It’s 1991 and I am six. We’re in France, on our first holiday abroad and my dad is ordering ‘mules- frites’ from a man called jean pierre. He is making a fuss over me and my sister, with our matching hair cuts and new minnie the mouse t-shirts.
The food arrives. Scary black shells that smell like the sea with orange insides.
No way, says we.
But after some negotiation and the promise of an ice- cream, we take the first intrepid taste.
Happy memories of holidays, good food and lovely people. This is what my blog shall be.
Empanada Escapdes 
Follow the yellow brick road Dorothy xx