I’ve spent my last few days in Beaune house sitting, cooking, reading in bed amidst baskets filled with old linen sheets and napkins with an ancient bloodhound napping the day away on the floor, and the alternate scent of boeuf bourguignon and cigarettes wafting up from the restaurant downstairs. I have changed during my time in Burgundy. For one, I’ve become a better cook. I feel I have gained a more relaxed and clear approach to food. My head is full of dreams. Food dreams and restaurants and delicious sweets. In bed I read all morning a frothy, girly book by Sophie Dahl then Tamar Adler’s book, which has the best chapter headings, and after a book about taking better photographs I found on a shelf. I feel I have forgotten much on that subject.
I’ve read a ton this summer, which is exactly what I was craving. Reading sets my mind in order and spending entire days doing so, just like spending the day at the beach, makes me feel relaxed, sexy and pretty.
The apartment I’m in right now is lovely- high ceilings, an old baker’s table that sits twelve in the dining room, a Lacanche stove in the kitchen. I was thinking earlier about homes and about my parents. I’m craving home, family, not only mine but one of my own. I am craving a beautiful comfortable couch and an inviting kitchen table. For the last two years anything domestic has repulsed me so I will take it as a sign that things are changing. The three men I have cared for in the past ten years have like rocks in a toy rock tumbler been tossed around enough, in my heart, to resemble something smooth and polished but not quite the gems promised. I’ve had an invitation to go to Italy for a week. I may go. I keep weighing the pros and the cons but I think I already know that I’m going to go.