This year my mother and I instituted a new tradition. We plan to spend a few weeks each winter in a rented house in a sunny and food-oriented part of the world. This year we chose a big stone house in the 'Haut-Var' region of Provence with a big terrace, a roaring fireplace and most importantly an endless supply of local markets for us to find new ingredients to play with.

Friends and relatives seeking temporary exile from London and Canada were selectively allowed to come and visit us, but only under the condition that:
1. Any 'food wimpiness' about chicken with the heads still on be left at the door. Any squeamishness will only cramp our style.
2. There be no talk about diets or calories of any kind. This is France for God's sake! Save that stuff for your next trip to LA.
3. That they be willing to do a lot of the driving so that we can read the signs and shout out for mandatory U-turns at passing duck farms or bakeries with wood-fired ovens.

And so began our first holiday with regular raids on the local markets, our bags loaded with old-fashioned bread, Bresse chickens, cardoons and Mediterranean fish and some food-loving friends in tow.

Applications are currently being taken for next year...