On why I cannot be Parisian

Let’s talk for a moment about what I admire most about Parisians.

They have this ridiculous superpower that allows them to walk into a boulangerie/patisserie/bakery…and just…say what they want.  They already know.  They have the ability to…I believe one says, “make a decision.”

I am unfamiliar with this concept.

Parisians somehow skip the step where you stand back out of everybody’s way and stare at everything.  I find myself saying, “Non non, allez-y” (aka, go ahead of me, this could take awhile) to people who walk in 5 minutes after I do.

It is torture.

This is what goes on in my brain: “My pastry guide said to try the tarte aux pommes…omg I don’t see it.  Where is it??  The person ahead of me must have taken the last one.  Jerk.  Well it’s summer anyway.  I should get something with berries.  What about that?  Oooo, are those cherries?  WAIT.  THAT THING HAS PISTACHIO IN IT?!?!?  I should get that.  No.  I had something with pistachioes (pistachios?) yesterday.  Praline.  What has praline on it?  I could subsist on only praline.  Ugh.  Look at that pain au chocolat/croissant/pain aux cereales.  What if I get something fancy and I end up missing out on the best pain au chocolate/croissant/pain aux cereales in the city?  What if it’s as yet undiscovered??  WHAT IF I DISCOVER IT?!?!  And then I drop out of med school and move here and get a blog and discover pastries!  No.  I have a blog.   I haven’t had a single macaron yet.  But I don’t want that.  Omg I’m starving.  I wonder if they have any marshmallows?”

That.  Times 4.  Every.single.time.  No idea what my face looks like during all of that, but it probably expresses more than I think it does.

Sometimes (read: one time) the nice man working in the patisserie at Gérard Mulot can read my mind.  And he waits patiently, and then he discovers these macarons that for some reason he can give away for free.  And he asks me do I want one?  Do I want café or citron?  “Citron s’il vous plait.  Shall we get married, since you just read my mind?  Also can I have a small slab of that clafouti?”  I like to pretend this happened more than once.  That we are friends.  That I am a regular.  (Although if I were a regular, I’d probs know what I want when I walk in.)

Meanwhile, 16 other customers have been helped.  Their transactions take all of 5 seconds.  I don’t think they enjoy their tartes au citron or their pains aux figues any less than I enjoy my financier.  But I do like to pretend that the people working get a little extra enjoyment out of watching me marvel at all the choices. C’mon.  Pretend with me.

In other news, I believe I will move near Les Calanques outside of Marseille, where I will spend everyday in this water and on these cliffs.  One afternoon was simply not enough.

Hope everyone had a great weekend, and happy 4th (soon)!  I am not sure what to do in celebration here.  I’ve so far ruled out setting up my own fireworks display and wearing my Old Navy flag tshirts.  I may just go for eating some blueberries and strawberries.  Perhaps that can make my pastry decision of the day.  A la prochaine!


One comment

  1. UGGGHHHHH!!!!!!! Now, for the record, how lucky are you to have grown up with a Francophile maman who j’aime bien toutes le francais (except their history with our people, but that’s not polite discussion over croissante amande)!!!! Otherwise, you’d think heaven was tubing down the Guadeloupe!!

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