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I can not get used to it too

Yesterday afternoon, ultimately not too many people at Rose Bakery *, and consequently in the window not robbed, I observed the alignment of a gourmand raspberry cake, a cake green tea and raspberry, a lemon cake, a marbled chocolate cheesecake with a (huge, smooth), their little carrot cakes (thick and cylindrical ice cold), scones galore transparent in their bowl, brown pies, strawberry tarts, lemon tarts.
I already dizzy.
Above orange juice, banana and raspberry we established the program in the afternoon. In the queue that has grown after our arrival, two boys were complaining about the lack of a "brunch" (?), Two friends were reluctant to desert the premises in favor of a Japanese not far away, a young woman with a bun on the side has finally decided to take out (green asparagus with parmesan cheese and a micro slice of cake with raspberries).
I resisted the call of the piece of buttered bread ritually used to wait, and I did not regretted when a waitress asked braid long before me plate of scrambled eggs with a cheese scone and ratatouille. Everything was hot, well seasoned and offered a nice mix of textures.
I had almost finished my plate, I listened G. establish a certain theory of rocket, when I felt a gaze on me, of people leaving the queue to join a table in the back of the room. I looked up and there, beside me, there was Vincent Delerm, shy smile and big glasses. He said Hello, Hello I answered, and I felt very stupid to the last bite of cheese scone that I was going swallowing. Then nothing, disappearance, reappearance, a silent look, a departure.
I apologize for the futility of words but if you have any monitoring well, you can understand that I had then some difficulty keeping my mind on the choice of dessert.
(I took a strawberry tart)
Later, sitting on a bench waiting for a dress is too big to fit my size, I tried to explain to G. why I was overcome with anguish crossbred dull sadness. It was first recalled that six years ago, when I lamented the fact that Valerie Mréjen was coming to Nantes and me who loves her job, boo boo, I was not able to see, G. said "But you would say anything if you met her?" . I remained silent. Then there is the same, as experience shows, what can I say to Vincent Delerm?
You know, I listen your songs every day and I like how you say inseparable friends / Who separated or Bah I recognize myself a lot in your song about the queue waiting for a meeting of Annie Hall because I also saw him in a micro film of the street Champollion first . In short, too bad anyway.
Because what I really want to say do not take one sentence, can not take just a minute or even three. But it is hopelessly impossible to expect anything.

Tomorrow, we will discuss movies, books and shortbreads (chocolate or not, nothing is decided yet).

* rue des Martyrs, my favorite, because in the third, I remember the neighbors absolutely inconsistent and futile and service for the least minimum.

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We like this place (and chocolate biscuits)

