Is it me, or has the kitchen become a giant cavern with barstools? And huge chalkboards. Listen, if you need a chalkboard to lay out the entire week of children’s activities and art camps and “crafting” you live in the wrong country. Come to my château. We churn butter and knit. My kids are HAPPY. Also, that marble island is the size of a Steinway grand and I can’t reach the pain au chocolate. It’s making me nervous. Your two-hundred pound pendants belong at Carnegie Hall. Let’s reassess.
Here is the lovely spot where Giselle makes our food at le château. It’s small. And efficient. Really, it’s just six copper pots and a cutting board. She can whip up a lot in this humble space. More than you can create with whatever the hell this thing is. Really? You should not be able to toast a croissant, warm sausage and make a cup of coffee in the SAME APPLIANCE, you lazy assholes.
At half past nine this morning, we were served tarragon omelette, radish tartines and, of course, a pot of Carte Noire. Just a typical Tuesday morning, loves. That’s all there is. There isn’t any more.