INCESSANT HUMMING

As a Major People Pleaser, I need to have the food I share with someone be great, regardless of whether I made it myself. At my worst this has led to crippling anxiety when I have to make a decision about what to cook or where to go out to eat because what if it’s not great that means I’ve made a mistake and that means a regret we have to think about in the shower and drown out with Netflix. At my best, I am in my kitchen, chatting and laughing about everything and nothing with people I deeply care about, as they dot in and out to help me with chopping this or washing that, and eventually, magically, there some food for us to eat, and I am totally at peace with the world. Also at this happy end of the spectrum is when I find a restaurant or an item of food so good that I can’t help but shout about it to anyone and everyone. 

There’s a little French bakery on King Street near Ravenscourt Park called Patisserie Sainte-Anne. It’s run by a Franco-Japanese family and almost all of the bakes are sublime and very French bar the Japanese loaves of Pain de Mie (aka Chocupan aka milk bread) which they make every Saturday. West London has a particularly high French-speaking population, which was never clearer to me than when I visited the shop and tout le monte parlait français. An ideal version of me would be speaking French to the bakery owner too, but alas I never did gagné cette baguette. 

As I’ve always lived within a mile of the bakery, I’ve been there a many times, either to sit in or take something out. I seem to have a solid memory of every single time I’ve visited, most likely because I’ve always been happy stepping through their jingling pastel pink door. I don’t know whether that’s more to do with the bright pastel decor and the smell of fresh croissants, or because I’ve almost always gone in with or to buy something for someone I care about, but I’ll credit both in equal measure.  

One particular piece of patisserie that is top 2 and not #2 is something they call ‘the Framberry.’ It’s a raspberry mousse cake and chocolate ganache on an almond biscuit base finished with a Barbie-pink white chocolate mirror glaze and raspberries and macaron shells on top. It’s gorgeous to look at and a complete joy to eat. Even though I can’t eat it myself anymore, I’m always excited to gift it to someone dear to me. It’s sort of become my ‘default’ gift, but I’d wager this is a better default than a bottle of wine. No seriously, just look at the thing.

And now,  presenting, ‘To All The Framberries I’ve Bought Before’:

I bought my first Framberry along with some macarons for me and E to share in 2015. I was probably/definitely more hyped about it than he was, but hey, it’s the thought that counts. 

I loved it so much that I bought it again just for myself a few months later. It was still perfect.

My mother and I shared a Framberry on a bench in Ravenscourt Park, as a last hurrah before the transplant. We’d actually go there quite often over those months, to get a pain au chocolat and coffee to take on a walk, and/or (but usually ‘and’) a pear Normandy tart for later. This was my last one, and therefore tasted the best. 

For C to eat on the bus home when she came to visit. Her additional birthday cake that year was also from Sainte-Anne, an insanely good chocolate torte on which they iced a birthday message. She texted to say she ate the Framberry on the bus home and that ‘oh my god it’s amazing.’

For Y’s birthday/cheer-up present, along with her hand-painted JVN birthday card. I think it was a good move because we’re similar in our approach to showing affection; she got me a box of themed doughnuts on Valentine’s Day.

For K, J’s girlfriend, as a birthday preset because food is always good and I didn’t feel we knew each other all that well yet and of course I needed her to like me. Am I buying favour? Yikes. It’s cool, we’re closer now. 

For A & Z, for having me over for dinner after exams, along with flowers for Z and a small jar of my grandmother’s homemade chilli powder for A (the only food gift that could ever surpass the Framberry). I walked to the station with a bouquet of irises and chrysanthemums in one hand the Framberry in its little box with the bakery’s pink & purple cat logo sticker in the other, wanting this to be my life always. A made incredible broccoli mac and cheese and I admired their beautiful plant-filled flat and related very hard with Z over lo-fi hip hop beats to study to. I got a text from A an hour after I’d gotten home telling me the Framberry was a revelation and I wanted to Han Solo it out with an “I know” but I, Lieutenant Commander People Pleaser (that’s right I promoted myself), just felt validated as hell.