The French Saga: Miam Miam! (Or, a Love Affair with Nutella)

It's so...creamy. Somewhere between peanut butter and chocolate syrup is bliss. Dip, twist, savor.

I opened a new bottle of nutella yesterday and paused. Paused because that clean, smooth surface peered back at me, seemed to suggest that if I really was going to eat it, I ought to do it right. And then I plunged a fresh-broken baguette into the center of my prey and indulged in the hard-earned spoils of war (although war with whom, I'm not quite sure).

Bread, crackers, by the spoonful...each attack yields new patterns of waves on the ruptured surface. Like a storm in a canister, like picture perfection in the palm of my hand.

Maybe this is why I came to Paris.

It's different here. Subtler, smoother, sweeter. Like reliving childhood memories. Good ones. Birthdays with too much cake and Christmases with too many presents (do those exist?).

I want a relationship like the one between baguette and nutella. Wonderful separate, perfect together.

I would like to say (as per usual) that Paris is nutella. But I can't. I have found something that stands alone in this city, that is more than any place can offer because you can possess it. You can lick the last traces off the back of the spoon and stare longingly back at your distorted, gluttonous image, wishing for more. And you won't feel guilty about it.

You can't do that with Paris. It's too independent.

I went to a "match de rugby" today. My friend and I spent a good deal of the walk back discussing nutella. The rugby match was alright.

I am going to Amsterdam next weekend. I may bring nutella.

My neighbor plays a large string instrument (I think it's a cello). I eat nutella.

Pavlov rings a bell. Dog eats dogfood. I eat nutella.

The truth is that nutella is more than just a food. It is an experience, like eating beautiful music. It has taught me that you cannot fall in love overnight. It takes time to cultivate the relationship, to understand that communication is key and that respect is invaluable. I respect nutella. Nutella respects me.

My eyes stray constantly to the bottle on the shelf, for inspiration and because there is some left. But I must procure discipline. Everything in moderation. Even nutella.