. ce bouillon est une belle invitati

I do not know where you are taking me. it's raining.i am beginning to know my way from the huge neon signs on the buildings. but they are not helping me much yet.we are caught in traffic once again. i like that. in spite of the pollution, noise, stress, and the ugliness of the slowly-moving urban landscape, being caught in traffic stretches the mom

Sophie brissaud photo, stylisme, écriture culinaire contact : sophie (arobase) mailody.org voir aussi http://www.ptipois.canalblog.com photographies © sophie brissaud, sauf indication contraire. livres cantines , de sébastien demorand, emmanuel rubin, et al. photographies de jérôme bryon. viénot-perrin, 2006. (voir post consacré aux photos d

So totally lost that it holds some beauty, like a stone garden, like a lotus flower, like an empty seascape. however, i am not feeling strong enough to feel comfortable in this beauty. i will have to deal with this. it is almost amusing : i think there is no way to be more lost that our story is now. do you think you can empty a bottle further than

The news came in last night, and the least i can say is that i was no longer expecting them.maybe i shouldn't be proud of myself. what would the lady of mercy say to that? she would point out that i haven't kept my heart strong enough. and then, perhaps, she would admit that such is life, such is distance, such is time, such is... well, now i say t