One More Croissant for the Road by Felicity Cloake | Book Review | Sheer Foodie Perfection

In my humble opinion, everything comes down to food in the end.

Whether you're sad and in need of comfort; whether you're celebrating and wishing to do so in style; or whether you're travelling and in search of what might be deemed an authentically local experience - it always comes down to the food.

Not to mention foodie books. Thinking back to Pie Fidelity, which I loved so very much, or delighting in Nora Ephron's words on the joys of cooking, a well-written book about food brings me nearly as much pleasure as eating said food.

Before I start raving about One More Croissant for the Road, a word on the author's credentials...

Who is Felicity Cloake?

You might have come across her in The Guardian and her delicious regular column, 'How to Make the Perfect', which is an absolute gem. Here, she collects and tests recipes for a certain dish from many credible sources, from the top chefs to grassroots, and by testing them all she creates the 'perfect' overall recipe that incorporates the best from the source material. You might be skeptical, and I was too, until I tried her perfect patatas bravas recipe and I can tell you that it changed my life. It's an eternal truth that he or she who shares a truly foolproof recipe wins eternal trust.

One More Croissant for the Road

So now she has my eternal trust, and now I begin to follow her on Instagram, where she is a delight; and now I have ordered her book, One More Croissant for the Road, which tells the story of how she traveled around France on her trusty bicycle, Eddy, eating her way through the most legendary dishes of each region as she goes. So now, she has combined my two favourite genres in her book.

I approve of her dishes of choice 100%. From moules marinières ("huge pans of mussels in a heady, wine-soaked sauce with a great dollop of yellow crème fraîche left to melt on top") through tartiflette ("superior efforts like this are lubricated with the same refreshingly acidic local plonk we're glugging with it, with gently cooked cheese that runs over the potatoes like cream") and the obligatory boeuf bourguignon ("with a richly-savoury sauce and great hunks of gelatinous meat, served with not one, but two types of heavily garlicked carbs") she really knows her stuff, and armed with a Michelin guide, she knows where to get it too.

The beauty of her writing and general attitude, though, is crucial in making this such a jolly read. "Powerless in the face of hot garlic butter," (aren't we all?) "I start with yet more snails. Let no one ever say I don't suffer for my art." She never shies away from "pig snout, soft pink sausage and the best tripe" she's ever tasted; from starting almost every morning with a croissant (rated 1-10) and, most likely, another new type of pastry that she either finishes or crams, half-eaten, into her pannier. She stops often, for drinks, for photos, for elevensies. She enjoys herself. (Most of the time. The going gets tough for everyone sometimes, especially when her booked hotel is on the other of the two identically named roads after a day that's already been really long.)

I must also mention that she includes her own recipes for these most famous of dishes in the book, which I have earmarked and will be cooking - especially her clafoutis aux cerises, her tarte Tatin and her ratatouille, all wonderfully doable, even when so reliant on sad Tesco produce.

The book is a combination of beautiful scenery, delicious dishes eaten the right way, honesty about the ups and downs - rain and hills and the occasional indigestion - and the joie de vivre without which this book would be nowhere near as entertaining. As it happens, Felicity is an expert.

Overall...

I weep when I think about the tasteless vegetables UK supermarkets have on offer after finally finishing this wonderful book. But not to give up hope - after all, anything will taste much better with a good bottle of wine (some of which should probably go into the dish you're making).

Croissants are a different story. I'm delighted to report my local M&S does a deliciously flaky, buttery and crisp on the outside version which, although no idea how Felicity would rate it, I enjoy thoroughly when I head out directly after finishing the book to munch on in the sunshine. I must say I never rated croissants: they look too small, to bland to satisfy my usual breakfast cravings. But this seems to have changed with a bit of attention and mindfulness.

For these strange times, I cannot think of a better book to whisk my imagination away and all the way to sunny France, where tomatoes as big as my head grow and where salads are 80% bacon and 20% green ("as health insurance"). If you're an aspiring vegetarian, like me, the struggle will be real. You will be craving juicy meat. But that's okay sometimes.

10/10

Nora Ephron On Reading (and everything else that's important)

How does one discover that Nora Ephron was, and is, the queen of pretty much everything?

Perhaps it starts on a lonely evening, when one craves one of those classic romantic comedies that alone have that special power of cheering one up at any given moment. I have to admit I was hugely behind on this education. The first time I saw When Harry Met Sally... was when an American friend of mine forced her will on a small group of us and put it on to play on my laptop, propped on the tiny student dorm room desk.

I'm sad to say we were all baffled by it and soon rebelled against her will, forcing her to turn it off.

Years later (specifically, this year) I came back to it, by now having found out about its cult standing, not to mention that it was written by the one and only Nora Ephron, along with films so dear to my heart, such as Bewitched (controversial), You've Got Mail and Julie & Julia.

By now, I've also read Heartburn, in turns hilarious, heartbreaking and educational - I've learned the ultimate secret to mashed potatoes, for example (cutting cubes of butter into it as you go, spooning it from the bowl in bed), and other life lessons.

And so we come to I Feel Bad About My Neck, a short collection of writings from Ephron that take on topics such as wrinkles, parenting, ageing, beauty regimes and falling in love. Oh, and crucially, reading.

Observation power

If you've seen any of her films, you instinctively have a familiarity with the tone of voice of her writing too. Nora has eyes on the back of her head and all over her body, in fact: she sees and points out things we, ordinary people, might disregard or take no notice of or perhaps are just lazy to point out. It's a personal victory to read her thoughts on women's handbags - finally someone gets it! "In a modern world, your arms have to be free. ... That's one of many reasons why you don't see the guys-with-purses trend catching on." It's a shame that she didn't settle with the backpack solution, like yours truly, though clearly she had a preoccupation with fashion that I, fortunately, don't have or have to have.

I still hold true that the way she writes about food makes you want to drop everything and rush to the kitchen with an armful of fresh herbs, quail's eggs and with a rock-solid determination to make hollandaise sauce from scratch. Her words make food come alive, and as she writes about her imaginary conversations with food mentors, of Julia Child's 'nicer and more forgiving' directions than 'sterner and more meticulous' Michael Field's, you can't help but start your own imaginary conversations with Nora.

But the essay that spoke to me the most, of course, is On Rapture, which is a brief piece on the joy and pleasures of reading - of getting lost in a book utterly and completely, of its escapism and of surfacing again after a deep plunge into extraordinary worlds and ideas. She talks about remembering sofas and rooms as the setting for each beloved book and all too well I recall my own kingdom of imagination in our first home: my room with blue cupboards, glow-in-the-dark stars and an extremely bouncy bed that I'd have to strip from any bedding each day, to be tucked into the inside compartment and taken out again at the end of the day to remake the bed. I'd lie there engrossed in treasure hunts, cowboy and Indian tales, teenage detectives and a girl with a horse. And I know all too well that most annoying feeling of all, of having to put a book down for such ridiculous reasons as having to go down for dinner or, in more modern times, having to make said dinner.

Timing is everything

I'm so lucky to have picked up this book in my youth, because it is full of advice. I can now avoid Nora's deep regret of not having worn a bikini for the entire year she was twenty-six ("If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don't take it off until you're thirty-four.") and I can heed all her points in What I Wish I'd Known - some free tips from her to you include:

• Write everything down.
• You never know.
• You can order more than one dessert.
• There's no point in making piecrust from scratch.

If you want my advice though, get yourself a copy of this book, whatever your age, state of mind or state of your kitchen.

9/10