I think a lot about food.
Maybe too much. The first thing I think about when planning a trip is where I’m going to be eating, and naturally, I compulsively check the menu in advance. I follow way too many food substack writers. And at the market, I’ll happily stand at the tomato stall for 15 minutes to get it right.
But my relationship with food really changed in Nice.
I moved there from London after university, and before I'd unpacked, I realized life looked very different there. Slower, quieter, more intentional. People sat down for long lunches, in the sun, every single day. No phones. No eating over the kitchen counter or in front of a laptop. And my favorite part: there was always olive oil on the table. In a bottle, with fresh bread, floating through every dish.