What comes to mind when you think of French cooking? Snails cooked in butter? Fried frogs legs? Haute cuisine, or the rustic and hearty dishes of the countryside like coq au vin and bœuf bourguignon? Here are 8 things in the history of French cooking that may surprise you.
There is a stone bridge on the outskirts of a nearby town, where fishermen cast their lines and friendly locals stop and ask about the morning’s catch. It is a bridge I see often in the distance from my car. On either side the water glistens, or glares, depending on the season and the time of day…
Feeling the winter blues? Take a ride on the exclusive Train Bleu, all the way to the sun-drenched coast of the French Riviera. You’ll be in good company – the Blue Train to Nice saw the likes of The Prince of Wales and Wallis Simpson, Coco Chanel, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and all manner of celebrities.
Ahh Paris. City of light, city of lovers, city of dreams. But there’s no need to be missing Paris right now, you can visit its wonders from the comfort of your own couch.
Christmas in France is a wonderful time of the year. Everyone is in a festive spirit when they visit their local marché de Noël, drinking mulled wine or a hot chocolate to warm your hands in the cold, or the snow if you’re lucky. You might be in Paris and peer into the dazzling window displays of Printemps. There’s the traditions of Christmas Eve, the Reveillon, where families attend midnight mass together and take their exquisite seafood dinner late into the night. And don’t forget to listen for the bells of père Noël. Here are some of my favourite images of a French Christmas.
Open the page for a special French Christmas wonderland…
High on a sandy hill, tucked comfortably amongst the fragrant pine trees and looking over the breathtaking Bassin d’Arcachon, is the Ville d’Hiver, or Winter Town. An eclectic mix of ornate brick mansions, limestone houses and swiss style chalets, it’s a must-see on your visit to Arcachon. The tree-lined streets offer shade and serenity, and as you take a walk along the quiet streets, the exquisitely decorated facades of every colour are a window into the past.
Should you go looking for the prison cell in which Marie-Antoinette spent her last few months, it no longer exists. Imprisoned in the former medieval fortress of the Conciergerie on the Quai d’Horloge in the centre of Paris before her ‘trial’ and death, the dank and dark cell in which she rested, alone, unable even to kiss her children goodbye, was later turned into a memorial. The death of Marie-Antoinette by the sharp blade of the guillotine may have been quick, but her death sentence began well before.