French Meringue

Tea at the Ritz

I love London. I truly do.  While there are so many things I love about London, one of my favorite things is the ritual of tea.  Recently, we stayed at the Ritz Hotel in London, which is one of the most beautiful hotels I have ever stayed in.  The hotel just exudes elegance, the kind that instantly makes you feel like sitting up straight (something, unfortunately, I rarely do) or walking tall from the moment you enter its doors.  They do absolutely everything right there, even a simple cup of tea. I would describe myself usually as an avid coffee drinker.  It would never even cross my mind to order a cup of tea.  But tea at the Ritz Hotel changed all of that for me.  Perhaps it was the silver tea pot, the delicate china, the paper thin lemon wedges, the silver tea strainer.  Quite different from the hot paper cup and tea bag we are served here; in London, you sit until your tea is steeped in the pot, and then you strain it into a tea cup and and finally you get to enjoy it.  And, to tell you the truth, that ritual makes all the difference in the world. 

So every morning (and sometimes even in the afternoon) I would order a pot of tea to be delivered to our room.  And I would sit in front of the marble fireplace, looking up at the antique chandelier,  or the gilded mirror, calmly sipping the most wonderful cup of tea.  I know some people would prefer to have tea in the restaurant at the Ritz, which is also very nice.  But the room was so beautiful, and I really enjoyed relishing it in the quiet of my room.  Kind of like my own private Alice in Wonderland moment, minus the Mad Hatter and the Cheshire Cat.  And now, upon returning home, I am a tea convert, complete with my own tea strainer and tea pot.

 
 
 

Charleston Garden Inspiration

All the warm weather has me milling about for hours planning out my garden this year. Perhaps all of my efforts will one day leave me with a nonchalant looking garden of greens and vines, and maybe even my very own lemon tree, perfect for making fresh squeezed lemonade and lemon ice cream (my new obsession). 

 And perhaps an iron gate for the entrance to my garden, perfect for those passing by to catch only a glimpse of my garden's sweetness. 

 I fully admit peering into as many gardens as possible when I was walking by such gates in Charleston.  

 Perhaps a winding path, a garden sculpture, and rows of hedges creating a maze like something out of a children's story. 

And while I am at it, I may just renovate my driveway, adding cobblestones and some well-worn slate blocks for ease in driving. 

 

Mangia

Today I dreamt of Italy.  Perhaps it was the bright sun streaming through my window, or the unseasonably warm day which had me longing for terra cotta roofs, cypress trees, sunflowers, red wine and above all else--pasta.  Not the boxed kind of pasta that you can buy in a normal market.  Not the hard, uniformly shaped pasta which needs to be cooked for minutes on end until you can cut your teeth through the noodles.  I was longing for the fresh, hand made pasta, created with a little mixture of flour and water and perhaps an egg (depending on who is making the pasta).  The kind that melts in your mouth, and needs little more than a roasted tomato and some extra virgin olive oil drizzled on top, and perhaps a few sprigs of basil for aesthetics (and aroma-I cannot resist the smell of fresh basil).  

Of course, I am no where near Italy, and as much as I may desire, I can not manage a trip there right now.  Although, in my day dreams today, I had chucked everything in my life to move to Florence and become an apprentice in pasta making (if you are a master pasta chef in Florence and need an apprentice, PLEASE call me!).  In order to satisfy my cravings, and linger in Italy a little longer in my mind, I strolled over to a local Italian market where I bought some fresh pasta, broccoli rabe, vine ripened tomatoes, and cannellini beans, among other things.  I did not have any particular recipe in mind, I just grabbed what looked delicious as I passed through the narrow aisles littered with people, perhaps dreaming the same dream I was consumed in? 

Upon reaching home, I played an Italian opera, poured myself a glass of red wine and began my mental culinary trip to Italy.  I digress for one moment to the opera music.  When I was visiting Greece last year, I lunched with a couple whose profession it was to teach and perform music.  I arrived at their little villa which sat on a cliff overlooking water that appeared to have been mixed with dye the colors of royal blue and turquoise.  To the left of the white villa was a beautiful garden filled with flowers in reds and pinks and whites.  The breeze was blowing slightly as we walked through the front door.  Upon entering, opera music overtook you and the host practically glided around the kitchen to the melodic tune as he constructed our luncheon.  Today, on my imaginary trip to Italy, I felt that a recreation of that sensation in my mind would only be appropriate.

