Let Them Eat Cake

And now for another disaster...signed the Anti-Chef.

Sunday morning... who doesn't like the idea of waking up to the smell of a fluffy cake cooking in the oven? And so, with my heart in the right place and my head somewhere out in left field, I emptied the pack of cake mix (don't judge me) into the pan and slid it in the oven. Timer said 45 minutes, easy enough. Except I didn't see the fine print, which read: Cooking time 45 minutes, but if this is Caterina - stand beside the oven because you will surely manage to screw even this up. Next thing I know, the house is full of smoke, and Franck is waking up screaming "Merde! Merde!" and there I am, with my burnt cake in my hands, cursing "Les recettes Bonne Maman" under my breath. 

To make matters worse, with the onset of cold weather, I'm morphing into a tea drinking yuppy and have been trading in my Louboutins for slippers. Glerups to be precise.  Made in Denmark, these booties are felted in pure, natural wool. I picked them up at my favourite Scandinavian boutique in Paris' St. Paul neighbourhood. Sexy ja?

Tisk, TISK!

et Merde. This happens to me every single time. What is the point of putting these things if they always tear off before doing their job! Frustraaaaaation!!!!! 

Deep breaths Cat, deep breaths. 

Dog's Breakfast

Franck is off in Denmark for the week, and I'm starting to get hungry. Whenever I'm not here, he says that he basically stops cooking and whenever he's not here, my diet turns to pasta, cheese, bread, (and cookies!). Cooking for one is never inspiring, but luckily - I have a dog to take care of!  

Presenting Emile. He's kind of like a skinny model - "I eat all the time, whatever I want, and never get fat." Ha! Of course, Emile doesn't like regular dog food, so tonight, he will be served pasta mixed with hamburger meat.  He is an Italian greyhound after all.

Hiatus

Wowza. 

I realise that I haven't posted in almost a month - but what can I say - I needed a break from cooking once a week. I've spent the past while back and forth between Abu Dhabi and Dubai - living the good life and eating in restaurants night after glorious night. You know how sometimes you miss a home cooked meal? Well, sometimes I miss two weeks of non-stop eating out. And when I say eating out - I mean dress your best, jump in a waiting Mazarati, check your coat (Kidding! Weather was gorgeous in the UAE) dive into prawns, sea bass, and sake, and order everything off the menu that you can't pronounce. Dubai is all about working hard and working it harder. Now I'm back in grey, rainy Paris and staring at Franck's Kitchen like it's a foreign, inanimate object. I am going to need to get my mojo back and start getting inspired again. Though I won't be cooking this evening as Friday night Parisian life is calling me - I will be slipping on these Louboutins. Yes ladies, Christmas came early. Back from Dubai and three pairs richer. (Bank account is a whole lot poorer.) But the morale is high and sometimes that's all that matters.