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Pasta with roasted squash and sage

pasta with roasted squash and sage

Still busy? Yeah, I though so…

Quickly then to dinner:

Pasta with Roasted Squash and Sage:

butternut squash

olive oil


fresh sage

2 cloves garlic

salt and pepper

veggie parmesan

toasted pine nuts

  1. Start by pre-heating the oven to 180C. Peel the squash, cut into cubes, spread on the roasting tray, drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper and julienned sage. Bake until golden and soft.
  2. In the meantime cook pasta and toast pine nuts.
  3. When the squash is ready, drain pasta, mix with squash, serve with pine nuts and parmesan.

pasta with roasted squash and sage

Christmas can be quite depressing, especially if you are away from your family. Don’t get me wrong, all my childhood’s Christmases were a nightmare. But since it’s only me, my sister and apple of my eye, it’s been brilliant. So it is really hard to handle being away from them. There are 2 options – get drunk to numb the pain or avoid everyone.

Also you can cheer yourself up by watching Christmas not related films.

Like ‘Les Vacances de M.Hulot’. I mentioned here before that when I was 12 or 13 there was quite amazing film festival taking place in my humble hometown, where I had a chance to see many, many wonderful films. My sister and I would spend mornings, afternoons and evenings going to the showings, with few breaks in between to nourish the body as well as the soul. People thought that it was stupid to spend the whole day in the dark cinema instead of going to the beach (it was a middle of summer), but I never regretted it.

The festival was the place where  I have first seen Jacques Tati’s film. And both, my sister and I loved it.

The film takes place in a resort by the beach (har har). It is almost silent – there are sounds but not dialogues. M.Hulot is almost like a mime, and a very expressive one. There is plenty of visual gags and comical situations, and in a way Tati sums up the core of French society. But it’s the atmosphere, the way of filming and delivering gags which makes the film so memorable. It’s more graceful and intelligent than a traditional slapstick. It’s quite absurd and whimsical. There are a few reasons I am so fond of it. First one – i was brought up on Sempe and Goscinny ‘Le petit Nicolas’ books, and this kind of humour, quite similar to Jacques Tati’s films, resonates with me, makes me feel quite nostalgic. If every child was exposed to this kind of humour, we would have more intelligent people around.

The second reason is that M Hulot in his clumsiness and unfortunate adventures reminds me of my best male friend, whose friendship I really treasure, and whom, since living in Britain, I don’t see very often. Which is bad for my soul, as he is the kind of friend who makes you laugh so hard you cry and almost pee yourself….

So if you feel down after Christmas and your friends are far far away (even though not in another Galactic), treat yourself to M Hulot’s Holday. You won’t regret it.


About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

2 responses »

  1. Looks delicious..!!
    Have a wonderful new year 2016!


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