It is both a refuge and place of all celebrations (birthday on the terrace in the summer contest successful, a masterpiece in cinema).
It's quick detour in the early evening to see what is the slate that day.
is the joy of being greeted by servers when passing in the street, just like that (or go to the hairdresser). This observation
discreet deliveries of vegetables in their wooden crates if you cross the area early in the morning.
is two minutes from the house, just off the Place du Calvaire (this is for me to choose a dessert).
My favorite table is at the edge of a window. In December, there is a small tree in spring, a bouquet of tulips or anemones.
The restaurant is divided into two rooms. It's in the first side bar, that things happen the most interesting. It provides a small view of the kitchen (about salamanders and super heavy pans, it turns dry) and offers a wide panorama of Marianne, when it does not agitated over the legs, roasted chicken or ham bone, made conversation with the series regulars who dine at the counter behind which she sprinkles the meat, cut, set them up with love, or something like that. A 21heures is the daily ritual, one that sees land of familiar faces (Book of ...), comics big boys who kiss only Marianne and toast pronto. The mystery hangs over this troop, where they dine on weekends when the restaurant is closed? In general, it always crosses some of the same figures, characters from downtown, the ones that recognizes market, bakery, or pushing through the Parliament Square in no hurry to firms secrets. Sometimes there to micro-surprises, the market of paper stuck now in his third glass, a little girl with red glasses who claims a bib bleeding, the willowy wife of a musician who takes a bit more rice milk.
In the second room ... I could hardly describe the atmosphere because we never. I made the mistake to take two super friends one evening when more Marianne was not there ... It was worse, I'm sorry. The attraction seems to be the dessert table that depends on the promises undertaken by Marianne at check "Come back tomorrow I'll do the tart with figs!" I never tasted but the lemon tart and the chocolate is too terrible. There also the chocolate mousse, iced nougat served with a sauce of orange, hazelnut cake, the clafoutis Mirabelle in a large bowl of prunes in wine.
I have in mind an exceptional dining experience where there were trays of seafood, offered almost in a whisper by a waitress in extra time when we looked at the slate. There followed a moment of excitement when they found funny that there was no appropriate instrument to sample the winkles. I regaled me lobsters, huge stack at the time Marianne has put on the table a piece of fresh butter. I also remember the entire evening Past there, drinking delicious wines (all are natural and are listed on school exercise books) after three shared desserts. Winter dinners are wonderful because they do not serve mashed summer, a voluptuous model, the ideal receptacle for burning the roast juices.
is a place that feels good, always dulls the sorrows.
Tuesday evening, G. could not stay at home, the fridge was empty and my heart was sad (very complicated problems at work, it seems that I'm a bad super lazy individualist zero. The situation is absurd, but can be expensive. I obviously leaves nothing to be reflected patients but when one of them asked me if I'm alright, I bite my lip discreetly) then hop, I went. Royal welcome, as usual, ten times that each of my loneliness began to console even though I told them that I will find G. once the meal is over. They installed me at the end of the counter, perfect view of the kitchen. The regulars were discussing with the head in the best way to prepare fried potatoes, opinions were divided. I was given the rare beef tenderloin as I love soft as marshmallows, delicious with mustard. And then I was offered dessert, I chose brioche, served warm, containing raisins and rum, as a thick comforter and caramel surrounded by milk, fresh. I could take a second hand.
Something I've done twice in one week and disappear in the blink of an eye, they are shortbread filled with chocolate Mengwe ! The nibble with a glass of cold milk was an activity with soothing. Like discovering that white fringed pink ranunculus opened their petals in a small vase near the piano.


The shortbread filled with chocolate Mengwe
For twenty-
Shortbread 250g flour 60g
-salted butter cut into small pieces 120g sugar
-blond
-1 / 2 teaspoon baking powder -1 egg + 1
yellow brush
-2CS 2CS + milk for brushing the dough-
spreads: while there, it's up to you. I think that used by Mengwe (Rapunzel brand) is very good because it has a good taste of chocolate but to be here, take the bus, what a story. So, I made it once with the Chocolade (chocolate spread Jean Hervé) and it was very good but the second When I tried with the Nut-Nut and there, although I do not like it usually is absolutely addictive!

Mix flour, sugar and yeast.
Add butter and sand at your fingertips.
Beat egg with milk and pour into the well.
Mix together quickly to form a paste that is film and chill in refrigerator at least an hour.
After this time, roll out the dough very thinly on a floured surface.
Cut out circles (I think it is 3-4cm).
On half of them, place a large teaspoon of chocolate spread and close with each other half circles. Seal the edges well.
Glaze with mixture of egg yolk, two tablespoons of milk.
Cook ten minutes in a preheated oven at 180 degrees (it goes pretty quickly).

The Corkscrew (a place where you're likely to pass me on Friday night!)
Chapter 2 rue Rennes
February 1999 79 43 43

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Is it equivalent to you? It lacquered pork sandwich my mother-

