Breakfast in America
Jun 6th, 2008 by Marilyn
Home again! Now, we chose to live here – it’s no understatement to say we adore Lawrence – but as much as I love home, I always seem to want wherever I just was. All it takes is a short visit to a new place – a pleasant place that is work-less and unhampered by utility bills and trash bags – and we’re gazing at apartments in real estate windows. We’ve entertained a lot of brief delusions: Cooperstown, New York (too cold) Captiva, Florida (hurricanes, duh) St. Thomas, Virgin Islands (too hot) and, without question, Paris.
Certainly living in Paris is only fantasy – the current exchange rate makes even bottled water seem luxurious – but fantasy is duty-free and makes a fine, weightless souvenir. There are many good reasons to maintain a Parisian fantasy life, including art, restaurants, crepe stands and the pursuit of unattainable style; but for me, it is breakfast that tops the list.
Petit dejeuner, enjoyed by natives and tourists alike, is my dream breakfast of croissants, buttered baguette, orange juice and espresso. That is all, and that is all I want. It is so supremely satisfying, just bread and drinks, that I do not even bother with le Splenda. I unwrap sugar cubes with abandon. I munch on croissants and walk them off. The calories just don’t register, and I begin to wonder if an extra time-space continuum happened somewhere over the Atlantic.
Whatever it is, it doesn’t work at home. In Paris bread is life, and at home, bread is the quickest route to unhappy shorts season. There is an empty fridge on our first day back and we head out for sleepy-eyed breakfast – but I don’t want eggs and bacon, hmm, it all looks too big. My family has no delicate problems and is happy to spear sausage links again. Between bites Josie predicts it’s a phase, I’ll be back on the big-plate horse again soon, and she’s right – by dinner, a juicy burger is looking pretty good. Still, for just another day or two, it’s good to feel different, changed by even a little breakfast, and wish for sugar cubes and crumbs in my lap.
I think if you are really a traveler, that every place you go changes you. In Malaysia, all I wanted for breakfast was noodles — “street” noodles, to be precise. In New Orleans, beignets and strong coffee. And in Paris, bread. Eventually, though, I always come home to cereal, and leave those wonderful breakfasts in their places.
Welcome back! For me it was Switzerland– every morning a breakfast of fresh crusty rolls, cheese (preferably gruyere), and coffee (back in the days when I drank it with caffeine); and for lunch, soup du jour + more of those wonderful crusty rolls. I don’t miss the thick clouds of cigarette smoke in some of the those lunch cafes, however. But you’re right– fantasy (and memories) are the best souvenirs by far!
Glad you are back and had a good time!!! Its always nice to come home and dream again about when you were gone! LOL The place that changes me the most is when I am in the barn milking the cows…. and one starts kicking me for just trying to help her out and get rid of the milk that is engorging her udder. THAT is what takes me to wanting a big steak dinner..
Did you get any new recipes while you were there? I know I would love to hear about them!!
For me, it’s a sidewalk or street cafe in any city but here, whether it’s sipping cà phê sữa đá (iced coffee) in Vietnam while sitting in these ridiculously small plastic chairs, hibiscus tea along the Nile, or, like Lydia, beignets and chicory coffee in New Orleans. It’s the joy of indulging in good, local food while watching the city swirl around you. But if I had to pick one place, it would be England. A frothy pint in front of a cozy fire in a centuries old pub is truly good for the soul.
table un deux, sil vous plait.
yes, my French sux…
My daughter, mother, and I visited Paris in 2000. We also went to London. I think any European country changes you unless you’re already from there! I like everything about the European lifestyle. The Mediterrean diet, the walking everywhere, the architecture, the food, and of course the scenery. We visited Switzerland too. The pace slowed down there. I could so live there. Breathtaking!
Another wonderful post Marilyn. Please keep writing about Paris for the next 100 years.