For the record.

I'm sick with an airplane cold. I'm gaining weight. I can't stop eating. I feel like shit. I've got to get my head out of my ass and back on track. It would be nice, also, if I stopped spewing green phlegm.

Photos. Paris Post #3

We have nearly 700 photos to sort through, touch-up and resize. But here are some of my top favorites.

Rose & me at the Eiffel Tower.


Skewed perspective, of course!


A triumphantly beautiful day.


Breakfast at Cafe Marly at the Louvre on the morning of my birthday.




The courtyard view from the inside of my favorite Starbucks (next to the sex toy shop on Rue de Seze.)


View of the Louvre from my hotel window. You can see the pyramid on the far right.


Walking along a very small side street in the Marais district, we saw this doll sitting on a ledge above bags of laundry. It was kind of funny.

My best meal ever in 40 years. Paris Post # 2

Since I’m on the subject of Parisian food, let me talk about the most incredible dining experience of my life. Rose made reservations for my birthday at a restaurant called Goumard . This place was just a couple blocks walk from our hotel, The Westin, on rue Duphot.

We had stopped by the day before to glance at the menu. While a little shocked by the sticker price, I didn’t want to pass on a chance to eat at a fine restaurant.

I can’t even begin to do justice to describing the interior and ambience of the restaurant, so check out this link after you read the rest of this post. The restaurant was pure inspiration from the moment we walked in. Our table, if you go to that link, was the third one form the bottom left (the first complete table shown). The paintings on the walls were divine. Read more about them at the Goumard site. But enough on that.

The food. Ah, the food. We were seated and offered a breadstick—about 2 feet long and about ½-inch in diameter. Then we were asked if we’d like an apertif. We selected a sweet white wine to enjoy with another selection of bread while we tried to decide on the rest of the dinner.

For starters (entrée) I ordered the zucchini flower stuffed with fresh crab and Rose chose froglegs with potatoe fingerlings. Both were amazing. My plat (main dish) was roasted John Dory with some kind of vegetable reduction and then roasted veggies. Rose made an excellent choice with roasted sea bass and artichokes. While she didn’t order dessert, I wasn’t going to miss it. So I selected a bitter chocolate sorbet with pastry.

But that’s not all. We also got some kind of concoction that looked like a layered parfait with sweet red pepper, cucumber, salmon and some creamy white thing on top. Rose hated it. I loved it. But it might have been the heavenly bottle wine I was sipping on. I had asked the sommelier to recommend one based on our food choices. He didn’t disappoint. It was the most expensive wine I’ve ever had...but well worth it.

Before dessert came, one of the waiters (we had three serving us) came through with a cheese cart. Instead of selecting, I asked for his recommendations. O.H. M.Y. G.O.D. From pungent blocks to sweetly aromatic slices, I tried what had to be the very best cheeses this Wisconsin girl ever had. I don’t think I can ever go back to cheddar, colby or simple Swiss. At one point, I had a piece of cheese in my mouth and took a sip of that amazing wine. It tasted so good I quivered. Really. It was nearly orgasmic.

I didn’t think the food could get any better, but then my dessert came. Creamy, rich, chocolate sorbet that was more like frozen fudge melting down the back of my throat. The perfect ending to this perfect meal was a Double Express.

You know I love food. All shapes, all sizes, all flavors. This meal spoiled me. I know that I can never hope to recreate the dining experience, because I’ll always be sorely disappointed. But I hope I don’t have to go through life without enjoying such fine food again.

I feel very fortunate that I’m in a place in my life where I can enjoy food in this way. I do think that my sense of taste is heightened. I also have a much greater appreciation for different tastes. I get more pleasure from eating now than I ever have before. Pre-op, I used to think that I’d have to give up so much in my life of eating. If anything, this experience has taught me that I’ve actually received that much more.

Sweet--and bittersweet--Treats. Paris Post #1

I’m going to break down my Paris trip into snippets, or I’ll never get through it all. Come back often for all the details. But first...the food!

When I left for my trip, I knew I was going to try any food I wanted. I’ve lived for two years without pastries or bread as the focus of a meal (no sandwiches!) So this was a big step for me. And a huge learning experience.