The above meal is the creation I came up with.  In case you cannot spare the travel time and want to take an imaginary trip to Italy yourself, the recipe is below: 

1 bunch broccoli rabe

1 can cannellini beans

fresh linguine or fettucini

2 vine ripened tomatoes

5 cloves of garlic, minced 

1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper

sea salt 

pepper

extra virgin olive oil

grated parmesan cheese

First I heated my over to 400 degrees, and roasted the tomatoes for about 20 minutes, or until the skins broke and you could see juices coming out of the bottom of the tomatoes.  While I was roasting the tomatoes, I boiled a pot of water and cooked the broccoli rabe in bunches, for about 3 to 4 minutes, immediately submerging the broccoli rabe in ice water when removed from the boiling pot. I removed the broccoli rabe from the ice water and chopped it into large pieces and set it aside.  I then added some extra virgin olive oil and sea salt to the boiling broccoli water and placed the pasta inside, cooking it for about 5 minutes.  In another pan, I sauteed the garlic and crushed red pepper in about 1/4 cup of olive oil for a couple of minutes.  I then added the broccoli rabe, cannellini beans and the chopped tomato.  I cooked this for about 5 to 7 minutes.  I strained the pasta and placed it back in the pot, then added the broccoli and bean mixture to the pasta.  I served myself a little, topping with a sprinkling of parmesan cheese. 

Imparo due lingue

One of my fondest memories is eating one of the most delicious meals of my life in this tiny restaurant (Osteria del Cinghiale Bianco) in Florence tucked into a corridor off a narrow via, which we had to walk by several times before we found it (even though the concierge of our hotel had given us a map with the exact route to our destination clearly marked in red ink).  There were maybe about ten tables in the small rectangular room.  An elderly couple, a man and a woman, were the entirety of the cooking staff that manned the kitchen that night, which was no larger than the square kitchens you would find in an efficiency apartment.  We sat down, not quite knowing what to expect from such a cozy place.  With every course that was brought to us (did I mention that we like to eat?), the food just kept getting better and better.  My primi piatti was paperadelle with a wild boar (cinghiale) bolognese.  A dish which sounds so simple, yet the richness and smokiness of the sauce is something I can still imagine.  I was so full after dinner, I was not quite sure I could stand another bite.  However, I persevered and ordered a rustic apple tart, not knowing if I would ever taste something this good again.  

I was so grateful for the meal and I wanted to express my gratitude to our chefs, so I pulled out my English-Italian dictionary feverishly studied the phrase "Ho mangiato benissimo, grazie"(Translation--"That was a delicious meal, thank you." ), so that I could get it just right.  As we were walking out of the restaurant, I stopped at the doorway, no larger than one that leads to the bedroom in your house, and peered in at the chef-couple, busy preparing meals for the restaurant patrons.  I said "Ho mangiato benissimo, grazie" in my best Italian accent.  They both looked up at me and smiled.  I smiled back, beaming with excitement for having complimented them in their language, in appreciation for the magnificent meal, in contentment for being as full as I was.

For me, being able to communicate my thoughts in their native language made the moment so very special.  I have traveled to foreign places and have been able to get by on English just fine.  But I now find myself wanting more.  I want to understand the airline attendants when they tell me to buckle my seat belt in the language of my destination.  I want to be able to read the little plaques beside paintings in museums.  I want to be able to communicate with anyone I may meet on my journeys. 

That is why I have gotten this crazy idea into my head to learn not just French, but also Italian.  Is it possible for one to learn two languages at the same time? Will I just end up confusing the two? I don't know.  I have heard of situations where one parent will speak to their child in English, and the other only in Spanish to teach them both languages at once. I have to believe that if this method can work on a young child, I should be able to manage somewhat.  The urge to speak Italian has been festering ever since the encounter I described above.  But lately, it has resurged, perhaps because I am hungry for good pasta, or perhaps because if I learn the language, there is a better chance I will actually get to go back there?

Why haven't I committed myself to the study of languages if I love to travel so much? The plain fact is simple--I am impatient.  I expect that because I have a good command of the English language now, I should be able to pick up a novel like Les Miserables and instantly read it in French, just as Victor Hugo wrote it.  When I can't, I get discouraged and stop trying.  Somehow, throughout all of my years of schooling, I have forgotten all of those young reader books I plowed through before I reached my first "chapter" book (957 in first grade alone, to be exact--we had a teacher who counted!).  So I am vowing to start simple and remind myself of this. Hey, I already know le poisson nage and il pesce nuota (the fish swims, first in French and then in Italian) and I feel very proud of myself.   So, perhaps, two languages at once is a possibility!

