Kitchen Dispatch 1

Marseille, the night I arrived

I'm sitting at my kitchen table in Marseille, eating very dark chocolate and drinking spicy ginger tea I just brewed (slice about an inch of ginger, put in pan, fill with mug of water, bring to boil, boil for a few mins, pour, drink) - the two are a heavenly combination. I have my feet up, and I'm looking out into the small courtyard that the mostly-glass doors of my studio open onto. There's an old, rusted frame of a conservatory, which various vines have taken over - one of which may or may not be cross-vine, with tiny little bus-red flowers tipped with yellow. There is a citrus tree, which I believe is growing clementines - though as yet they are only little citrus embyros, too small to identify, like miniscule suns amongst the greenery.

When I say 'at my kitchen table', it makes it sound like I have a great, old, oak farmhouse-table, across which my papers and books are spread messily, with some shining fruit and a tarnished coffee pot. Feel free to keep believing that option - it's an appealing image. In reality, I have a little white metal cafe table, rusted and - I'm convinced - about to collapse, so that every time I put a plate of food down it feels like a daring risk.

I am new to Marseille - have not even been here a week, so I am still exploring, still marvelling. I feel like a child - a little intimidated at all times, and constantly in awe, every banality endlessly fascinating to me. I take pictures of the sea whenever I catch a glimpse of it, which is often in a hilly city right on the coast. I secretly watch how people go about their ordinary business in the hope of picking up a useful mannerism, a little tick that denotes your localness.

It is wonderful to be so new, but it is also lonely - I do not speak much French (I'm trying!), and I do not currently have any friends here. I work two days a week in a tiny English-speaking company, which is a good bit of structure, but apart from that I am free-floating, left to do whatever I want at will, but also to do so alone. I hope to meet people as I settle in and go along, but it is difficult in a city, I know.

So - most days I have no-one to eat with, and eating alone is a strange thing and can engender some odd and unhealthy habits. My history in food is one of extremes - gross excess or nothing at all would probably be the phrase that best sums up much of my dietary biography.  Thus in an effort to take some pleasure in the food here, and because food is best when it is shared, over whatever medium, I thought I'd start writing a little about what I'm eating, seeing, cooking here.

Thank you for reading - I hope you enjoy.