As the airplane touched down on the Vancouver runway I felt a sense of relief.

Home.  At last.

I sat beside a former flight attendant who was coming home from a cruise.  I told her my story.  I told her how excited I was to see my boyfriend because I had to tell somebody.

When the plane landed she motioned for me to move ahead of her and her husband, “You have important things to do,” she said, “go ahead.”

He was waiting for me with a big grin and I fell into his arms with ease.  I wrapped myself in his familiar warmth and smell and knew that I was finally home.

Being back in Vancouver feels right.  The Pacific Ocean and the great mountains remind me of natural beauty, while this slow moving city is picking up its pace with the Olympics coming any day now.

I was going to spend my first few days here doing nothing at all, but I am my mother’s daughter and I like to keep busy.  I’ve been cooking, baking, organizing, joining a gym, and yesterday I visited my brother and had my first job interview.

I’m determined not to spend the rest of my life as a waitress and am applying for TV jobs so that I can pursue my dreams.  I want to be proud of what I do, to use my brain, my people skills and my creative talent on a daily basis.

Right now, anything feels possible.  I have a place to call my own. My suitcase unpacked.  A wonderful man that loves me so much he surprised me with fancy new baking equipment and a gift certificate for my favourite organic grocery store (he knows me too well).

Tonight we’re heading further up into the mountains to see Whistler before the Olympics take over.

I’m excited to watch this city transform and will be capturing a lot of the action through my blog.

It might not be Paris, but it’s home, at last.

Welcome home gift. And yes, that is French butter.

Staples at our place

Kale, black bean and corn salad with fresh salsa and bean dip

Vancouver getting proud

As soon as the plane took off I felt my worries lift.

I did it.  I survived six months in Paris with a dream, a small budget, a long distance relationship and a big open heart.

The end was the hardest.  The only way I could describe how I felt was broken.  My heart hurt, my body ached from the cold and my self confidence was holding on by a string.  Before my mom came to visit, I had two euros left in my pocket and everything to lose.

But the clouds outside wrapped their arms around me as the plane took off from Paris.

I am so lucky I can do this, I thought.

I arrived in my first destination, Toronto, to my smiling aunt.  I spent an evening with my cousin and the next day we all went out and had our hair done together.  It’s amazing what a little hair dye can do for your self esteem.

Then I jumped on the subway to the city to see Mary, the angel I lived with during my last semester of school last year.  We hugged, talked, I made dinner and we shared some wonderful locally bottled wine.

Mary spent years living out of a suitcase, travelling everywhere from Mexico to Turkey, doing everything from selling posters to working on an avocado farm.  She exudes warmth and love and makes me feel like everything will be okay as long as I keep my heart open.

After dinner she dropped me at the train station and I hopped on the late train to my grandparents.  Even though it was 11:30 p.m. when I arrived, my grandfather was waiting at the station with a grin, and my grandmother was sitting at home waiting with a fresh batch of Irish bread for me to try.  When I embraced her at the door tears welled up in her eyes.

I spent yesterday baking granola bars, homemade Almond Joy chocolates and making a dinner of Cajun tilapia with an orange salsa, broccoli, and a salad with blackcurrant vinaigrette.  We even hit up the local Walmart and antique fair for a little outing.

Now it’s six in the morning and I sit in my grandmother’s kitchen with a few slices or her Irish bread on the plate beside me.  I feel so at peace.  My heart, that was falling apart, is carefully being put back together.  I feel like I hit a low but now I’m climbing back up with extra strength.

Tomorrow night I will reach my ultimate high as the airplane flies over the mountains and descends into Vancouver.  Home.

My love and the next stage in my life await me.

My grandma and her favourite toy

Homemade Almond Joy and peanut butter granola bars

Cajun tilapia

Poppie ready for dinner

My grandmother’s ultimate baking cupboard

A good sense of humour

Once again my suitcase is packed.

When people ask if it’s hard to leave I say no.  I’ve done it many times before and I know that I’ll be back.

But I will miss the loving family who embraced me and took care of me when I needed it the most.

Last night my mom and I sat in the Turkish restaurant with the family and ate a feast of roasted fish and vegetables made by Leyla, the mother.

I bought wine for those who wanted to drink, a friend stopped by, and I danced and sang home in the street with Yeliz, our mothers laughing behind us.

