Saturday, 7 September 2013
I spoke too soon.
Summer returned. With a vengeance. Although with the difference that the sun rises later and sets earlier than it did in August, so we no longer have the glorious early mornings and the extension of the day long into the evening. It is baking in the middle of the day, however, and so the afternoon siesta routine continues, and the large fan, which had been removed from the Salone and placed ready to go into winter storage, has been re-installed behond the sofa, and the doors and windows to the courtyard all remain resolutely wide open 24/7. I suspect we're on borrowed time, though, and at least one of the weather forecasts is promising several days of thunderstorms and cloudbursts, shortly.
Which won't be entirely unwelcome.
Crespelle, filled with ragu and spinach, baked with a coating of bechamel and parmesan.
Pork chops, braised, and sauced with white wine and sage; french beans, cooked with diced tomato.
Caramel ice cream, with fresh figs (macerated in brandy) and praline.
Posted by Pomiane at 11:27 1 comment:
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