BooksBarbecue
Back Escape to the French Farmhouse
Chapters (79)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Jo Thomas
  4. DEDICATION
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. THIRTY-NINE
  44. FORTY
  45. FORTY-ONE
  46. FORTY-TWO
  47. FORTY-THREE
  48. FORTY-FOUR
  49. FORTY-FIVE
  50. FORTY-SIX
  51. FORTY-SEVEN
  52. FORTY-EIGHT
  53. FORTY-NINE
  54. FIFTY
  55. FIFTY-ONE
  56. FIFTY-TWO
  57. FIFTY-THREE
  58. FIFTY-FOUR
  59. FIFTY-FIVE
  60. FIFTY-SIX
  61. FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. FIFTY-NINE
  64. SIXTY
  65. SIXTY-ONE
  66. SIXTY-TWO
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. RECIPES
  70. Lavender shortbread
  71. Apricot jam sponge cake
  72. Lavender lamb
  73. READ MORE
  74. Prologue
  75. ONE
  76. TWO
  77. THREE
  78. FOUR
  79. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

‘Oh, Nonna, of course I do. It’s just that nothing tastes like your cooking.’ It’s true. I never have time to cook. I barely notice what I’m eating. It’s all pop in the microwave and ping. Nothing tastes as good as this.

She puts down the pan she’s drying, comes over and kisses the top of my head. ‘And nothing feels like having the ones we love here to cook for.’ She beams, puts a finger under my chin and lifts it. And although I’m turning thirty-three and it makes me feel like a child again, I love it.

‘You look tired. You’re working too hard,’ she tells me, letting go of my chin.

‘I know, I know. But when I get this promotion it’ll be worth it, Nonna. It’s what I’ve worked for. I’ve dreamt of partnership since I started college. Business law is what I love to do. I want to help people set up their business, live their dreams. Be a part of their goals and the lives they make for themselves.’ Mind you, with the rate at which I’ve been working lately, I wouldn’t say I love it at the moment. But once I get the partnership, I’ll feel all the hard work has been worthwhile. Or, at least, that it’s been recognized. I’ve invested as much of myself as my clients have. Given up any social life.

I spin my fork again in the pasta, scoop it up and let the flavours reach into the corners of my mind. It’s as if I’m reacquainting myself with my family home. I’m back. I sigh and smile. I’m back.

‘Where’s Nonno? I thought he’d be here, resting. Did the doctor say it was okay for him to be up and about?’

Nonna puts more bread into the basket in front of me and tops up my glass with red wine as I sit at the same kitchen table I’ve sat at every summer since I was a child. No matter how many people are in the house, it accommodates us all. It’s not a fancy kitchen, with the same tiles on the wall that have always been there, the worn work surface, and the huge bottle of olive oil from the few hectares of land where Nonno cares for his olive trees and used to grow vegetables. On Sundays we often went out to the olive grove to picnic, or Nonna would cook on the old forno, the outside oven, among the olive and walnut trees. I loved those Sundays. There’s a big jar of olives on the side too: we ladle them into a bowl at aperitivo time when we sit on the balcony overlooking the street, the café and the apartments opposite. Caged birds get a daily outing on the balconies, and washing hangs like bunting from the sides.