Bonjour, Paris! (Or in my case, Santa Clarita!)

Hello. I love croissants. Not the chocolate ones, or almond, or fruit filled. Those are impostures, in my opinion. A plain, flaky croissant that is soft and buttery on the inside and slightly crispy on the outside is the real deal.

Speaking of croissants, a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was in Paris. Ah, Paris!!!! It was a rainy October and I was thirty years old. I was staying at the Hotel du Quai Voltaire which was alongside the Seine River and almost a stone’s throw to the Louvre. Prior to my visit, the hotel had been host to the likes of literary and musical giants such as Charles Baudelaire, Richard Wagner and Oscar Wilde. But it seems to me, that every nook and cranny in Paris is chock full of somebodies who did something important at some time.

I wasn’t even a mom yet, so that tells you how long ago and far away this time of my life was! (Any mother can tell you that it as if you have two lives — before motherhood and everything after. Nothing is as life changing as parenthood.)

One of my favorite photos that I have ever taken was the one below…in the Jardin des Tuileries. To me, it sums up what Paris is in one image: ethereal, beautiful, inspiring (note artist in right corner), and magical. Though this image has weathered over time and is authentically vintage, it still captures the enchantment I felt.

There was one problem I encountered when I visited Paris, however. I had a cold. A very bad cold — the kind that invades your head and takes away brain cells and the ability to breathe…and taste! Yes, I was in the culinary epicenter of the world and I had no taste buds! Quelle horreur! Not being able to enjoy food in Paris is like Halloween without candy, Easter without bunnies, July 4th without fireworks…you catch my drift. It was a disappointment of epic proportions.

Hence, I barely remember anything I ate on my trip. I had baguettes with butter and jam for breakfast, a salami sandwich on a train ride, and a hot chocolate in a sweet little candy shop near the Sacre Coeur Church. The hot chocolate was rich, dark and velvety…the candy shop was colorful and full of twinkly lights and tiny, pretty candies and cakes. There you have my memory of my French fine dining experience!

Somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of my brain, I believe I have tried to compensate for that culinary tragedy I suffered in Paris. Over the years I have become a Francophile, soaking up articles, blogs, books and anything else I can get my hands on that will give me an insight into the joire de vivre I strive for and admire.

Admittedly, the majority of books I have read delve into the mysterious elan that French women possess. Along the lines of French Women Don’t Get Fat by Mireille Guiliano, I think I have read and loved them all.

But there is another, more positive, side to my sad cold story…at least I have tried to put an upbeat spin on it.

Growing up there was a very kitschy painting of Paris on a rainy day hanging over our sofa. It was one of those mass produced Impressionism paintings popular in the 1960s and 70s. I treasured that painting as a child, and would stare at if often, imagining myself in the City of Lights, sauntering down the cobbled Parisian streets…umbrella, chic trench coat and all. I had a vivid imagination!

One day on my fateful trip to France, I was even too sick to go out and see the sights. I stayed in my hotel room and just stared out the window. I could see the Seine River, the Louvre, and the people going by. I felt enthralled, mesmerized, and thrilled just to be there! Perhaps it was a feeling I have come to label as “gratitude.” Suddenly, as if a switch turned on, I realized that my childhood fantasies of being in Paris had finally come true…and I stepped into the magical painting of my childhood. I made it!

Today, I am here in Santa Clarita, California. I went to the Farmer’s Market this morning and bought this beautiful croissant.

With my fancy Latte and specialty jam, I had brought a little bit of France into my humble abode. I don’t have a cold, either, so everything tasted tres bien, merci!

Next week, I delve into the mysteries of the Farmer’s Market!