La Fromagerie

I am not afraid to admit it, most often I am ruled by my stomach--especially when traveling.  It seems, the taste of a perfect gelato can linger on my tongue for months after I have returned from Italy (stracciatella please!).  Likewise, I can close my eyes years later and see clearly the vision of being someplace special and eating or drinking something as if I were right there again in that same moment (like sitting on the rooftop of this hotel drinking champage while gazing at the floodlit Acropolis).  But when the combination of the two is put together, incredible tasting food and drink in an incredibly pleasing environment, I not only can close my eyes to transport myself there all the while tasting the food on my lips, I yearn to be there for real.  This is how I feel about La Fromagerie in London.

If I was only permitted to eat one type of food for the rest of my life, I would instantly select cheese.  I wouldn't even have to think about it.  I figure it provides not only calcium, but protein, so it is a food of some sort of healthy significance. Also, it can be incredibly hard and sharp, or soft and musky, sweet or tart.  And don't the French serve it at the end of a meal in order to aid in digestion? Just another plus for cheese!  

If I had to choose just one place to eat my cheese, surprisingly it would not be France.  I would saddle myself up to the counter at La Fromagerie and never leave. To be perfectly honest, the last time I was in London, I planned an entire shopping afternoon around my trip to La Fromagerie.  I started my day at the antique stalls on Portobello Road.  That is an entirely separate post in and of itself.  But I walked and walked to get myself sufficiently hungry.  I stopped in Persephone Books in Notting Hill and picked up a few books, which you can only find there, since most of the books they have published have been out of print for several years.  I made my way through more antique shops on Church Street (buying vintage art when I travel is another passion when I am not busy eating).  And finally, I made my way down Marylebone High Street.  I told myself I must go down that street to pick up a gift for my husband at Links of London (a sort of guilt present for leaving him behind on this trip!); however, I knew that selecting that particular Links of London would land me around the corner from La Fromagerie.  So after I had done my wifely duty, I felt sufficiently sure that I should reward myself in cheese and wine for thinking selflessly of my husband, so much so, that I would walk halfway across London to get him a ring.

Upon arriving at the Moxon Street location, I felt my heart flutter with excitement (I am not kidding about the fluttering part).  You instantly see a window teeming with huge (think table sized) wheels of cheese and this chic black exterior that looks elegant and understated all at once.  I was a little intimidated, and didn't want to appear a tourist (although, it was clear that my lack of British accent would give me away at some point).  So much so that I couldn't even bring myself to snap a picture of the exterior.  There are lovely shots of this store-front on the web-site which is linked above, so you can get the full image.  I opened the door and walked right into a delightful market/cafe loaded with fresh herbs and vegetables, crusty loaves of bread, bottles of olive oils and wines and of course, more cheese than you could ever dream of.  The shop consists of a tasting cafe and market, and you can purchase in the market everything necessary to make in the comforts of your own home whatever is on the menu in the cafe that day (however, I suggest you try it out in the cafe first).

I was lunching by myself, so they sat me at a window counter overlooking the street.  I chose a cheese platter and the suggested white wine they had selected to accompany the cheese; and I dined as if it were my last meal on earth.  I have never so thoroughly enjoyed cheese in that way.  There was a creamy goat cheese that was better than anything I had ever tasted.  I spread this on the bread they had given me and topped it with a few dried pieces of fruit.  I also had wedge shaped slices of a mild, hard cheese, as well as something in the brie family; all of which I am embarrassed to say I could not name for you, not because they do not tell you what you are eating, but because I didn't bother to pay attention to the menu describing what was on my platter as I was way to busy enjoying every last bite. Along the ledge of the window were several copies of the owner, Patricia Michelson's, book The Cheese Room, just in case you had a doubt that the owners, do in fact, know what they are talking about.  In this book she not only talks endlessly about different types of cheese, but also provides you with many recipes to incorporate the cheese described in her book into your meals. I have been searching high and low for a place just like this since I have come home and I have yet to find it.  So if there are any cheese purveyors on the East Coast, I beg you, visit La Fromagerie, come back home and recreate it, and please, please, please give me a call!

