Indulging My Inner Foodie

By the time this is posted, I will be back to my routine of going to the gym five days a week, and living in a home devoid of chocolate or ice cream. There might be a few mandarin orange sorbet bars in the freezer from when my son-in-law Etan, allergic to milk, visited last month. I hope Dennis has eaten them while Daphne and I were in Paris.

Hold the crying towel. Dennis is likely to indulge me in our weekly ritual when I return home. With La Morra Brookline as our neighborhood bistro, we will likely dine on a beet, green apple, and goat cheese salad, and a half portion of Bolognese tagliatelle.

If I’ve gained weight on the trip to Paris, I’ll end the meal with sorbet. If not, I’ll go for the warm apple crostata with homemade honey ice cream.

The first half of today permitted me one last fling as a gourmand. Descending to the charming little brick-walled breakfast area in the basement of our hotel in the Marais, Daphne and I feasted on crusty baguettes and flaky croissants. My daughter can’t resist the French jam, which she’s capable of eating with a spoon, directly out of the little jars.

Never have we eaten better food. From perfectly gratineed onion soup to superb smoked salmon and blini -- to sorbets evoking the taste of lusciously ripe fresh fruit, along with tartes tartin topped with ice cream -- the food has been too tempting to pass up.

A conservative estimate of our daily calorie consumption would be 3000 calories each. Yes, Daphne and I walked many miles most days, and used stairs whenever possible. Still I fear that we consumed more than we burned.

Arriving at Charles De Gaulle for our flight home, Daphne is sad to see her jar of apricot jam confiscated by security. Troubled more by the thought of something so mouth-watering going to waste than her own deprivation, she urges the guard to try the jam – eliciting a shake of the head but also a smile.

Inside my bag is a small box of truffles I’ve purchased for Dennis at the Maison du Chocolat inside a department store, along with a silk necktie. Inside Daphne’s bag is a box of jam samplers from Hediard’s – small enough to pass the test for liquids. The plan is to split them when we get home.

With 20 Euros left, and regrettably no plans to return to Europe any time in the immediate future, I wander the airport in search of something to buy. Daphne is seated in the boarding area guarding the luggage.

Remembering that first trip to Paris more than 25 years ago when my daughter ate little but sorbet, I feel the urge to provide her with a few final treats. Thankfully I see an airport outpost of Maison du Chocolat. I return to the boarding area with little cups of raspberry sorbet and pistachio ice cream – along with a bar of milk chocolate studded with hazel nuts.

Daphne smiles so broadly that for a moment, I feel like a very young mom with a six year old in tow.