Day one of my Dordogne holiday started mightily out of character. My three girl friends – Scary French Lady from Amsterdam, the Feminist from London and the Parisian from, well, Paris – dragged me out on a 5 km run. Needless to say, by the end of it my trainers had given me blisters, my knees felt like they’d been in a train crash and my arse acquired pain in muscles I didn’t know it had. A broken woman, I decided to stick to what foodies do best: cook and eat.
As luck would have it, that’s not hard in France. Here are some of the culinary highlights…
