Lyon, the land of what Wikipedia defines as 'sophisticated salami', is going to be my home for a year. Although I am sure this charcuterie is uniquely splendid and a very desirable aspect of the city's heritage, it is not the main reason that I am drawn to the region. I am going there primarily for SNOW. And also the Jazz cafés (pronounced with a soft and slurring J...almost verging on a Y actually). And also obviously to improve my language/immerse myself in French culture/enrich others as a primary school English teacher...ahem.
It is with this city in mind, therefore, that I bring you my own interpretation of sophisticated salami in the medium of chorizo and scallop risotto. In the colours of the Irish flag, this dish instantly makes your presumably unpatterned plate more look more interesting:

some onion
some cloves of garlic
some celery
some chorizo
some scallops
some peas
some risotto rice
some stock cubes
some hot water
some parmesan

0000) Fry some onion with some garlic and some celery
1000) Add some chorizo and some scallops and fry them too
0100) Add some risotto rice to the same pan and fry that off too
1100) Add some peas and stir around
0101) Dissolve some stock cubes in some hot water add to the pan and boilyboilyboily
0110) Continue to boil until the rice is cooked then stir in some parmesan
0111) Eat some

All instructions are either vague or in binary in order to increase the challenge.

The Yazz song to be eaten with this cured meat feast is Fat Freddy's Drop's Big BW - it's not actual Yazz, but it does have some saxophone and possibly trumpet in it, so it is on the CUSP. I am huge fan of all Fat Freddy's Drop, my faves are probably Wandering Eye, Ray Ray and Cay Cray's Digital Mystikz remix, so I would definitely recommend sacrificing 22 minutes of your life to give them a listen.

HELLO AGAIN. I got interrupted by the beach, where an impromptu semi-bikini semi-underwear (I wasn't prepared for the irresistible azure, so only came in half and half) swim occurred as there was absolutely zero surf but I still needed to get salt in my eyebrows. Talking of the beach, have you read The Beach? It's by Alex Garland and the beach in The Beach is in Thailand and infinitely more tropical than the beach not in The Beach that I have just come from, and therefore makes for a sweltering cult novel that will make you feel just like you are on the beach in The Beach. There's a film of the beach in The Beach too, and apparently it's quite good, but I haven't seen it as the beach in The Beach book was satisfying enough for me, but maybe it will be one for when I am back in the Midlands and therefore not near the beach not in The Beach so need the beach in The Beach to fill this void. It's perhaps ever so slightly verging on airport novel, as it is easy to read and very escapist, but it is totally engrossing and full of fishing, smoking and mutinying - and what more is out there than that?

And now for a parting anecdote tying in neatly with the cotton pants of the swim: in the evening, when faces are to be washed, there comes a crisis in the Gregson household, as neither I nor my brother own a suitable garment for keeping hair off the face, so have to be resourceful, and often arrive at the option of clean pants on the head. This means that every so often a rare and beautiful spectacle happens where we both simultaneously emerge from the various bathrooms of the house wearing the head pants and see our ridiculous gear reflected in each others' eyes. Such a moment just passed. I shall leave you on that thought.