taste.travel.ENGLAND: Parting Thoughts.

Before I left for England, I got in the habit of telling people who asked about my journey that I was going specifically to London. This seemed to be a benign and logical explanation to me; I was on the last leg of my tri-city trifecta of travel to the three great Western cities of New York, Paris and London. I live in New York, I've left a piece of me in my appart in Paris, and now London was new territory in which I hope to someday live and make my mark. In my mind, this journey in June was in part a trial visit. But mostly, I was embracing the chance to see Naomi, to spend time with my dear friend who had only just moved back her family's home in England the week before.

The truth was, London was not my primary destination, per se. My immigration card to the UK marked my rather elusive destination as: "The Priory, Priory Lane, Little Wymondley near Hitchin, Herfordshire, England." I was not set on making a trip for exclusively romping about the capital of the imperial world; rather I was going to see Naomi and her family, to see England like an Englishwoman would, and to debunk the myth the English food offers little more than beans on toast. But it was easier to tell my fellow New Yorkers that I was going to London, rather than constantly explain the geography of provincial England.

So where did I go? To Hitchin. Where is it? You should know by now... that is, if you read Parts One and Two of this serial travelogue.

I immediately discovered after motoring out to the 'Shires that England is a beautiful country, the exploration of which should not be limited to its capital. If you have the chance, go to England, not just London. You should visit these provincial towns, these villages, the countryside; see the way people live, how they eat, what they value and how they spend their time. See the tourist sites, go to Stonehenge, tour London in a double-decker bus, find your own path that allows you to get a taste of the whole country through the eyes of those who live there.
But Most importantly: go to England to eat. Eat up the stereotypes of pub food, taste the cuisine of Britain's former colonies, sip a coffee at a Starbucks in Notting Hill, have high tea the The Wolseley, ignore the exchange rate in order to understand why a Michelin star is indeed such a regal award. Get married at The Priory, find your London neighborhood, explore a village in the provinces, watch The Vanguard, go punting in Cambridge... go to England with an open eye and an empty stomach.

England is an epicurean country with exceptional cuisine for those who are willing to be discerning and go find it. I have a special place in my heart for all of the England that I was able to see, for the friends I now have there, and for the food that I savoured with such joy.

taste. travel. live.

Welcome to my table...

There is nothing so delightful as biting into a ripe, Turkish fig. Except, perhaps, the search for that perfect fig as you finger through a basket or a tray of delightfully chubby fruits, early on a damp, fall morning at an outdoor market in Paris. Though finding the perfect dozen figs may only take a few minutes, the romance of the fig continues through the rest of the day -- the first is a gift from the marchand, the second is savored more carefully as you walk home along the boulevard. For breakfast, fresh farm yogurt from Normandy, honey dripped from a sweating comb, a sprig of mint, and three figs sliced to reveal their sweet, pink flesh. Prociutto and figs with crisp arugula atop a fluffy baguette for midday lunch. The ripest figs of the lot for dinner, bursting with seeds and red sugary juice in puddles of thick balsamic vinegar. And just before sleep, you savour the last of the Turkish figs, squeezing the flesh through soft, purple skin, to lick every last taste off of your lips.

This is just one of my many memories of tasting while I lived in France. Now back at home in New York, I find myself scouring Whole Foods or Greenmarket for the best and freshest produce. Of course, nothing compares to what I found in the hexagon. But now that summer is here (which means a variety of things for me, as you soon will discover), I have ample time to make more ventures to Union Square to find the best that New York-area farms have to offer us cement-caged-cosmopolitans here in Manhattan. The first course begins...

So, welcome to my table and to my blog -- Goûter. I will taste, travel, and live, and keep you informed along the way. I hope that you, my audience, will do so too and send me your thoughts, your adventures, your recipes. This meal is for sharing -- for what good is cooking if you must eat your meal on your own?

Bon ap ~ Amanda.