Although this sunny, summery, Sunday morning finds me sipping a Kir in the garden, the soft breeze fanning the tall grasses whispers the unequivocal message that change is just around the corner. I had felt this change from waking, some hours before, as though season’s change had tripped a switch within me. A switch that would have more direct consequences had certainly been tripped. Hot water had become a thing of the past. Chauffagistes are thin on the ground where we live, and that thinness becomes too fine to measure on a Sunday. Heating a saucepan of water for shaving was followed by a cold shower which, although surprisingly stimulating, initiated a change of pace from normal summer mornings. Although the picture above is fanciful ( it is in fact a picture of a gigot that I cooked in the fabulous kitchen whilst on holiday last week) I found myself in autumnal mood. I cooked a delicious leek and potato soup with Mozart for company. He never cooks with me in summer. The lack of running hot water added a traditional note to the proceedings, in that I had to have a large saucepan heating water continually on the go, ready for washing up. There is a moment which I always enjoy in Edouard de Pomiane’s “Cooking in 10 minutes” which recounts that he would, on entering a kitchen, first hang up his hat and then put a large saucepan of water to boil. He added that he didn’t have a specific purpose for the boiling water, but that it always came in handy. He was right.