I almost forgot to mention this:
After two days and anywhere between ten and fifteen miles of dogged searching, B emerged from the forests of Fontainebleau a sunburnt and a triumphant hunter. He is also a very good cook:
That’s a morel and white asparagus quiche, people. He wants to make sure I tell you that he made the crust from scratch. I never do that, even though I often lie and say I do.
In addition to being delicious, I’m happy that this means that I don’t have to slog around in the woods, peering under every rotten tree stump. For a while at least.