"Sticky Buns" and Sticky Fingers

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What is better than Christmas in December? Christmas in July! In Paris! Four days before the high school program took thirty-five students to Paris for a weekend trip, I found out that I would be a new chaperone on a four night, three day trip into the heart of France. (I could add another notch to my belt on world cities I have visited!) "Is that okay that you are being switched from the Rome trip to the Paris trip," I was asked by the woman organizing that chaperones. Ecstatically I responded, "Sure." I found it odd to be asked if I were upset about my switch from Paris to Rome to which I asked, "Why would I be upset?" more so out of intrigue than care. I might care if I were asked, "Would you mind going to Yakima, WA rather than Paris, France." How could I be sad about not going to Rome? In one sense I would not be able to say, "When in Rome" but ironically enough I found it quite easy to say, "When in Paris".

French cuisine is something I cannot talk to. Two out of the three things that come to mind when one hears the word "France" deal with food. The three are wine, cheese and obnoxious Parisian waiters who hate it when you do not speak French. Sadly enough I did not experience the first two and gladly enough I did not experience the third. (French people have a dry, ironic and deadpan sense of humor!) On Friday night our group of forty individuals had a group dinner. I enjoyed the Foie Gras but found no luck with my duck (Which was over-breaded and had the texture of roast beef). Lucky for me I partook in a pre-dinner snack at one of the bakeries nearby which gave me a most excellent idea post-dinner. I would excuse the eating of French cuisine in place of French delicacies. For the rest of the weekend I only ate French pastries and I must say, Paula Deen would have been proud of my butter consumption.

From the creme brûlée and croissants to the crepes and pain aux raisins, I did not discriminate any pastry or dessert. The flaky, buttery ones left remnants of bread on my fingertips which acted as a double-down bonus: I could lick off the leftovers from my sticky fingers after enjoying the "sticky buns". The gooey, apple pastries tasted similar to an apple pie but less dense. The brioche had hints of butter and as my friend Shauna said, "This might have Boston cream in it, too." Nodding enthusiastically I thought, "What in the world is Boston cream." The power of Paris, the freshest of France, and the winner of the weekend was an almond pasty that I had before dinner on Friday night. I found it ironic that the first pastry I had tried in France would be my favorite, go figure right? The powdered sugar sung on my tongue and the almonds danced like sugar-plump fairies in my mouth. Pulling up wine techniques from my past, I held a pastry tasting event on Sunday evening consisting of four different pastries. But to no avail, the powdery sugar, almond pastry from Friday evening won. But don't get me wrong, I was not upset at this. There was no loser at all throughout this weekend except for my waist ban.

Now it is time to clean up my sticky fingers of France and rejoin the Swiss to say "When in Switzerland": chocolate and cheese! Time to add another notch to my belt, literally.

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