At 12 years old, I was packed on to a flight to Toulouse to spend a summer with French family friends.
I have strong memories of the suitcase I travelled with, not only because my mother had packed it with new clothes, a hand written note and a private stash of jellies, but also because she had wrapped two sides of smoked salmon and placed them in alongside my belongings. On pain of death, they were to be handed over as gifts to my adopted French family.
When I arrived and unpacked, not only did I have the gift to give, but I had received one of my own – a suitcase filled with clothes reeking of smoky fish that I would wear for the rest of the hot summer. Even the precious jellies had a faint fishy fragrance.
Smoked salmon woes aside, it was this trip that first introduced me to the simplicity and the complexity of French cuisine. I relished moments watching my new French family select the best fruit and vegetables from the market and have long rambling conversations with the butcher before he talked them into buying something madly exciting such as duck livers.
For this 12-year-old, it made quite the change from popping down to the local Superquinn and following the trolley around the aisles.
I learned about slow cooking, quiche Lorraine and croque monsieur, developed a love of charcuterie, and was introduced to the allure of salads with tangy dressings and thick, salty, bacon lardons.
Meals were mulled over with great detail, and it sparked an appetite and interest in cooking which has never left me.
At this time of year, I am drawn to bold flavours – Thai curries, spicy stir fries and Middle Eastern stews – as a means to brighten dinners during darker evenings.
However, I always return to comforting dishes such as these; darkly delicious French onion soup topped with melting Gruyère cheese toasts and a winter stew filled with lentils and sausages – food memories to savour.
