Page 19 of Vianne

The end of August signals a change in the pace of this city.

The tourists vanish overnight; the summer sinks into rapid decay.

It’s warm right into September, but now the heat is different.

An urban heat, in spite of the sea that shelters and sustains us; a dusty heat, filled with petrol and grit and the promise of seasonal rains to come.

The wind is changing . Time to move on.

My mother’s voice is hard to ignore. But I am not finished with Marseille. I still have things to learn here, not least, the rest of Margot’s recipes. And then there’s Louis, to whom I owe a debt as yet unpaid.

But first, something simpler: ratatouille .

So simple in concept, ratatouille exists in many variants.

Like a folk song, it has crossed continents, and found its way into a hundred different traditions.

Marguerite’s recipe calls for tomatoes, sweet red peppers, aubergines, onions, garlic, all combined with bay and seasonings, and a good splash of olive oil.

Served with grilled red mullet, it makes a simple, wholesome dish, a dish that comes with a line of verse from Margot’s favourite poet: The greatest love can only grow beside a dream of equal size .

Food is love in Margot’s world: simple, warm and constant.

As for myself, I am almost two thirds of the way through her book of recipes.

I can make madeleines , brioche , pieds paquets, pomponettes, leblebi , chickpea stew with merguez , Marseille-style pizza, aioli, navettes, and fiadoni , the Corsican cheesecake so beloved by Louis’ regulars.

I know the difference between pate brisée and pate feuilletée , fougasse and pissaladière.

I know how to fillet rockfish; how to keep the heads for stock; how to stir red saffron through rice to make the most luscious risotto.

Cooking has become a joy, an unexpected talent.

Domestic magic is humbler, perhaps, than my mother’s glamours and tricks, and yet it makes a difference.

And then there are Guy’s recipes, introduced from time to time under cover of trying out something new in the kitchen.

His hot chocolate, especially, has proved a great success with many of our customers, although Louis yet has to taste it.

Nothing replaces coffee, of course; but I have begun to add a pinch of xocolatl to every cup of coffee I make, and several of our regulars have begun to enjoy a small shot of chocolat noir alongside their usual breakfast. It has made rather a difference to our breakfast menu.

Alongside the usual breakfast – eggs, coffee, fresh baguette – we also now serve hot chocolate, pain au chocolat , pomponettes, croissants and a selection of fresh fruit, which gives the meal a more festive look, and has even begun to attract a larger, more varied clientèle.

La Bonne Mère is thriving again, after many years of neglect.

Louis himself has begun to show signs of an Indian summer: the other day, at suppertime, I even caught him laughing.

So why do I feel that my debt to him is no closer to being repaid than it was the day I arrived?

And why is it that, in this sunshine, I feel the chill of autumn?