From New York, where I lived and worked as a food and travel writer, I’d landed in Paris, flown to Toulouse and caught a wobbly regional train to Carcassonne. My assignment?The history of cassoulet, the ancestral dish of stewed, tender pork, caramelised beans and crispy duck confit. A short, easy article, I thought. Couldn’t have been more wrong.
Growing up in Geneva, Switzerland, I often travelled through France with my parents, but for some reason never made it