Views from Spring Lake, New Jersey

In honor of another sunny Saturday, I am leaving you with some views of the beach in Spring Lake, New Jersey. 

These were taken with my Polaroid 440 Land Camera and blue polaroid film.

Hope you have a great weekend!

Lazy Summer Morning

This photo takes me back to the late summer morning I spent on the porch just off of this door in Deia last September.  I awoke to nothing but the sound of bells worn by goats roaming the distant hills. Light penetrated my window after a night which was completely black, with the exception of the brightness of the stars filling the sky and a church illuminated on the hill above.  I went downstairs, put an old espresso pot on the stove and waited for it to gurgle strong, hot coffee into its basin.  I filled my mug, added a sugar cube and then went out onto the patio which was made from a mosaic of found rocks and broken china.  I have been told that visitors over time have added pieces to this mosaic, including Robert Graves, who lived on the next hill.  I sat and ate my yogurt--the really thick, rich European kind that comes in a little glass container resembling an enlarged shot glass.  This yogurt is one of my favorite things about Europe.  Maybe it is the taste of the yogurt, maybe it is the little glass container (which I love so much I now have a collection at home from my travels).  I am not quite sure.  But I have searched high and low in the United States for these delicious treats and I have not been able to find them anywhere.  (I digress)  As the fog evaporated, it revealed hills similar to the one I was sitting on dotted with little casitas similar to the one with the blue door I was staying in.  The hills were covered with tiny rows of stone walls made from light gray rocks, barriers built by the Moors to prevent erosion from the torrential rains Mallorca experiences in the late fall and winter.  The rains are so bad, that the island has many creeks cut into it that are completely dry in the summer, just waiting to be flooded when the rain starts.  Olive and lemon trees surrounded the house and covered the hills.  The olives were not ripe yet, and were only the size of capers at this point.  The lemons, however, were ripe and ready for picking.  I could have sat still in that spot all day.  Thinking about it right now, I feel like I am still there. 

Rooftop Views

View of the Philadelphia skyline as seen from the Sofitel (taken with a Polaroid 440 Land Camera).  The hotel is centrally located in Center City near many of the offices, shops, restaurants and Rittenhouse Square.  Often, you will see a tour bus outside, or hear a rumor that celebrities are staying there as well.  The Sofitel also has one of the most comfortable hotel beds I have slept in.

Summer Road Trip

When I think of taking a road trip, I envision the perfect vehicle for the trip I am taking.  Sometimes, if I want to be pampered, I will dream about driving in a luxury vehicle, complete with soft leather seats, a radio connection for my IPod, GPS. For beach trips, I dream of cruising in a convertible, a scarf in my hair.  And for European jaunts, I most often find myself imagining a vintage Mini Cooper, complete with racing stripes, packed with my worn leather suitcase, my Polaroid 440 Land Camera, the new chocolate film I just got here and an old beat up Baedeker guide for my destination.  I am sure I would have no problem finding the luxury vehicle or the convertible to rent, but I have not yet been able to find the vintage Mini Cooper to hire for my dream road trip.  I spied this car in the streets of Deia in Mallorca, and had such a sudden urge to locate its owner and plead for the chance to drive it on all of the tiny curvy roads that course through the island. It is the perfect size to fit through the narrow streets lined with old stone buildings, so tight you can barely fit a compact car through.  Some day, perhaps, someone will think of this and open a vintage car rental shop in Europe.  Or maybe, I will just have to buy my own and stow it over there somewhere, just waiting for my next adventure! 

Lycabettus Hill

One of the most amazing places to watch the sunset is Lycabettus Hill in Athens. According to Greek mythology, Lycabettus was created by Athena when she dropped a mountain she had been carrying for the construction of the Acropolis.  I stumbled upon it at sunset almost by accident.  I had arrived in Athens earlier that afternoon and wanted to have dinner in the Kolonaki area.  I figured, in order to maximize time, I would hike up Lycabettus Hill first.  Getting there by foot is certainly not for the faint at heart.  

Your walk up the hill will take you up several blocks of stairs until you reach the funicular station.  You purchase a ticket on the funicular, which will then take you to the top of the hill.

The funicular, a funny looking yellow monorail type car, takes about two minutes and lets you off at the restaurant and cafe which are located at the top of the hill.  If you walk up a few more flights of stairs you will then come upon the most spectacular view of Athens as well as a small church, Agios Georgios.