I am relieved to be going home.  My heart aches from being away from my boyfriend, my body aches from lugging suitcases and my mind aches from the stress of constantly moving.

But I’ll miss these people.  They are more impressive than the Eiffel Tower, sweeter than the best macarons and warmer than a freshly baked croissant.

I won’t miss French food as much as I’ll miss the hot falafel, smooth hummus and rice wrapped in vine leaves from their restaurant.

The past few days we’ve been sharing an oven baked shredded Turkish pastry with pistachio filling in thick syrup.  It is pure comfort food, even with my Irish roots, and one slice is never enough.

My mom stayed with me in the apartment the last couple of nights.  It was nice to have her there, staying up late and talking with the family in the living room.

Last night we shared a bed and I wrapped my arms around her warmth, knowing I’ll miss her too when I’m in Canada and she’s here in France.

I took her to the train station early this morning and held my breath as I watched her blonde head dissapear into the crowds.  I’ll see her in a month, but I always feel her absence when we’re apart.

It’s a sad but sweet goodbye to Paris.  I am ready to go home more than anything, and take comfort in knowing there will always be a home for me here when I visit.

Leyla and my mother enjoying dessert and tea

Drinking Turkish tea at the restaurant with Leyla

Digging into some of my favourite food!

At home with Yeliz

My mom and my relatives from Northern Ireland have come for the weekend.  There are no words…

Pre-dinner drinks at La Coupole

Suzi takes over the hotel’s “Honesty Bar”

Fauchon wine bar



A perfect salade nicoise

The Bon Marche Cafe

In the metro with Suzi

Polidor

Ending on a sweet note…

Last night I lay on the sofa across from my Turkish mother.

My Turkish mother, for those of you who don’t know, is the mother of Yeliz and the family who owns a restaurant in Montmartre and have housed me, fed me and loved me during my stay in Paris.

We lie on sofas across from each other and she tells me to put my legs up “Good for your health,” she says.

She asks me when I’ll be back and I tell her I don’t know.  I don’t want to promise anything since my life is an open question mark right now.

I tell her I’d like to make enough money to travel and give back a little.  She smiles and says “Just come back here, you can have a bed, we can eat avocados, two for a dollar, we’ll be happy.  We don’t need money to be happy.”

She’s right.  I bought avocados from the market that day, two for a dollar, and my Turkish mother, who is always happy to find a deal, was glad I didn’t spend too much money.  She is always trying to buy everything and I often try to add groceries to the kitchen when she’s not home so she doesn’t yell at me for trying to pay for something.

I am lucky to have a warm bed, to eat food from their family’s restaurant and to come home to people that love me every night.  It comes without a cost and it’s all I need.

I hate that every day I have anxiety attacks over money.  I’d like to be more extravagant, more generous, to buy nice things for people, bring beautiful gifts home and go to the hairdresser’s when I need to.

At the same time, I have everything I need, my heart is full, my body is strong, and in a week I get to fly home to a man that loves me.  Even without money, I think I may be the luckiest girl alive.

And every day I get to explore Paris.  Yesterday I met up with a new friend, Courtney, at a market and then spent the day showing her around Paris.

Courtney shined a light on my day, reminding me how exciting this city can be when you first arrive.  I took her to the Bon Marche, Poilane, Pierre Herme and down some of my favorite streets.  She smiled, swooned, and we rejoiced in a shared passion for food and beautiful things.

I was happy to show her the best brand of yoghurt, chocolate and butter to buy.  She is here until May and I am so excited for her to begin her own love affair with Paris as mine comes to an end.

At then end of the day my brother took me out for dinner at our favorite comfort food spot, H.A.N.D, and I headed up to my Turkish family’s apartment.

When I spoke to my boyfriend over the phone about money worries he said “You won’t look back and remember your Visa bill, how much money was in your wallet or the things you couldn’t afford, you’ll look back on all the great times you had and the people you met.”

He’s right.  I may not have money, but damn I’ve got a lot.

Chartier, a famous French restaurant that was a former soup kitchen and has been open for over two centuries




Douieb, a Jewish pastry shop open since 1956

Karamell, a Swedish candy shop in Montmartre


(No) Smoking, custom made clothes for women

Mamie Vintage



Hotel Banke, a Spanish luxury hotel in a restored bank

Cojean, healthy fast food at its finest

Courtney, The Hungry Yogini, takes Paris!

