Rolls For Your Honey

The sturdy wood table at the side of the bed had been left with the remains of dejeuner. A pot with streaks of coffee and the crumbled flakes of croissants. The tray filled with raspberry jam, peanut butter, honey and cream cheese. Things to awaken the taste buds after a night marked by the heat of passion at l’Hotel du Centre de Paris, ville d’amour. The fabled Arc De Triomphe on the Champs-Elysees, seen through the open french doors leading to the terrace overlooking the city streets as it resonated with echoes of a warm breeze that entered the room, ruffling the white curtains as they responded to the call of the wind. The sheets, stained yellow and magenta with “butter and raspberry delight” accidentally dropped, reflecting the ripples of sensation as taste imagination is left to be envisioned.

toast2.jpgWe had arrived on Valentine’s Day. It was a Mac Donald’s meal the first night – Le beau Mac, des pommes frites, and Pepsi light. Then a stroll through the streets of Paris, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, les Jardins de Tullery, the Louvres and the Pompidou Centre. Suddenly, by pure chance, we came upon a small curiosity shop on one of the side streets. In its window I noticed the Instant Messaging toaster, an ingenious way to ask my paramour “Will You?” etched on toast. All this made possible by an original concept brought to the world by Yanko Design’s Sasha Tseng. “It’s a toaster featuring a message board on top with a stylus to write whatever you want. Pop in your bread and when it’s done, voila, the message will appear on the lightly browned toast.”

However, Paris is not a place where one goes to the supermarket to get a loaf of Wonder Bread, a croissant being so much more appropriate. So I went to the Patisserie and bought several to take back to l’Hotel with my newly purchased Instant Messaging Toaster. Then I realized the puffy croissant won’t fit! I needed to press it flat to stick it in the toaster. Hands unwashed, I decided to use the book on the table. Pressing it down on the delicate pastry, I lifted my hand and exclaimed “OMG!” shamefully realizing that it was the French version of The Holy Bible. What have I done, I thought, reflecting that there is nothing more unromantic then a dose of guilt. If I’m turned down I will know why. But then I chuckled. Oh well, since I didn’t know French, I will probably be forgiven my transgression.

If only Marie Antoinette had said, “Let them eat croissants with raspberry jam, peanut butter, honey or cream cheese”, perhaps she would have been spared the guillotines‘ blade.


I Was A Prisioner Of Pasta Primivera In Paris, France