Okay, I have got to say something about the food:
My breakfast (at 2pm) is:
Two palm-sized chunks (torn off the loaf, as is proper) of baguette,
One (massive) croissant,
A banana, and
Some grapes that we bought from a fruit-seller in the Metro last night.
I have some butter (for the baguette) and some plum jam, which I am mostly ignoring, even though it's the best jam ever*, because the baguette is so good plain it's ridiculous.
In the States, when I have bread with butter, the bread is toasted, and is mostly the carrier for melted butter and cinnamon-sugar or jam.
In France, the bread doesn't even need butter--but this butter is outrageously delicious, and has (if I'm not mistaken) salt crystals in it.
Except for dinner, my meals have been bread and fruit, since I got here.
And yes, I get massive headaches and a cold and generally feel crappy when I eat bread. Only I'm not. I don't. Here, the bread doesn't bother me. At all.
I love it.
So, everything else aside, the museums, the gorgeous city, the beautiful language, the fashion, the people, etc., I would move here for the food.
And here's the crazy part: I'm trying to lose the anti-depressant** weight I didn't even know I was gaining, and I think I have a better chance of doing that here than in the States: My calorie intake in the States is at least double what it is here, even with Tuesday's lovely duck confit for dinner.
Maybe if I lived here, I would go back to my depressing, sedentary ways, and not move a muscle, and yet, I'd have to go to market every day to get my baguette, and that alone involves a walk, and from here***, possibly some hills†.
Even when I sleep past noon, I still end up walking a LOT, going to and from museums, and little markets, etc.
Anyway, time for me to finish my breakfast†† so we can head out again to Musée d'Orsay for some Vincent van Gogh!
* I shied away from the plum jam the first time I saw it because it's a pale orange, like apricot jam, and I'm much more interested in red jams--but the raspberry was a little disappointing.
** Apparently, that happens: Anti-depressants make you gain weight--and if you up your dosage, or change meds, you gain more weight. I'm not happy with that. And I didn't even realize until I went to the doctor after several months of anti-depressant, and upping my dose once, and found that I was mmph pounds heavier than I remembered being.
*** Joël's house^ is--I believe--on one of the tallest hills in Paris.
^ The mystery of why Joël has such a large house (four stories, two guest rooms--well, one is mostly used for storage) in Paris is solved: It used to be a carpentry. When the rest of the houses in the area were tiny and built for the miners/quarrymen who were digging up stone for New York, I believe, this one was for a carpenter, and was huge. The family who sold the house to Joël turned it into a residence. Joël had to do (or, hire people to do) repairs on the house, such as lowering the first floor (the one above the ground floor) so that adults could walk upright in the first floor. Which is where we're sleeping.
† But not crazy, fault line hills--comfortable hills. Hills with a reasonable slope.
†† Sans Banana, actually. A bunch of bread, ten grapes, no banana. I'll bring it with me and have it for lunch.
My breakfast (at 2pm) is:
Two palm-sized chunks (torn off the loaf, as is proper) of baguette,
One (massive) croissant,
A banana, and
Some grapes that we bought from a fruit-seller in the Metro last night.
I have some butter (for the baguette) and some plum jam, which I am mostly ignoring, even though it's the best jam ever*, because the baguette is so good plain it's ridiculous.
In the States, when I have bread with butter, the bread is toasted, and is mostly the carrier for melted butter and cinnamon-sugar or jam.
In France, the bread doesn't even need butter--but this butter is outrageously delicious, and has (if I'm not mistaken) salt crystals in it.
Except for dinner, my meals have been bread and fruit, since I got here.
And yes, I get massive headaches and a cold and generally feel crappy when I eat bread. Only I'm not. I don't. Here, the bread doesn't bother me. At all.
I love it.
So, everything else aside, the museums, the gorgeous city, the beautiful language, the fashion, the people, etc., I would move here for the food.
And here's the crazy part: I'm trying to lose the anti-depressant** weight I didn't even know I was gaining, and I think I have a better chance of doing that here than in the States: My calorie intake in the States is at least double what it is here, even with Tuesday's lovely duck confit for dinner.
Maybe if I lived here, I would go back to my depressing, sedentary ways, and not move a muscle, and yet, I'd have to go to market every day to get my baguette, and that alone involves a walk, and from here***, possibly some hills†.
Even when I sleep past noon, I still end up walking a LOT, going to and from museums, and little markets, etc.
Anyway, time for me to finish my breakfast†† so we can head out again to Musée d'Orsay for some Vincent van Gogh!
==========
* I shied away from the plum jam the first time I saw it because it's a pale orange, like apricot jam, and I'm much more interested in red jams--but the raspberry was a little disappointing.
** Apparently, that happens: Anti-depressants make you gain weight--and if you up your dosage, or change meds, you gain more weight. I'm not happy with that. And I didn't even realize until I went to the doctor after several months of anti-depressant, and upping my dose once, and found that I was mmph pounds heavier than I remembered being.
*** Joël's house^ is--I believe--on one of the tallest hills in Paris.
^ The mystery of why Joël has such a large house (four stories, two guest rooms--well, one is mostly used for storage) in Paris is solved: It used to be a carpentry. When the rest of the houses in the area were tiny and built for the miners/quarrymen who were digging up stone for New York, I believe, this one was for a carpenter, and was huge. The family who sold the house to Joël turned it into a residence. Joël had to do (or, hire people to do) repairs on the house, such as lowering the first floor (the one above the ground floor) so that adults could walk upright in the first floor. Which is where we're sleeping.
† But not crazy, fault line hills--comfortable hills. Hills with a reasonable slope.
†† Sans Banana, actually. A bunch of bread, ten grapes, no banana. I'll bring it with me and have it for lunch.
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