I don't often cook French food but I do love it. When I was young my family use to go to a farmhouse near Alençon with some regularity (does it make me seem more or less bougie to say it was borrowed from my dads tennis friends?). My most powerful memory of that place is the absolute peace and darkness of the night that you only get in the true countryside. There was no television, no internet, only books and the French radio. The second thing that I think of is a meal that we had after falling prey to a particularly vigorous hive of guard bees. As in all things in rural France our first port of call was to ask for advice in faulting, floundering French at the local café. While we were waiting we had a meal that felt to a young me fit for kings. I remember the remoulade, the cucumber salad, multiple robust terrines, but the green beans they served have taken residence in mine and my brothers memory ...