Recipes For Contentment.

Flowerss

Sunday mornings were created for leisurely Brocante breakfasts, decadent food served in courses, filling enough to last well into the afternoon...

This morning here: pancakes made from leftover mashed potato (Mix with single cream, chopped chives, black pepper, and a whisked egg and lightly fry.) served with sauteed mushrooms, early dark little strawberries spinkled with sugar and devoured slowly with black coffee, and juice made this morning from blueberries and bananas. Sunday papers scattered across the living room floor, cookery programmes on the tv, and  the over excited jingle of  church bells celebrating the christenings of  local babbas...

And in front of us a day filled with nothing: no plans, no obligations, no agenda  at all...

Maybe time taken to write a letter to a friend. Crackled china boiled in full milk to heal a map of crazing spoiling its vintage beauty. An afternoon bath.  Half an hour spent in front of the bookcase choosing a book we have long avoided.   A drive to the flower farm to choose a handful of happy blooms.  Long strands of dried lavender burnt like incense. Spice cake baked, wrapped in greaseproof paper and left to mature in the prettiest tin you own (Nothing spells home like cake in tins...). An hour in a snuggly armchair re-reading The Little Prince. Kids uniforms pressed in vanilla water. (Make your own by standing vanilla pods in distilled water for a while, preferably in a vintage crystal decanter with a scrumptious little label dangling from it's neck). Tiny little love you notes for their lunchboxes. Gershwin piped through the house. Crystal glasses soaked in white vinegar for an hour and then made sparkly in hot sudsy water and beds turned back and left to air in draughty rooms ready for an early night...

Bliss. Sunday bliss. The bestest bliss of all...

On My Wishlist...