Le grand aïoli

There is something addictive about tongue-burningly fresh, raw garlic. When you spend time in the south of France in summer, lazily adjusting to the heat and incumbent slowness of life that make time itself so hazy, you soon begin to crave it at every meal. Suddenly you find yourself adding it to sweet fresh tomato paste on toasted baguette for breakfast as fear of the inevitable consequences fades, just as with any other addictive substance. In Provence, the famously welcoming locals joke