I had some of the most incredible baguettes from small boulangeries. Whole wheat encrusted with seeds. Chewy crusts and tender insides. Chunks of sourdough loaves topped with sweet cheeses. Crepes oozing with Nutella. Madeleines with caramel or pistachio or poppy seed. Eclairs. Macarons. Croissants fresh from the oven, flaky with delicate, buttery layers. And the chocolate. The chocolate. Mmmmm.

Not a day went by that I didn’t try something new. I’d point to a basket and the shopkeeper would hand me a bag of bakery heaven. Eating these treats became my religion for two weeks. I was focused on food. And I succumbed to the frenzy.

For the most part, I was in control. I knew what I was eating, why I was eating. I made the conscious choice to let the delicacies pass my lips. I indulged without guilt or care.

But one day. One day near the end of my visit, I was out walking along La Madeleine and decided to stop in the Fauchon store on the square...again. I picked out a seeded baguette to take back to Rose. And then I selected two pistachio and two caramel madeleines (little cakes kind of like an American muffin, but a tad drier and sweeter.)

In the front of my head, I picked out two of each because I was going to give one of each to Rose. But really, deep down, I knew that I was going to eat all four. I just ordered them like I would have ordered value meals at a McDonalds. One for me and one for my invisible friend.

I walked out of the store, savoring one as I crossed the street to Nicolas (a fantastic wine shop). Then I ate another while walking past Hediard (great epicurean delight of a store). Without thinking, tasting, savory or barely breathing, I ate the last two.

And as soon as I swallowed the final bites, I felt like I had cheated. I was overwhelmed by guilt and the need to hide what I did. I tossed the sack. I didn’t tell Rose I had bought the madeleines. And I started thinking about what I was going to eat next.

Honest to god, this was as close to relapse—real, screw up all the hard work I’ve done relapse—as I’ve gotten in two whole years. The difference, though, is that I think I actually realized what I was doing. I was numb when I was eating, but I quickly woke up. The guilt I felt was deeper, more biting than any guilt after other binges.

I still don’t have my head wrapped around that moment. It was scary. I did eventually tell Rose what I had done. I also knew that I’d have to write about it hear. How could I not?

One good thing from this experience is that I also know I can rebound from those lapses. The next day, I didn’t go out and revisit the scene of the crime. I ate other sweet treats, but was fully aware of what I was doing, engaged in the sensations and pleasures of the foods. And I didn’t start to think about the next bite while one was still in my mouth.

I can still taste the last croissant on my lips. I’m going to recall the joys of pastries, puffs and bakery delights for years to come. But I’ll probably never move to Paris. Too close to comfort for me. When I go back, it’s one madeleine at a time for me!

She arrives in her country of origin

I'm home. Barely. Should have been back in the states on Saturday, but the devastating flooding in the UK caused our flight to be cancelled to Chicago. I spent two night in Egham, Surrey without any luggage. At least we could understand what the locals were saying.

I am so damn tired right now, but can't sleep. I'm supposed to get into work in the morning, having missed an extra day. I just went through the emails from the last two weeks there. God. I wish I hadn't.

I'll be posting more soon. But here I am, and not really that much heavier for all the pastries and chocolates I've consumed.

Turning 40 a la Paris

Since Paris is 7 hours ahead of local Milwaukee time, I realized that I just lost 7 hours off my 39th year. Nothing like jumping into the big FOUR-OH a litle early. Really, I don't mind.

So. Happy Birthday to me! Or, as the Parisians say, Joyeux Anniversaire! It is 12:001 a.m. local time in Paris and that means it's my birthday.


It has been a fantastic week this side of the Altantic. Even the near-missed connection in Heathrow, the taxi collision on the way to the hotel and the 40 hours lost luggage didn't dampen the euphoria of a first-class upgrade on British Airways, a room with a view overlooking the Rue de Rivoli athe Eiffel Tower and the complimentary bottle of wine from the hotel and the gorgeous flowers from WW delivered to my room. And the days of endless walking, beautiful sites, lucious foods, divine wine and the euphoria of being in this city at this moment in my life leaves me nearly speechless.

