Working in Paziols is unlike working anywhere else: at most jobs, you arrive and you know approximately what your day is going to look like–make some calls, finish a project or two,…
Author: emiglia
Apéro, cargolade and bolas de picoulat
After more than three years of living in this country, I like to think that I’ve assimilated enough of the French culture to no longer feel like “one of them,” even if…
It’s all in the family…
I never wanted to go into the family business–then again, when your math skills are sub-par and the “family business” is an economic career you barely understand, it’s not a difficult decision…
Pop-Pop
When I was growing up, I used to have regular dreams–not exactly nightmares, but something odd and strange that left me feeling uneasy when I woke up–about my grandfather coming into my…
Cassoulet
OK… I’m ready to eat my words now. Remember when I told you, weeks ago, although now it seems like years, about how the Marseillaise thought that my and Anne-Marie’s brains work…
Peach and Berry Galette
I’ve mentioned before that this year in Paziols is different from previous years. I’m not the only one who’s noticed it–even the girls who have come back from years before have mentioned…
Brunch for 30 and the Muffin Story
A few days ago, I posted a recipe for some transcendental scrambled eggs, eggs that were made and consumed here in France… in the morning. For my American and British readers, this…
Slow-Cooked Scrambled Eggs and the Moulin à Papier
When I was growing up, I wasn’t allowed to watch television. Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. I was allowed to watch two shows: Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street, both of…
I Come Bearing Pie
*Creeps out from around the corner.* “Are you mad?” Seriously… I’m sorry for disappearing like that. I wish I could warn you before the storm comes, but I never seem to know…
Peach Clafoutis
I speak slowly and carefully, even when I’m doing a million things at once. “Met les pâtes dans la casserole,” I say to one of the girls. She looks at the giant…