Sometimes, it all gets down the simplest things. A few words exchanged with a new friend, an idea that as has been kept asleep for too long, a birthday cake assembled and eaten.

And suddenly, it makes sense.

I have decided to launch my own business. Possibly a small pastry stall. Possibly at Borough Market. Possibly selling some fine French patisseries and English favourites with a twist.

Possibly.

But I can make it happen. With some endless research and business plan writing, delicious recipe development, adorable moments, and perhaps, if you feel like it, with your support.

As a matter of fact, I am now accepting donations that will go straight into the opening of la pomme d’amour. There is a small cupcake on the side bar right here which allow you to give me as little or as much coins as you wish. In return, I promise you thousands chocolate kisses and tons of sugar, flour, and eggs to be used.

Now I just can’t wait for this to happen. I’ve already started working on the carte and it’s looking sweet. The classics will include my hands-down favourites. Tarts, loaf cakes, sables, viennoiseries, meringues and many many more.

To finish this, just three words: peach melba tart.

It sounds perfect. It tastes even better!

And since we’re on the subject, I thought I would share some dessert ideas that have been haunting me lately (I can’t be trusted around a punnet of strawberries, but who can – in all honesty?).

One one them even made it to the menu: sour cherry clafoutis with almond sorbet and cherry-stone jelly.

[A midsummer night's dream - What to do with sour cherries?]

For the first time in many months, it’s been sunny for more than two days in a row. And when I say sunny it’s a definite understatement – it’s actually been damn hot, like ice-cream hot (more about ice-cream to come later this week).

But well, you see, my immune system decided not to cooperate. There was no way it would have allowed me to enjoy those beautiful days. Hence the strep throat as a result.

After two days spent in bed, I found the courage to hit the farmer’s market this morning. Since I was already awake by seven am, the place felt quiet and relaxing; and I took the time to have a chat with each producer I bought things from. So very nice.

I got courgettes and courgette flowers – ten of them for less than a euro; definitely one of the best surprises ever. Gorgeous little cantaloupe melons; didn’t you know you can tell when a melon is ripe from its peduncle? And more accurately, by the detachment of the peduncle. When the melon is ready for harvest, you can see little cracks around its peduncle.
I also picked lovely white peaches, which got crushed at the bottom of my basket; fresh pasta; organic home-cured ham; fragrant butter; young onions and the first tomatoes.
As well as the last cherries of the year. Gines, I’m told they’re called. To be honest I had never heard about such a variety before; they seem to be very close to griottes [sour cherries] – only slightly sweeter since it’s the end of the season.

And by the way, happy midsummer to you and your loved ones!

[Hoping for happy accidents - My grand-mother's clafoutis]

It all happens on purpose. A few months ago, I came across a couple of old notebooks. Notebooks I once valued as precious. Notebooks I wouldn’t go anywhere without. Notebooks I recorded my food-related ideas into. Notebooks that I thought would turn into a book.

Then, I suddenly realised how unrealistic all this was. By then, I was only nineteen and seriously believed I could publish my very own cookbook in a matter of seconds and if not seconds, minutes. So I eventually forgot about those notebooks, assuming the recipes I had created were meaningless.

And now, almost exactly four years later, as I opened the notebooks and decoded the writing, I couldn’t help but have this weird feeling that those words weren’t mine. They were better than mine.
Apparently, what I considered pointless a couple of years ago didn’t seem that bad. Although my way of cooking and more importantly, my penchant for la pâtisserie, have changed dramatically, this episode had a huge impact on my cookbook craving.

And then, I found that great self-publishing website, which sounded nice. So there I am, busiest than ever, wanting to write a cookbook for the people I love.

Oh I certainly know I’m supposedly opening an Etsy shop and adjusting the biscuit recipes of the company I’m an intern at and actively trying to be a daring baker and struggling to post regularly on foodbeam.

Does it seem reasonable then?

It definitely does not, but well, although I wish I actually had the time to do all those things, I’m just too excited about them not to try my best at making them come real.

While I always happen not to have as much time as necessary, I’m lucky enough to be able to take a breather now and then. This past week end at my grand-parents’ house just was the bol d’air I needed.

Some utterly vital hours spent indulging myself with all things beautiful, hoping for happy accidents and, as you may have guessed, baking. Just so I can feel reposed and inspired again.

Le clafoutis de ma grand-mère

I can’t talk about this without an unsubtle hint of delight in my voice. This, people, is one of my favourite recipes ever. The kind of recipes I wrote down on a post-it back when I could barely write my name right and have since kept in a secret notebook.

I like to eat clafoutis at any time of the day, even fridge-cold for breakfast. But it does actually make a nice dinner dessert when served with some sharp yoghurt ice-cream, or failing that, a dollop of sour cream.