How my cleavage became dessert
Somewhere in the heart of Vendée, on an evening that smelled like pine and lavender, I sat at my cousin Hélène’s table. Hélène—a master in the kitchen, a sort of culinary sorceress who could coax joy out of the simplest ingredients—had outdone herself. We’d feasted on roasted meats, delicate vegetables, wine that kept appearing in…
