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!