Le Manoir de Raynaudes

Yesterday, the journey began properly. I'm off for three days to visit my good friend Orlando at his wonderful and award-winning Manoir de Raynaudes in the wild, spartan region of south west France about an hour north-east of Toulouse. Ostensibly I'm there for a job interview - Orlando needs a cook for six months next summer - but I'm also looking forward to spending more time with him and to meet his partner, Peter, of whom he spoke whilst we were tucked away in Devon recently on a food writing course. Orlando was undoubtedly one of the stars of the show. As a tutor he gave us concrete, sometimes brutal ("...you may find at the end of this course you really DON'T want to be a writer!") feedback and he otherwise entertained us with his pianistic expertise and stories of his time as editor of the BBC Good Food magazine.

But the main reason I'm going there is to try and work with him next year. It would be a huge honour. Orlando has transformed himself from an amateur cook to passionate professional and in the Manoir has created a table widely considered one of the best in the south of France. He sources many of his ingredients from the fruit, vegetable and herb gardens he has established in the grounds of the Manoir and cooks them with love and attention. His intention, always, is to give people the "best meal of their lives." Not much to emulate then. Gulp.

I sit on a packed train from west Wales to Bristol, where I'll transfer onto a plane that'll whisk me to Toulouse. I feel very jet-set, if a little disorganised. I wonder if this is the future? An endless meandering from kitchen to kitchen, and if I will eventually settle on my own version of a gastronomic getaway? Or I am living a pipe-dream? I know I can cook, and cook well. I know I have a good palette and that I can season. But I can also get carried away, and probably need to learn a little control! I've been reading huge amounts of Skye Gyngell's work recently. She exemplifies what I see as a complete cook: respect for her ingredients, seasonal where possible, taste above presentation and simplicity over complication. She appears, at least, the embodiment of confidence, but I also wonder if all cooks are fundamentally insecure? They have an innate desire to please, to titillate and to satisfy, but do they ever really indulge in self-congratulation? After all, the day you stand still as a cook is the day you lose your edge. You can't hang around and marvel at your achievements. This is their adrenaline rush - that you are only as good as your last service, and that one bad meal can destroy a reputation.

So it's an exciting but terrifying world I am entering. First things first though, get myself to Toulouse, then scramble my way onto a bus that'll whisk me to the middle of nowhere, France. And all with no French. Did I tell you I only speak Welsh and English? No? Then let the adventure begin.