The day I was there, this woman and her dog were sitting outside the church doors. The inside of this little church is so beautiful.  It is decorated in dark, rich reds and browns and the golds of the icons and offerings which line the little altar. It smells faintly of incense and glows with hundreds of tiny little candles lit as offerings from those who travel to the top of this hill.  

And perhaps one of the things that struck me the most was the neon cross that illuminates the top of Agios Georgios.  Clearly, the cross is outlined in neon so that it can be seen below in Athens.  However, you just do not expect the contrast of something so modern on a building constructed in 1780.

Virtual Vacation-Boboli Gardens, Florence, Italy

The warm August weather has me thinking about vacations in warm places.  Although I am off to work today, my mind has wandered to the Boboli Gardens in Florence.  

If I were here today, I would stroll around the gardens for a while, looking at all the sculptures and beautiful landscaping.

Then I might take a break to read a book.  Perhaps something written by an old American author set in Italy, like Henry James.  

I would daydream about all of the savory things I would eat that night at Simon Boccnegra (located at 124R Via Ghibellina, Florence).

And then, perhaps, I would finish the watercolor of this fountain I started last time I was there.  I really should go back to finish that. 

Beach Weekend

Another great weekend at the Jersey Shore.

Fotis' Mojito

I seem to be in a Grecian state of mind, so I will share another glimpse from my trip to Greece last month.  In Naoussa, The buildings are all crowded together closely along the shore and spilling out to create a tiny center of town.  Amidst these buildings are millions of little cobblestone passage ways about the width of two and a half people.  These passages wind in curvy directions eventually spilling in to one another.  In certain spots you will find little court yards with a couple of tables creating an outdoor restaurant where people sit at all hours eating delicious things like dolmades and drinking ouzo (lots of ouzo).  Along the shore line are more restaurants with many tables where you can have a gouna (a tasty fish with a crusty shell) or octopus while you watch the fishermen come in and untangle their catch from their fine fishing nets colored in reds and golds and blues.  One of my favorite places, however, sits just around the corner from the main port.  Cafe Fotis, which can be reached if you walk right between the two buildings pictured up above.  A tiny bar with white chairs sitting out side of it on the beach.  Inside, the entire bar is white and very modern, dimly lit with many candles.  Behind the bar, you will see Fotis himself.  A very handsome, and extremely sweet man.  And while not a typical Greek drink, he makes the best mojito I have ever had.  And what is better, he was perfectly willing to teach us how to make the mojioto.  If you are into more traditional Greek drinks, he does serve a delicious ouzo.  Whatever it is you like to drink, I definitely recommend stopping in to meet Fotis and enjoying a cocktail on the beach at sunset.  It is one of those moments that will make you feel like one of the luckiest people on earth.  If you don't stumble into Fotis just wandering through the streets in Naoussa, give him a call for directions 30 6938 735017.  

French Lessons

Bonjour!  True to my promise to myself, I have started French lessons.  I have met with a tutor once a week for the last three weeks and I supplement my lessons with the Rosetta Stone lessons in French.  The lessons with my tutor are key, I believe, because it allows you to have live conversations in French.  I find it much more difficult to think of answers in French off the cuff, rather than reading it on the page.  I have gotten past the basic introductions and have begun the daunting task of verb conjugaison.  I think I would be able to speak several different languages by now if it were not for the dreaded verb conjugation.  My brain just seems to refuse to process the six or so different ways to say the same thing depending upon who you are talking to or about.  Perhaps it would not be so difficult but for the irregular verbes. But I must persevere if I am to attain my goal of being able to communicate in French as well as this young man I found sitting on the steps of the Seine typing fervently on his Blackberry.  I have however, mastered two key (key to me) phrases--Je ne comprehends pas (I do not understand) and the answer to the question O`u* est-ce que vous allez (Where are you going)?  My answer--Je vais Paris dans mes r^eves* (I am going to Paris in my dreams!)

*when an accent is required in French, I have placed it before the letter the accent should be placed above because my keyboard does not provide properly for the placement of these accents above the letters.