But a few things for you to ponder...why is it that in Paris that a double espresso is cheaper at a Starbucks than at a cafe? And why don't we have sex shops next to the SBUX in the states? How come Parisians are so polite...yet the image of them we have stateside borders on snobbish? Why didn't I take French in high school? And how come macaroons don't make me dump? (Thank god for small favors.)

So back to my birthday plans. Petit de jeneur at Cafe Marly at the Louvre, then a tour through the museum. Late afternoon at l'Orangerie with a viewing of Monet's Water Lilies. Dinner at Gourmand. Fireworks from my hotel room window. I couldn't ask for anything more. If this is what 0 is like, I can only imagine how great 50 will be!

Bon Jour!

While I'm gone...

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Did I mention I'm going to Paris?

I haven't written about it much, but I leave for Paris in just a couple days. Monday, actually. I'll be gone until the 21st.

Why? Because I'm nearly half the person I used to be. Because my birthday is on Bastille Day. Because I turn 40 this year.

When I was born, my parents lived in a flat above a woman who was a French war bride. She was tickled that I was born on Bastille Day. Plus, my Mom's birthday is on Independence Day. So we've always had this weird thing about our birthdays. And now it's a landmark one for me.

We're staying at The Westin overlooking the Tuileries which has the Louvre on one end and the Place de la Concorde on the other. Right now, I'm most looking forward to a walking tour I found at Eye Prefer Paris Tours.

And I can't wait to check out the cafes, markets, museums, parks, wine, pastries, shops, etc. My head is spinning with the possibilities!

We have all of our packing to do yet before we leave for O'Hare Monday morning. But first, I have lots of recipes to edit for work. Lots of loose ends. Once I get on that plane, though, I'm all about Paris. And life on the other side of four-oh.

I took a dump

But not that kind.

I had what I think was my first major dumping episode last night--almost two years out.

I had a day of not much protein--maybe 30 grams--and more "filler" food. Then we went to friends for dinner. There I had 1 square of pizza. And two Sand Creek Hard Lemonades.

I felt fine, just a little buzzed. About a half hour after the last lemonade, I started to feel really, really hot and my stomach hurt. So we left.

About a mile of the drive home, I had to pull over so Rose could drive. I was alternating between hot and cold. I started to shake. I felt like my gut was going to explode. I got home, barely walking into the house. I stripped off my clothes and laid on the bed. The room was spinning, my body was shaking. Rose brought me a protein drink to down and left it for me to open. I couldnt' open it...or rather, I couldn't figure out how to open it.

When she came back, she did open it. I drank it. 15 minutes later the goose bumps and the sweating stopped. My heart stopped racing and the room spinning slowed. Another 15 minutes and I could walk again.

So, is that dumping? Delayed drunkeness? I thought I was going to die. I think it might be because of lack of protein coupled with the carbs from drinking and the alcohol. But just to be clear, it was not like being buzzed or even wasted. I think it was dumping.

Beth, what do you think, oh dizzy one?

I ain't no Mr. Rourke

That scale loss of 5 pounds? FANTASY!

I'm back at 169. I'd love to think that I've gained 5 pounds of lean muscle mass in a week...but I'm sure that's not the case.

It was a nice experiment. And if WW benefited from me slurping on protein shakes with her for a long weekend, then I guess it was a success. I also suppose that since I've made myself more aware of what I'm eating, it did bring me down to reality a bit. Of course, I'm very much aware that I ate 4 popcorn cakes last night...but it didn't really stop me from doing it.

Then again, normal eaters will eat 4 popcorn cakes and not beat themselves up over it. Normal eaters would just stop at 4, not eat the whole friggin' bag. Maybe I'm becoming more of a normal eater than I give myself credit for.

Monday Morning

I'm sure the five pounds I lost are back on my body. No crackers, but enough other crap crossed my lips to make up for them. Actually, I think the pure protein tricked my body into starving itself and now that I'm eating normally, the weight has got to be back on. I haven't stepped on the scale. I can just tell. And really, it isn't that I've been eating crap. It's that I've been eating...not just drinking...my nutrition.

I read about people on that big fat freedom board and they talk about resetting their pouches, going back to basics, etc. Now that I've done it, I wonder how often it really works for other people once they get back to normal eating, meaning regular meals of solid food representing a reasonable amount of calories.

I'll step on the scale tomorrow.