Yesterday Diane, from Girl Cook in Paris, made a dream of mine come true.

Yes ladies and gentleman, she taught me how to make croissants from scratch!  It is a very long procedure that takes around four hours, so this video is just a glimpse into some of the techniques involved.

After we made a batch of mini croissants, we headed out in the streets and down to a market to share our freshly baked goods with the crowds.  I hope you enjoy their reactions!

Croissant Recipe

For 20 - 25 croissants:

I headed out into the snow covered street this afternoon after whipping up scrambled eggs and fresh fruit salads at my brother’s apartment.

Saturdays are made for slow starts and I am all for leisurely breakfasts, blog reading and getting ready at a snail’s pace when allowed.

While the snow made it tempting just to stay in bed all day, I knew I could tempt myself out into the streets with the promise of visiting some new food shops and a meet up with a fellow blogger.

First stop of the day: Spring boutique.  I always dreamt of going to Daniel Rose’s wildly popular Spring restaurant for the intimate setting and daily changing menu.  But Spring restaurant is closed and in place Rose has opened a rotisserie restaurant called Table 28, Spring boutique and a wine bar restaurant opening nearby soon.

When I walked into Spring I was warmly welcomed with the sight of chopped saucisson, cheese and olives for sampling.  As I walked further into the store the salesman turned from his customers and said “Hello again!” I turned my head.

“Hello!  It’s my first time here!”

It seems I have a double in Paris.  Either that or this store is so well suited for me that I must have been here before.

As I walked around the store I smelt a rich almond oil, tasted a cumin spice mix, fresh pesto from Italy, and happily accepted a truffled boudin blanc with onion chutney sandwiched in between a fresh baguette.

While I don’t normally enjoy sausage, I never turn down anything with truffle, and this combination made my taste buds swoon like puppy love.  I bought a bag of fresh, uncooked pumpkin for two euros and had my senses enhanced for free.

Still wearing rose colored glasses, I continued my walk around the Opera, stopping into a few shops and the Fragonard perfume museum before meeting Courtney from the Hungry Yogini.

I approached a beautiful blonde at our meeting spot, hoping it would be her, and was deeply relieved that she didn’t look at me and go “Qui etes-vous?”

We shed our layers and caught up over tea and a cappuccino at a nearby cafe.  Courtney was as sweet and down to earth as I had imagined, and after warming up I took her down the street to my favorite sports store, Decathlon, to show her where to get some leggings and a cheap yoga mat.

When we split ways I ventured down some unknown streets and stumbled into a Kusmi tea store.  I have a tea fetish and was instantly romanced by the sweet boutique that had giant tins of Kusmi full of tea free for smelling.

The salesperson even gave me a small cup of green tea to sip as I roamed the store, and I took it out with me as I embraced the cold air for my walk home.

It was nearing dinner time but I had to stop into Fouquet, one of the oldest confectioners in Paris.  The woman at the front counter proudly explained they are one of the few shops who make their own candy and chocolate at their own store, and that it is a tight knit,  family owned business.

I love to visit stores where even the vendors speak with pride about their product they’re selling.  Stores where you can eat with your eyes, admire beautiful packaging and even sneak a sample or two.  I think if you’re going to make anything it should be made with love.

With that in mind I made my way past the busy restaurants and bars to my brother’s apartment, where I whipped up some giant salads and pumpkin cooked with olive oil, lots of garlic and lots of love.

Spring boutique





Kusmi tea shop



Fouquet chocolate shop

Seeing the Eiffel Tower is a must when you go to Paris.

Even if you don’t go to the top it’s always fun to see up close.  It is one of the most iconic monuments in the world and what many travelers dream of seeing in person.

I never hang around for long, because crowds and souvenirs being pushed in my face tend to make me uneasy, but I love to stare up at the iron lattice tower that was highly criticized by the public when it was first built.

When my friend visited me we made the mistake of going to one of the restaurants right by the Eiffel Tower.  With an English menu.  This is usually a dead giveaway of a tourist trap, but we were starving and simple bistro food seemed just right.  Unfortunately the food was mediocre, I couldn’t even drink my glass of house wine and the waiter’s approaches were a little strong for me.

There was also a family at the next table speaking loudly in English about not wanting to eat “…any of that foie gras or escargots or funny stuff.”

