Supper, north of the border

Going on about TUC biscuits the other day provoked lots of interesting reactions about ex-pats missing/not missing things/food/people. And it has got me thinking about it all over again. I think my main struggle here in France has been to keep making the foods I know I love: I'm happy to accept that there is not a Waitrose/deli round the corner where I can buy delicious smoked mackerel paté, but I would like to be able to make the type I used to make. This week I had a revelation: granted I can't buy chilled smoked mackerel like in any supermarket in Scotland, but I can buy tinned smoked mackerel. And in a supermarket I discovered with a whoop of joy (oh boy I can't go back there again for a while except in disguise) horseradish sauce. With a dollop of creme fraiche, a squirt of lemon juice and a twist of black pepper: voilà - le paté de macquereaux fumé. Yum. Actually, I overdid it a bit on the horseradish. And served, of course, on Scottish oatcakes. From Scotland. Imported by us. (Checking my supplies earlier I was gratified to note that we still have five boxes. I'm ignoring the best before date of July 2012 because I'm sure it's made up/a typo/made irrelevant by the change in time-zone.)

Busy Wednesday again. Hence the quickly made, but filling and nutritious, supper*. But all children were dropped off and picked up on time, approximately. (Five kids, six drop-offs, four pick-ups.)

*(And yes, I do mean supper: this was eaten at 10pm, not long before bed. No 'kitchen suppers' in this house...)