Birthday Wishes

This weekend marks the birthday of one of my friends.  She is still in Greece, and tonight she will hold her birthday celebration here, in this beautiful spot overlooking the mountains and sea surrounded by hundreds of geraniums in vibrant reds and pinks.  Amidst the multiple verandas almost one hundred people will congregate to toast her in another year of happiness and life.  I visited her here about a month and a half ago and it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.  White houses made of little cubes, almost like legos minus the circular connectors on their tops.  The edges of all of the windows as well as all the shutters on these houses are painted the brightest shade of blue which at certain points in the day matches the exact color of the sky.  And her particular spot, which is set far off from the main road, can be seen from the road only as a bright patch of orange-red amidst the yellow grasses (naples yellow for those who paint watercolors)---the color of the geraniums which surround her place.  

In the next town over sits the port of Naoussa, on the island of Paros.  The port is filled with hundreds of little fishing boats intricately painted in reds and blues and whites, each with a little Greek flag flying proudly above it--a blue and white flag paired against the intense blue sky.  One of my favorite things to do in the morning while I was here was to walk down to the port and get an iced coffee at Cafe Sorrano and then watch the sunlight flicker across the water, which lit up like shards of a million tiny diamonds.  The woman behind the bar at the Cafe Soranno makes the most delicious iced coffee I have ever tasted.  She fills a cup with ice, pours espresso in half of the cup, and then fills the rest of the cup with cold cream which has been frothed in an old-fashioned milkshake machine, so that it is thick and rich.  If you want the drink sweetened, she will pour in a thick simple syrup.  It will be really sweet if you ask for it sweetened.  I always asked for just a little sweet, which was perfect.  

Literary trip

While a trip to Paris was not in my plans this weekend, I did take a literary trip through the eyes of several American writers who have visited Paris before me and recorded their experiences there.  Americans in Paris is a literary anthology edited by Adam Gopnik.  It includes passages from several great American writers, including Edith Wharton, Henry Miller, Jack Kerouac, and Mark Twain.  It also includes the writings of Ben Franklin and Thomas Jefferson, just to name a few.  Included are impressions of the city from Americans that spent time there.  Some lived there for a time, while others were just passing through.  Gertrude Stein takes you to Picasso's studio.  Mark Twain takes you along with a tour guide who was only interested in making a commission off of his purchases.  The passages are brief, allowing me to experience Paris through several decades in one morning.  The perfect accompaniment to a cafe au lait and a croissant on a Sunday morning.

la droguerie

On one trip to Paris, my mom and I discovered this tiny craft shop, la droguerie.  Tucked in a corner on rue de Jour, it is filled with yarn, beads, buttons, ribbons, fabric flowers, and things necessary for making jewelry.  One step into the shop and you are instantly inspired to create.  They have books of examples of different ways to use their beads and other things to make the most amazing earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and rings.  The sales people will also help you with the design of your very own creation if you decide not to try (or purchase) one of theirs. The displays in the store were so beautiful. All at once I found myself longing for velvet flowers, lengths of ribbons, little birds, bright feathers, bumble bees on wire. I assure you that I really have no use for any of these items, but I could not stop myself from parting with my euros because they were so beautiful! Luckily my mom was there to save me from taking home one of everything in the store (I mean, how often do I get to Paris?) But I will admit, it was very hard to resist. Although there are many locals in this shop, fortunately for those who are less than in fluent in French, the ladies in la droguerie speak perfect English. However, I do suggest at least offering an "Bon Jour" and attempting to speak a little French before politely making your request in English. You are in France after all!

It's Good to Have Goals...

Yesterday was my birthday.  With this whole new year of possibilities in front of me, it made sense to set a few goals for myself, which, for the most part, happened to revolve around my utter fascination with Paris.  Any goals revolving around a place you love cannot be hard to fulfill, right? My first goal...to learn to speak French.  I have been to Paris several times, however, I have not managed to come close to mastering the language.  Second...to make it to Paris (at least once) this year.  I am sure the part in parentheses is a bit lofty, but a girl can have her dreams, right?  Third...to master the french macaron.  I have been known to plan an entire trip around visiting Laduree in order to sink my teeth into one of their tasty caramel fleur del sel macarons.  On one of my trips, I purchased a macaron cookbook, which is entirely in French, hence the need to attain goal number one in order to fulfill goal number 3.  Fourth...to go wherever my camera (and travel bargains) take me.  I have decided to share this journey, along with photos and descriptions of my travels as well as places I long to visit next.  After all, one of my favorite things about traveling is planning out the next adventure.