I’m not one to make New Year’s resolutions — I tend to set annual goals on my birthday in July instead — but I do always roll (and I mean roll) into January with a big case of food fatigue and a vow to end the crazy nonstop nibbling, which is part of the holiday fun, no matter which side of the pond I’m on.
My slim-down strategy always includes lots of soups, which are cold-weather naturals, but I also like to eat things that crunch, like salads.
In France, salads — rather, salades — can be green, and composed of not much more than some kind of lettuce lightly dressed with vinaigrette that’s always homemade (I’m not even sure if bottled dressings are available in France; if they are, I’ve completely missed them). But I’m talking about something else. Something hearty. Warm.
Because by year’s end, if I’ve eaten far more meaty things than I’m accustomed to, I often lean hard on veggie-centric recipes — I do want my new jeans to again fit less like sausage casing and more like the baggy, boyfriendy things they’re supposed to be.