The last few weeks haven’t been easy, and a few nights ago I was super keen for an early night and a comforting distraction. Whilst I am reading an excellent book that would have taken me someplace else, I did what I often do and picked up my phone to scroll my Instagram feed.
Well, OK, Instagram square. Nice of you to be so direct. Bags, under my eyes? Maybe. But salami? Isn’t that taking things a bit too far?
“Sonno d’accordo con te.” (I agree with you)
Ooh, universe, are you listening to me?
“Sto scherando.” (I’m joking)
Well, why didn’t you say so when you hurled perfectly good aperitivo fare at my face?
“Non ne ho idea.” (I have no idea)
Ouch. Sono senza parole. (I have no words)
That’s not true. I do have words. Lots of them today. Motivational ones. So, please do read on …
But what was that first Italian sentence all about? Not salami, I was pretty sure. I checked and this is what I was told.
“You don’t see the reality.” “Hai le fette di salame sugli occhi.” I see (I think) the connection.
Hang on a minute, though. Yes I do. Life is reality at the moment. I’m stressed, cold and tired and you are toying with me. I’m leaving your perfectly curated ‘learn Italian’ space. I’m away to find something more relaxing, less personal.
As luck would have it, my eyes were drawn to a picture of home, my French home, and I snuggled deeper under my quilt, clicking on the post and subsequent podcast as I did so. Minutes later, I was drifting, carried on the melodic tones of an all-too-familiar Haute-Savoyard accent as Jean Sulpice, Talloire’s very own 2-star Michelin chef, talked. I closed my eyes.
As much as the listening was comfortable, I was surprised by the story. Apparently Monsieur Sulpice, who now runs the kitchen and hotel owned by previous generations of the Bise family in the most beautiful of lakeside locations, did not always have it easy. In fact, in his early days of trying to bring gastronomy to the ski resort of Val Thorens, it was not uncommon for him to have an empty restaurant and be grateful for just one customer in an evening allowing him to fire up his stoves. If not a steady stream of diners, what he did have was a dream, big portions of self-belief and an unwaveringly supportive partner. And, not crumbling, abandoning, or looking for an easier career led Monsieur Sulpice to his first Michelin star.
Suddenly, whereas previously he had been met with an all-too-familiar French shrug and a half-hearted but definite, “Non, ce n’est pas possible, Monsieur,” suppliers could be bothered driving up a snowy mountain to deliver produce. Suddenly, instead of battling to recruit staff, he was receiving CVs and able to make choices about who he wanted in his team, and suddenly, he was receiving letters of congratulations from the greats, the hatted and feted French chefs whom he had admired from afar.
I could relate. The stars I aim for are not the same and I’ll never be featured in a Michelin guide, but how often in my early authoring days did I bend over backwards to meet, greet and persuade, grateful for every titbit of encouragement and support from my readers? Daily.
I drifted to sleep pondering my packaged and tasty take-away. It was clear, logical and simple.
Never give up.
I hadn’t. I don’t intend to. I am too curious for that.
Plus, with supporters who give love like this, why would I?
The links should take you to where you need to go, wherever you are in the world, to make a purchase.
