As some of you may have noticed, things have been rather quiet on Too Many Chefs lately. We apologize for the lack of material; it's not because we suddenly stopped eating or cooking or coming up with exciting new ideas. We have been busy. Barrett and the Redhead are busy learning how to survive on very little sleep. And for myself - well, I've been panicking to tell the truth. The Critic has landed a Great New Job. An exciting job. One that he can really get his teeth into. I am so happy for him and so proud. The catch? Well, it's in London. That's okay, we knew that when he applied. What we didn't know was how quickly they would want us to move: they have "compromised" and agreed that the Critic can start the first week of August, rather than the last week of July. Between now and then, I need to write a dozen letters to cancel gas, electricity, phone, etc. (with accusé de réception, i.e. registered mail), sell our apartment, find a new house in the UK, meet with movers, pack, give away or sell the things we don't want to move, sell the car...so I'm panicking a bit and I think it's justified. I'm also a bit sad.
Some 16 years ago, my mother drove me to the airport to catch a one-way flight to Munich. "So...how long do you think you'll stay?" she asked cautiously. I hadn't really considered the question. I was young and confident and excited about joining my then-boyfriend in a new country. More than a year, but less than five, I guessed. Well I was wrong by a bit. Paris was always the ultimate destination and we moved there a year later. I've been here 15 years. Over the years, I've acquired a lot of furniture and books, a cat, a husband and two children. This is my home. The city sometimes drives me speechless with fury and frustration, but it's my home. I love it like you love the sibling who drives you up the wall. And now I am having to face the fact that where our family is will always be my home. Have children, will travel.
England, here we come.