The battle of the mustards

Have I ever told you how tiny my fridge is? It is tiny. It goes well in my tiny kitchen but it doesn't go well with our huge appetites. This fridge is not my friend.

Every time I buy a (small) watermelon from the market, there is always a battle for space. A battle between the watermelon and everything else that is in my fridge. Eggs, cheese, nuts, butter, vegetables, condiments, milk, the occasional bottle of wine or beer and of course these jars of mustard.





I believe I have more than enough for S and me. I actually think I have more than enough for a small army.


When I was little, I used to open the fridge and eat the mustard straight from the jar with a spoon. Everyone thought I was a child with peculiar tastes. Now those same people think I'm an adult with peculiar tastes.
The only difference is that now, I'm not content with one jar. Now I feel like I need at least ten different kinds of the yellow stuff.

At this moment, in my fridge, there are eleven different jars/bottles of mustard. Jars that are occupying precious refrigerator space.


So let me introduce you to,

the French.
Among the best.





The Dutch.
They do mustard really well here.





The English.
Very strong vinegar flavor. Too potent for me.






The American.
Yellow mustard is a classic but this particular one is not.






And then we have... Winnie the Pooh.
Don't ask.






Oh, and let's not forget these. Because who can live without mustard powder or mustard seeds??






And how about you? Do you have a favorite kind of mustard? C'mon, don't leave me hanging. Please tell me I'm not alone in this mustard-crazed world of mine.






P.S. I'll be back at the end of the week with a recipe including... well, you guessed it, mustard.

Paris, je t'adore

I'm back. I think.
Because even though I'm home, sitting at my desk, in front of my computer, writing these words, I might as well still be in Paris.
Mentally, that's where I still am.

I'm still marveling at the imposing Eiffel Tower,






admiring the grandeur of the Notre Dame,






eating an apple tart with the most flaky, buttery and delicious puff pastry ever made, from the boulangerie of all boulangeries, Poilâne.






I'm still shopping at Mora, getting lost among the rows and rows of shelves filled with pots and pans, wooden spoons of all shapes and sizes and innumerable pastry bag nozzles,






gazing at the Seine, daydreaming about what it would be like if I lived here, in Paris.






I'm still guiltily stuffing my face with 1.50 € macarons from Pierre Hermé while S is going on and on about how overrated they really are.

1.Pistachio, 2.Salted caramel, 3.Passion fruit with milk chocolate filling, 4.Rose, 5.Chocolate

I'm still amazed by the glorious works of art housed in Paris' museums.

I'm still celebrating my anniversary with S while having a glass of wine at a quaint restaurant in Montmartre.

I'm living in the moment.






I'm still frantically changing metros in the chaotic, bustling Parisian underground,






eating a sandwich à la Grecque with feta, cucumber and tomato and wondering how a taste of home, so far away from home, can be so damn good.






I'm still standing on Pont Alexandre III contemplating the beauty of Paris,






dining at an old Parisian restaurant and feeling like I'm transported back to the 1890s when it first opened its doors.






I'm still wandering the streets of Paris, holding hands with my love, not caring where we'll end up.






I'm back. I think.