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February: month of the potato

"After all, Ted Hughes wrote that November was the month of the drowned dog..."

It happens sometimes, but not very often, that I am tired of cooking. The last time was a year ago, I think. Perhaps it was the grey Parisian skies, a dull and heavy workload, a form of seasonal affective disorder. Two days in a row, I walked past the fishmonger on the Rue Lepic and was strangely untempted by live spider crabs, glistening mackerel or fresh eel; even the razor clams left me cold. I stood in the vegetable shop and my eyes glazed with brassicas. Total…

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