Sunday Supper: French Grandma Energy.

It’s the ability to say “non” without apology.

To know that a chipped enamel pot and the smell of thyme are the real signs of being seasoned — not just in cooking, but in life.

It’s sipping the second glass while the first still lingers on the tongue.

It’s understanding that patience isn’t passive; it’s what turns simple ingredients into something worthy of silence.

This week’s Sunday Roast was Boeuf Bourguignon...

A French beef stew slow-cooked in Burgundy. Simple to make, impossible to rush. I only used a pound of beef, a cup and a half of wine, and the better part of the afternoon.

Every good Sunday meal should require wine. Not just in the pot, but in hand. It brings a kind of magical elegance to the effort, a permission to exhale while things simmer.

Maybe that’s what French Grandma Energy really is... Knowing when to pour, when to wait, and when to simply enjoy the sound of something becoming beautiful.