Pardon my French

 

This time last year I was in France, wallowing in the riches of la belle vie that is French culture. Sidewalk cafes and croissants and croque monsieurs.

 (Add an egg and it's a croque madame! )

I was besotted and beguiled by the French way of living. Or at least, to their way of  eating. I felt a kinship with the land of my former kin. Alas, I can't make it back there very often. (Or can I? 🤔) The best I can do is try to re-create the conditions of French living here. 

Starting with my bread intake. In France, there are bakeries on every corner. Carbs hold an unquestioned importance in daily life. The baguette is sacrosanct. It is completely permissible, nay, encouraged, to consider pastry a well-rounded breakfast. And pastry filled with chocolate, à la pain du chocolat, even better! Oui oui! So in honor of my French heritage,  I should make this my morning ritual, n'est-ce pas? 

Some will raise eyebrows, and health concerns.  In America, I'm warned off fats and dairy, but in France there is a permission structure that urges the consumption of cheese, practically mandated by law,  as reflected in the French expression, "un fromage par jour de l'année," which means: a cheese for every day of the year. I hear and obey! This is all to be washed down with a glass of vin of course. After all, in France, wine is a birthright, pure and simple. And as one whose blood is roughly 25% French, I must claim what is rightfully mine.