French la Vie

Years ago, I stumbled upon a charming antiques shop, filled to the brim with floral and landscape paintings and delightful tabletop décor. While chatting with the owner, I learned that his wife, Isabelle, was a chef with a nearby restaurant.

Homemade lasagna with paper thin pasta. My mouth still waters.

Curious about her culinary offerings, I inquired if she provided catering services and was soon invited to their home, nestled amidst a vineyard—a place that felt like stepping into a storybook.

We bonded over our shared love for antiques, design and, especially, food.

Fast forward to today, and I exclusively bring my groups to Isabelle and Christian’s home for private feasts, complemented by a curated brocante experience just for us—a feast for both the eyes and the soul.

There’s something beautifully strange about finding yourself exactly where you’re meant to be—especially when you had no idea that’s where you were headed.

There’s something about her cooking—the way simple ingredients come together, effortlessly, as if by instinct or memory passed down through the generations. The flavors are so layered, so alive, you’d swear it was a miracle. And maybe it is. Because how else could something so humble taste like it holds centuries of secrets?

Meeting Isabelle is one of life’s sweetest serendipities—the kind of encounter that feels less like chance and more like a homecoming. She cooks the way the seasons speak: fresh, honest, and with a quiet elegance that lingers long after the last bite.

I do hope one day you’ll join us on the French La Vie… and taste for yourself the joy she so effortlessly serves.