Nutmeg in Paris celebrates its 100th post!

The apartment is all packed up and inspected, the bank account is closed, and the flight is checked in to. The only thing that isn’t ready is I. The thought of leaving makes me want to vomit. Is it because I love it here so much or is it facing the unknown (again)? Would anyone who lives in Paris like to harbor and employ an illegal immigrant? Know any Parisian men who want to marry an American woman who is a pretty good cook? Don’t make me leave!

The stress of leaving has left me with pretty much no appetite this week and I have consumed the majority of my calories in liquid form. Today it dawned on me that I need to get eating and how because butter and goose fat don’t grow on trees! I went out first thing and bought a pain au chocolat and a croissant beurre just to decide which one really was better once and for all. They both fill such different needs; the verdict is that you should eat both. Then for lunch I ate a very un-French chicken shawarma sandwich from the adorable Lebanese traiteur near school. It is the best, cheapest sandwich in the whole city and I downed it in about four bites. Three hours later, I still had harissa heartburn, but I pushed on! A box of a dozen winter macaroons from Pierre Hermes were hastily shared with Jen, but I didn’t let her have the pistachio ones because I am a pistachio fiend and she gets to stay here and eat those for another month. We both retched on the white truffle flavor- somehow the pastry genius managed to make butter cream taste like pork. Off to dinner with the de Brettevilles, the people who began my addiction to French food; the people who taught me that one puts one’s hunk of bread on the tablecloth but one gets a new knife, fork and plate for each course one eats; the people who loved to play “feed her this, an American will NEVER like this!” and lost every time.

So now Nutmeg in Paris must die. I will always be Nutmeg (just ask my mom), but I will no longer be in Paris and everyone hates a misnomer. I am kind of into this blogging thing however, and, despite the fact that no one is going to be interested in my search for a job in sunny and sexy Milwaukee, WI, I am going to continue under a new name. As soon as I have the domain name I’ll post it and you can read on to see how the mid-west pans out for a waterlogged cook longing for a pouliny de chèvre.