She used to tell that on the way to school, she liked buying such a sandwich at a street vendor who was grilling the pieces of pork on a small brazier. It had to be careful of not to try the navy blue uniform class anyway because it was she who was employed in a laundry, which was done by hand in boiling water, soap and wooden board.
She also said that white bread, French baguette, food was a bit posh, like milk, which was reserved for children when they are sick. For her part, she liked the sweetened condensed milk and I have often seen, for snacks in France, spilling on white bread, exactly. She also said that
breakfast, she had a weakness for rice soup with dried fish, this soup she prepared rice when it was my turn to be sometimes a sick child and I loved the salmon with crumbs and soy sauce.
As my grandmother, whom I have always criticized (including the poor) to grill the meat too, as nobody knows how the rolls stuffed with glutinous rice (or banana soy / breast of pork, all cooked steamed in banana leaves), sesame fritters and coconut cakes-pumpkin, all that my mother left him. However, even if it prepares dishes Cambodian too good, she quickly developed a great interest in French cooking, which resulted in a viewing curious and amused cuisine of the musketeers and purchase as soon as was possible, in a casserole orange Le Creuset enamel.
While often made fun of the fact that I can find exciting to eat a portion of pie on his plate returned ( "This is something very French it mama you know!" ) and the rabbit with prunes is an impossible, she quickly sought ways to make meatballs, beef with carrots, ratatouille or Basque chicken. The leek vinaigrette and asparagus mimosa-it seemed almost cosmic, not talking about the shepherd's pie.
I speak ill of Cambodia (and I'm sometimes a little sad when I hear "How well you speak French!" ), but I vividly remember the words denoting any food. The sandwich my mom could decide Noum Paing saink palak . normally composed of barbecued pork with pickled shredded carrots, sliced cucumber, chives, chili and hoisin sauce, but that day at home, some things were missing. It was not bad (although I have obviously not found the taste of it from my mom)
It's pretty easy to do actually. We must prepare a marinade with a clove of crushed garlic , 1 Tbs salt , 2.5 CS Maggi sauce , 3CS sugar and pepper . Rubbed out a piece of roast pork loin in with this mixture and allowed to marinate for 24 hours, turning once.
The next day, we roasted a long time, until golden and caramelized, de-icer in regularly. The best part is it is still hot when preparing the sandwiches. For
the carrot salad must be heated in a small cassetole 6CS sugar, 1 Tbs salt and 10cl rice vinegar until dissolved. Let cool while you grind a bunch of carrots (I am large grater holes) and then assemble them in a bowl with the sauce. Let stand overnight in the refrigerator then taste and add salt or sugar to taste.
It only remains to put it all together (and be sure to take good baguette! In Rennes, I'm pretty adept William sourdough baguette from the bakery Hoche but otherwise near the hospital, there is this incredible street bakery in Paris where I stopped this morning to take a bread spelled quite warm, a soft and golden braided brioche and croissants, argh, G. said it was imperative to include them in our future test growing blind).
Now you know everything about the barbecued pork sandwich of my mom, the end of a myth then! It really is the sandwich of my childhood, who consoles all that my mother prepared in advance for me as a kit for Wednesday mornings spent alone at home (and I find it hard to wait until noon to eat , generally ten and a half, I was sitting cross-legged on my bed to make it a lot).

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Until the summer-vanilla-strawberry cheesecake as he likes-

Unexpectedly, despite the weather more Avenir, school holidays and the fact that the Inrocks have put the third disc in their hundred Vincent Delerm Albums of the 2000s, the coastal paths of Brittany were systematically deserts. The water was blue lagoon and the air laden with scents that we could summarize by "there are flowers in the same rocks."
on marked trails, later sitting on a fluffy vegetation, contemplating the curvature of the horizon, we talked about travel (I think it lands in Australia) and spaghetti alle vongole. And ukulele.
unconsciously, the route was silent for an attempt to find a small hotel on the water where we had previously failed, huge room on floor and hot tea behind the large windows. He was always laid on the edge of the estuary. But we finally slept elsewhere, fearing that only holds that the repetition is often associated with erosion of happiness when it occurs by chance. The only event
supra despairing was the appearance of physical symptoms that devastated me and led to a rapid return to our apartment where I was imposed a difficult regime based pizzas and rice pudding. The recovery was quick.
Strangely, this premature return has not weakened the pleasure of being on vacation. I deciphered
scraps for the return of the piano teacher, I develop my film Lomo (some photos have proved useless and ugly but others delighted me, they reinforce my s The idea I like the pictures just missed a little fearful that, like the aesthetics of girls-and boys-I like when there's something wrong. Perfection bores my eye), I read a lot (and reread at least five times the section entitled Alain Bergala games of choice and chance in the number of Cahiers spent Rohmer), j have listened Noah and the Whale me feeling a bit sad because I love The Squid and the Whale Noah Baumbach of but I felt a little betrayed when I tried to see before- yesterday Aquatic Life, which he co-writer. Gosh, what that makes it less about me, that I can recognize myself in anything? Yet there is this thing very andersonien to laugh at things very small and not necessarily laughable at first, and then also the leading character who runs things in a somewhat vain but that night I stayed tight (I 'll end up calling it whom a Christmas story ) (P. I hope will not mind). But the songs of Noah and the whale, they are good!
I still avoided service in the soundtrack to G. who does not like and whose birthday was celebrated with a little delay because of me and faults my health. In addition to an amazing dinner Tanpopo ( yet! is the fault of I., a reader-friendly. Croisée one morning in the bus 64, it really made me want to try dinner in seven dishes) where the menu titled Walk the arrival of spring (fond memories of the lovely bottle of sake while sweet and fresh and the sashimi bar colonnata bacon topped with a rhubarb condiment-anchovy-caper) I tried to respect his desire to birthday cake, vanilla cheesecake a cutter with a thick layer of well cookies (I feel that this application is very masculine, it has several variants including "You could make a crumble with a lot of dough?" ).
If you want to try:

