London: Posh bangers, plum tarts

Some photos from a day in London spent with Michèle, girlfriend extraordinare, Moro-regular, beer-drinker, offerer of comfortable shoes, Greyhound-walker, and exquisitely skilled taster of macarons (but that comes later).

At Borough Market...

At Moro...

Photographic evidence that Michèle eats her olives like apples.

And some satin-tied beans at Fortnum and Mason. Goodness.

A few scenes from Scotland...

A rose garden outside the Dunblane Cathedral.

I am a big lover of breakfast, but I'm not sure there are many breakfasts that I love more than a strong pot of tea and a fresh, warm fruit scone. From Delivino in Crieff.

I speak kitchen French ...badly.

I can't believe it took me until yesterday to learn this word:

coulant

If you like cheese, you ought to write this one down. It means "runny". As in, "Strong, runny, raw-milk cheese that tastes like nothing I can ever find in the U.S. and is so ripe that it collapses onto the plate. The result of a request for a cheese ready to be eaten tonight ...but really, my request is for a cheese that's ready to eaten four seconds after I leave the market, because they all smell so complicated and lovely that I can barely wait until I get home to snork some down."

Coulant.

It's nice to be back.