Food Porn.

I think you've been teased enough. It's time to get to business. The food.  The mouthwatering, life-actualizing, tantalizing, sometimes strange, sugary, creamy, luscious flavors of Europe.

Spanish candy

In Paris, Michelle enjoyed colorful macaroons and I, the perfect chocolate éclair. Standing at the top of the Tour Eiffel (yes, I admit I did this, with pride, in fact) I pulled the lucious pastry out of its lime green box and felt the ultimate tourist joy.

Milano Aperitivo, plate 1.

Milan...was a bit of a different situation. The aperitivo which came complements of drinks included pasta dishes, quiche, mozzerella balls, salsa, tapas assortments, cadbury fingers, slices of pizza, miniature sandwiches, salads, and fruit. There was no holding back.



My real moment of cuisine ecstacy was strangely in a sort of Italian-ish Taco Bell. It was a simple grilled tortilla...with mozzerella, tomatoes, and...proschiutto. Oh dear. Did I fall in love with ham that day. My taste buds are still reeling, and I promise to return.. Michelle watched me, astounded by my prolific assortment of joyous words from three simple ingredients.

Don't underestimate the power of Piadineria.

My Italian kiss

   And the gelato. Oh god. On every corner... in every shop... mounds of fruit laden, syrup dripping, sparkling Italian ice cream. My first cone included two flavours, one was "bacio", Italian for "kiss". I couldn't resist.






The Italian saying, "La Dolce Vita", or "the sweet life", I'm quite sure was developed from the invention of the connolo. I was graciously recommended that it was a no-miss, and after staring at the thing for a minute, I took a bite and gained a new best friend. The experience was similar, I think, to seeing your child for the first time. My eyes welled up with proud and grateful tears, and I had to carefully carry around the pastry for a few minutes in hommage before finishing it off.

A crisp pastry filled with a riccota cream, topped with chocolate

Barcelona was supposed to bring us tapas, and mountains of it. But strangely...we tripped over pita salad bars, and couldn't help ourselves. Greek, mediterranean, spanish, whatever..we were in pita heaven. Mmm bring on the sun-dried tomatoes and the yellow chilies...

This picture makes me whimper

Although, we did have some tapas, the aperitive kind.
And they were dainty and lovely.

The extravagant market in BCN, Mercat de Sant Josep on Las Ramblas, honestly deserved a well-trained stomach and eyes before a visit, but we, naive and curious, bounded along the aisles like orphans in Disneyland. Chocolates with liquor and silver coatings...candy with vegetable shapes...cheese of all ethnicities and ages..sausages for any connoisseur..fruit packaged individually (I remarked "And America is so convenient..?")...thousands of popsicles...fresh-squeezed juices of unknown fruits...vegetables of plenty...and...the fish and meat aisles. Bleh..I began to lose my appreciation and had to gallop away from the smell, the many fish eyes glared at me as I escaped.

Of course, the Chorizo from Paris made a lasting impression, and when we went off to Bordeaux, we had become educated european eaters. Sausage, cheese, some sort of bread. Although in fact, the most fantastic meal came on the last night of Michelle's visit at a beautiful cafe in the middle of Bordeaux. The reputation of French cuisine is indeed accurate. How explicit I must get in order to convey to you the exquisite taste of that meal cannot be publicly displayed on the internet. We shall have this discussion in person.

Pizza at the Milano airport...I had to.

Because every meal deserves a merci beaucoup.