“Her conversation took on some of the melancholy charm of Breton religious gatherings and, as the real poet Pampille would say, ‘the bitter taste of buckwheat pancakes cooked over a furze fire.’”
Marcel Proust, The Prisoner, translated by Carol Clark, p. 28-29.
Photo of a FREAKING DELICIOUS buckwheat crepe from Cafe Breizh.
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