Life at № 42 by E.M. Coutinho
I was going to continue writing about existentialism today- but in an effort not to depress anyone before the Reveillon, I’ll give you something rather beautiful instead. You might already know it if you knew me in 2012/13 (or if for some strange reason you’re interested in Slam Poetry.) She’s brilliant. Subtitles at the very bottom are in English- and you have to watch it to the end for it to make sense. But don’t worry it’s short.
I’m finalising preparations for dinner tomorrow night. Morels are bought and I got a little truffle to add to the mashed potatoes. I’m picking up the fillet at Patrick Mouret this afternoon. I know lots of people in Mazamet are partial to the butcher in the town centre, but one day I stumbled upon Mr. Mouret’s shop further down Avenue Maréchal Foch and I was thoroughly impressed. He’s the 3rd generation in his family in the premises and they make the most wonderful (award winning) ham. If you ever have a chance to go there ask for the jambon sec maison.
His fillet steaks are magnificent, and he’s accommodating. Last year I needed ground lamb to make Delia Smith’s spiced koftas and he was the only person in town willing to do it for me. Ground lamb isn’t a thing in France in the same way it is in the UK or the other end of the Mediterranean.