Just the mention of the word “France” conjures up images of food and wine. Fashion, art, design, or lovers in a clinch on the Seine, may spring to the minds of others, but my pulse quickens to the beat of numbered bottles and Michelin stars. That said, French food does not always whet the appetite. My recollections of ordering the chef ’s choice, and receiving some intestinal specialty arranged in a pool of sauce, are still strong enough to conjure the acrid smell of the dish.
The ambience of Parisian architecture, proud waiters and exclusive ingredients are like an opera. Scenes unfold; dishes arrive as promptly as set changes. The pairing of wine influences the flavours and I find myself enticed by gourmet tales from cellar masters and restaurateurs who speak of great chefs and vintages. It’s the stuff that my dreams are made of
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