vanilla and strawberry cheesecake
To pan 20cm diameter at top edge
crust
-150g-150g spiced
shortbreads
-100g
cooled melted butter (actually in the end I did not put any)

cream
-4 small-Swiss (240g) drained
-100g cream cheese
-150g double cream
50g sugar -2 eggs

-the seeds of a pod
-vanilla zest of half a small lemon

Strawberries
-500g strawberry sugar-


Crush cookies into crumbs irregular, mix melted butter.
The spread in the bottom of the mold by packing well with the back of a large spoon.
Refrigerate.
Preheat oven to 180 degrees.
Meanwhile prepare the cream. Relax the
froamge costs, add small-Swiss and cream. Mix.
Add sugar, vanilla, zest and eggs, one at a time, mixing each time.
Bake the crust for ten minutes then turn down the thermostat 130 °.
Pour cream over crust and réenfourner for about an hour: the edges are not brown, the cream is still shaky in the middle.
Cool to room temperature before refrigerating (24h, 48h is good but it is even better with a good taste of vanilla).
the day, wash, dry, remove stems, cut the strawberries, sprinkle with sugar and let stand to cool. Serve
together!
He loved.
Another recipe for vanilla-strawberry cheesecake that is very keen in Fanny.

Bonus!
Estérelle and pigs in blanket (not a new rock group)

The night I was looking for the dvd The Life Aquatic, I dragged the kitchen department of a bookstore that I do not like but has the advantage of staying open late enough. The umpteenth releases on the glasses and toasted me a bit depressed but there was also of the new book Estérelle (yes, this literate young woman who loves purple, lemon, rhubarb and shoes, that who knows how to do chest pig lunch or dinner, the one I dream of tasting the veal osso buco or) and I picked him up yesterday afternoon after the market after lunch. I could put on sandals so it was fine.
At home, sitting cross-legged on the sofa in the office, I devoured his series of crime and their associated revenues. In addition to whet your appetite, these pages reminded me of the old readings and as Iago was a hell of a villain (did you know that Othello is also the name of a cake?). The illustrations are good and I obviously felt a particular fondness for the perfect blackcurrant and writing of the recipe that accompanies the chapter on The disappearance of Perec. When I
got to the chapter on the Big Bad Wolf, I was seized by the urge immediate prepare pigs in blanket , as they call them across the Atlantic flaky sausage, perfect companions to the small glass top evening. Delicious chewable hot!
(Another advantage: using the last two survivors of small-Swiss cheesecake)

For a dozen mouthfuls (minor changes)
-120g flour 60g
-soft butter (salted here if not add salt 1/2cc) -2
grandchildren Swiss
(it's pastry magic! )
-1CS mustard honey
-1/2CS
-1/2CS heavy cream
-2 large frankfurters
-a little milk Sift flour

.
Add butter and small-Swiss.
Mix together to form a dough ball.
Spread the dough on a floured surface to a 4-5mm thick.
Combine mustard, honey and cream and then spread the mixture over dough rectangle.
Place a sausage, wrap the two rounds of dough and cut to get a roll.
Repeat with the second sausage.
Brush the rolls with a little milk.
Cut small patties cook twenty minutes on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper in an oven at 180 degrees. Super hot
good with ketchup!