So shoot me, I’m a tourist too, but I when I’m in France it’s nice to be surrounded by French people, served good food, and most importantly, a great glass of house wine.

Luckily there are many opportunities for all of the above on the side streets around École Militaire and across the bridge.

Yesterday I bundled up and took off to the elegant Saxe-Breteuil market, where the vendors were struggling to keep warm, but the fish sellers were as boisterous as ever.  I continued working on a walk around the area and through the Rue Cler market street for my book.

I even stumbled into The Real McCoy, an American food store, by accident.  I oggled jars of Jiff peanut butter, Kraft Dinner and Oreos and made myself leave before I spent money on things I wouldn’t even normally eat just because I’m homesick.

I went to the Champs de Mars park by the Eiffel Tower where some little kids were playing in the snow and chasing birds around one of the lakes.  It was a perfect moment, with small faces wrapped in warm hats and children’s laughter ringing through the cold air as the birds flew up overhead.

As I spend more time here I’m less impressed with the grand sights of Paris but more enamored with simple moments like these.

I love to look up and see the tower staring back at me, just to remember where I am, but I feel most at home when I let myself get a little lost, and take time to look past the Eiffel Tower and into the rest of what this city has to offer.

Marché Saxe-Breteuil

The Real McCoy- A Taste of America



Kids playing in the park by the Eiffel Tower



Wine museum

In Paris there’s a land filled with fur coats and diamond rings, 30 euro cocktails and pretty things.

Yesterday I left my nook of sex shops, charming little streets and eclectic drinking holes in Montmartre to explore the grand rue Saint-Honoré.

Because I have little money to spare, I have taken to seeing the stores in Paris as galleries.

I look, touch and feed my senses without needing to buy a thing.  I console myself by knowing one day I’ll return with enough euros in my pocket to splurge on lingerie at Chantal Thomas and a drink at the Ritz.

For now it is enough to watch the women in fur coats smoking cigarettes as they rush down the streets, enter the boudoir of a lingerie store Fifi Chachnil just to admire the fifties style undergarments and stare into Jimmy Choo with big eyes in my winter worn boots.

It is a feast for the eyes, and for dessert I choose to walk over to the Jardin des Tuileries, where the sun is setting, the air is crisp, the men are playing boules and the light is just right.

When Denise Acabo, owner of Etoile D’Or tells me she is 74 I make her repeat it twice, maybe three times.

Her braided hair and schoolgirl outfit aren’t the only thing that make her seem like a young girl. Her skin is barely marked by wrinkles and glows with a youthful complexion. And when she shows you around the shop, she gets excited about every product.

“It’s the chocolate,” she says, “I eat it every day.”

When I tell her I’m Canadian she tells me she once told a Canadian journalist that “I don’t eat anything that doesn’t give me an orgasm.  They loved that,” she smiles.

She is the only one to carry Bernachon chocolates outside of the original shop in Lyon.  It is one of the only chocolate stores in the world that makes chocolate from scratch from cacao beans.  Paris food writer David Lebovitz has raved so much about the Kalagou chocolate bar, filled with salted butter caramel, that she often sells out because so many Americans stop in to buy some.

She shows me her display case of chocolates, my eyes widening like a six-year-old, and tells me has the best chocolates from all around France, and can put you together a box of the best in the land, from Lyon to Toulouse.  I now know where I’ll be doing all of my shopping before I leave.

She also has some of the oldest candy tins, beautiful antique designs packaging perfect pralined nuts and black licorice. She wraps a lot of her goodies by hand in 19th century-style wrapping paper with visual jokes for kids.  She says it is impossible to find these old prints but that she buys them out by the thousands.

Her joie de vivre is incredible, and she knows she has something special. She has piles and piles of articles in travel magazines and guide books, coming all the way from Tokyo, Germany and some of my favorite Paris food writers like Clotide and David Lebovitz.

I ask her how she keeps her prices so low- there are many things around five euros- and she tells me she doesn’t earn much profit.

“You have to love what you do. And my customers have to appreciate it, that makes it all worth it,” she says.

I leave the store telling her I’ll be back soon.  As fate would have it, I’m currently living right down the street.

It’s stores like this that make me realize I’ll miss Paris.  Because there are moments like this that seem right out of a fairytale, and women like Acabo, who know life is too short not to eat the best chocolate in France every day.