Love is not what I thought it would be. Less a certainty and more a strengthening. A muscle formed under skin. A firming up of the soul.

I love you husband.

Jen

No, it’s not the remnants of our leftover Christmas Tree. It’s fresh dill. Found (in the off season) in those handy little plastic boxes near the bagged lettuces (which I never buy, except for the romaine hearts because romaine is a wild creature in its raw form and the crunchy hearts are the best part anyway).

And when the outside world looks like this:

It’s more important than ever to find ways to taste life (and I am talking literally here because I no longer have any interest in going outside).

So, go ahead and make this Dill and Chicken Soulvaki for dinner. After many consecutive weeks of homemade soups, we were both shocked at how alive and fresh this tasted. I even broke out the new mandolin, which is a genius invention for tricking husbands into thinking you’ve developed Top Chef worthy knife skills. Plus, when the cucumbers are all uniformly slippery and thin, they really soak up all that lemon juice, olive oil and salt (a brilliant combination, I must say. Like us).

Notes on recipe: I used a regular cucumber, grilled chicken just prior, had tortillas not flatbreads and absolutely recommend waiting until you have actual greek yogurt on hand because it makes all the difference. I used this one. I also added an extra teaspoon or so of fresh dill right at the end, so it stood above all the other flavours.

Yes, Ina would be proud.

Speaking of Ina (aka the famed Barefoot Contessa), I have added a link to Ina’s insider Guide to Paris on my Paris page, which I plan to finally get working on. If you are going anytime soon, you will want her list (save the hotel she recommends, which is about 800 euros per night).

And I can post a sickening number of headshots if I want to. And I do. We were looking through old photos last night (sipping on a tidy, piccolo of Henkell) and we found so many pictures of us that we haven’t seen in ages. Do other people like to sit at the kitchen table and watch flickr slideshows of their trips? Is that normal?

Oh Paris! I am busty in this shot! Thanks for the lift, Ash!

And, of course, my other true love. My eternal sidekick, Whiskey, who perfectly balances me in more ways than I can say. As excited as I am for Mexico, I already miss her. She loves her new dad.

And finally, my favourite shot from the summer:

Who doesn’t love a man who can appreciate a nice baguette?

Jen xo

Oh Paris, how I miss you. It helps to go to places like Jules. It also helps to listen to her. And it helps to linger too long and drink too many samples of Andre Vinet Muscadet (FRA, $23) here.

But nothing really helps that much. Except going.

Jen

Poof! The weekend is gone.

A slow, hazy start to Champagne Wednesday. A fridge in Paris. Probably in a convenience store. Nowhere in Paris is too lowly for a cooler full of champagne. No one would dare say you are being too extravagant.

Last night we went to Brock House for a site visit. If you, or some you know, is interested in event planning (and have the slightest bit of sales savvy or common sense), I recommend you run with your resume in hand to the nearest wedding venue. They need your help. Desperately.

Thanks Jen for this dreamy polaroid.

It’s weird to wait for someone you don’t know to come back from Paris and show you their photos. But I did, and they are here.

Wednesday’s Champagne: Pink by Yellowglen (Australian, $13.99). The back of the bottle says it has a soft, delicate mouth feel, and I think that pretty much sums it up. We paired it with two grilled cheese sandwiches and about 20 pickles. Perfect for spending the night trying to trick Ash into telling me where we’re going this weekend. The pink is the colour of that Sarah Jessica Parker perfume my sister used to wear. I think it was called Lovely. More Paris-pink than LA-pink. This is one of our regulars. It’s good for feeling like this:

When you’re more inclined to feel like this:

First two photos from this dreamy place…the last one from my own archives.

Jen

What I wouldn’t give this morning for this big, comfy chair we saw in Paris. A field for mid-afternoon daydreaming. A perch from which to watch the world go by. A space uncensored by reality.

Our Ikea chairs, on the other hand, are about to break, despite the reinforcing screws that Ash put in. Didn’t we say we’d never by furniture again that we could break apart with our own hands? That’s why I so love the teak table we bought on craigslist. Even with all its ghostly water rings and scratches.

It’s nice to have some things you can rely on to hold your weight. Last night, Ash and I sat in a seedy pub on Knight and 41st and wondered if we could rest our weight on our dreams. Writing, owning a business, travelling, making a design of our own instead of buying into an Ikea-course-of-life with its unsturdy legs.

I like that we look for happiness together. Even small ones, like the $21 I won on Hold’ Em poker.

 Ash and I are trying to go the extra mile. We’ve been sitting here all morning with the fireplace off and we’re freezing. Little white clouds of breath escape from Ashleah’s duvet cocoon. Coffees are getting cold too fast.

 I’m reminded of the apartment we rented in the Marais, and how on our second day there, we got back to the apartment to find a little pink note slipped under the door. No one had paid the electricity bill for months. We lit the candelabra and got warm with a bottle of beaujolais in the dark.

Outside, an excavator is eating the back half of a house for breakfast. It’s a house that no one has loved for a very long time. Seems it’s light out all around today. See you tomorrow.