Colette at the table

Colette's table never knew the orderly starter-main-dessert sequence. It follows the rhythm of two beloved regions: the morning mâchon in Puisaye (a hearty, boozy snack eaten standing around eleven o'clock between chores), the country meal where a single large dish is shared, the garden snack picked straight from the shrubs, the homemade aperitifs and preserves pulled from the cellar, and finally the light, fragrant supper of Provençal evenings, in the shade of the Muscat de Saint-Tropez. You eat according to the season and the hour, not according to etiquette.

Colette's fetish ingredient, to which she devoted entire pages. For her, the truffle is not treated as stingy shavings over a dish: you eat it whole, generously, or not at all. Its scent of black earth and damp undergrowth marks festive days, echoing the markets of Périgord and Burgundy she wandered.