Passions

I blame Balzac. I also blame Baudelaire, Victor Hugo and Molière, and the likes of these luminaries who have sparked a love affair with France and all things French in the fertile imagination of a young girl. Through their lyrical poetry and prose in her companion textbook, they have instilled a cultural curiosity and fuelled a yearning for travel and discovery.

France, the land of the superlatives, is privy to more clichés than an old romance novel yet every visit offers memorable experiences and paves the way for another. There simply isn’t enough time to do everything one plans ahead. So it beckons us again and again, to be immersed in its history and francophonie, and feeds the desire to forego one’s waistline.

And when it comes to that first foray into French cuisine, I attribute it to the Cordon Bleu cooking series that gathered dust on my father’s bookshelf before they were put to good use. The way to man’s heart is through cookbooks must have been his thought at the time when he bought the entire series for his cooking-apathetic daughter.

I would certainly hold my partner in life and culinaria, Mr G, fully accountable for introducing me to the hedonistic pleasures of wine – after all, grapes are fruit – and for furthering my alcoholic repertoire. Were it not for his bacchanalian influences, I would still be limited to the odd fluffy cocktail and a few sips of Cointreau.

I hold these men responsible for my passions. And I salute them.

Today, Gourmantic is born.