Joie de Vivre

Michael: "...ok but in turn I get to ask you for a favor some time."
Gob: "My gut is telling me no, but my gut is also very hungry..."

Further evidence that one must always be full to fully function and rejoice.

Which reminds me of Europe. When asked what we wanted to do while there, Brandon and I consistently answered, "Eat."
"We know that," my in-laws replied, "but any day-trips or special tours?"
"Hmm... you mean like to Belgium for the street fries?"


Nothing else interested us. Sure the Musee D'Orsay has become one of my favorite museums ever, the Eiffel Tower is a structural miracle, the bones at the catacombs are old. Yet nothing compared to a fresh crepe with nothing but whipped cream in Paris after a ride up the Tour Eiffel. Or to the third gelato of the day in Belagio. My only regret from Europe is not buying a whole rotisserie chicken off the street and eating it with my hands. Why, oh why had I not stopped in the marche to purchase the mini, tiny tomato/cherry looking things and had a bite!? Why did I not order pig's trotters!? What was I thinking when I refused the millefeuille!? Brandon is still sad about the lack of Belg frites and kabobs even though, let me tell you, the French love their fries. You can't escape them. Fine by me.


You know that feeling of hunger? It goes like this: You eat breakfast, then you go on about your day and then your stomach reminds you that nourishment is lacking. A gurgling in your tummy typically guides your eating patterns. In Europe this was not so. We let our taste buds and lusts do the guiding. We heeded our desires and did not hold back. This meant that for 10 straight days we had liberated ourselves from the feeling of hunger and just ate, whatever, whenever. When a fresh pain au chocolat (croissant w/chocolate) called, I answered. In fact, I started anticipating the pastry's call and took to keeping a few in my purse for metro rides or long lines. And it wasn't just pastry that called, it was caprese salad, baguettes with goat cheese and ham, and fresh pasta-oh, the pasta.

Europe did not inspire talk of butt sizes or scales; there was no need for it. We just talked about painters and the beauty of the architecture. In Europe we were happy. Just happy.