At fifteen I was already a good cook. At home we ate seasonally; not because it was a trend, it was simply the only way you could eat. There were no supermarket chains in Northern Ireland then. You bought food in individual shops and out-of-season fruit and vegetables were impossible to find.
Our meals were made from scratch (when I heard this phrase years later I didn’t know what it meant – what other way is there to cook?), and we were interested in what we ate.
But my first trip to France was an awakening. I cooked with my exchange partner, Clothilde, for a month. The family weren’t wealthy. We spent a week in their flat in Dreux before decamping to their grandma’s house in a tiny village.
Shopping for and preparing food was central to how we spent time together each day. We whiled away the afternoon making the apricot tart and ratatouille we’d eat later.
The salads were what struck me the most – green leaves tossed in a carefully seasoned vinaigrette and served after the main course. Then there were what they called ‘crudités’ – salade de lentilles and carottes râpées. I loved starting every meal with these good but simple things.
Dining and Cooking