Hallelujah! We are back in Paris! Thank God, Almighty we are
back in Paris! After an 8 hour drive back from the French Alps, I have never
been so happy to see Paris in my life. It usually only takes us five or six
hours to drive back but there was tons of snow and tons of holiday traffic but
the good news is that David and I only fought twice and I only had three panic
attacks in the car. My panic attack started when David left me in the car to go
get his favorite gas station carrots. Gas stations in France are very very
different than American gas stations. For one, they sell tabouli and if you want
nachos with fake cheese, Doritos or Starburst, well then, you are in the wrong
country. David’s favorite part of a road trip in France are the gas stations.
He loves to buy his favorite ham and cheese sandwiches and carrot salad with
raisins… Two things that should never belong at a gas station. They even have
salmon sandwiches. WTF. So, as usual, David just had to go inside a gas station
on our ride home and get his carrots. This was the first time we have ever
driven back to Paris without a caregiver. So if David was going to go inside,
that meant that I was going to be left outside in the car alone. This is rather
daunting when you are paralyzed and unable to help yourself if you need it. Even
though David and I had each other on speakerphone on our cell phones, I was a
nervous wreck. What if David had a heart attack while he was in the gas station
and then no one would ever know that I was left outside in the car. I started
thinking about how long my breathing machine would last (six hours?). Then I started
thinking how long I would last without food or water (maybe three days?). And
then, while I was mulling all of this over in my head, this creepy guy got too
close to my car window and I was convinced we were about to be carjacked. David
was still inside the gas station so I just started screaming on the cell phone,
“David, I’m being carjacked by a terrorist! Come back, come back!” David just
started screaming, “There are no carjackings in France you idiot! Where do you
think you are? Calm down, spaz! When I finish paying for my gas station
carrots, I’m going to come back to the car and divorce you.” So that was a fun
car ride home.
As we were driving into the city, I started thinking about
how much I love Paris. I just wanted to wrap my arms around Paris and tell her
I would never leave her again and that I was sorry for all the rude things I
said about her. As we drove down the Champs Élysées and past the Grand Palais,
I realized that Paris is the center of the universe. Don’t argue, it is. The
cuisine, the architecture, the history, the gardens, the fashion, the shops,
the cutting-edge styles, the old school flower shops, the bistros, the museums,
the characters, the tradition… Oh my God, I love it here.
However, Paris cannot do carrot cake worth shit. I told my
husband that and he said, “That’s because French people don’t eat carrot cake.”
I think for once in his life he might be right.
I think the basic problem with French people and carrot cake
is the lack of cream cheese. They don’t really have cream cheese here. They do have
crème fraîche but there is no Philadelphia cream cheese in sight. I once
ordered what looked like a delicious cheesecake but it turned out to taste like
glue. Once again, lack of Philadelphia cream cheese. So, if I want a proper
carrot cake, it looks like I’m going to have to make it myself. There is a shop
in Paris run by a cranky New Yorker called Thanksgiving.
They sell everything American… At triple the price. So, I think I’m going to
pop over there and get some million-dollar cream cheese and make my own carrot
cake. I have actually never made carrot cake… I know, I know… I should be shot
but there is no time like the present so let’s get started…
Let’s start with some secrets from the experts…
Some suggestions...
Use half butter and half olive oil.Plump the raisins with brandy or rum.
Toast the nuts.
“Cream” the icing.
Add a half a cup of pumpkin.
Add a small tin of pineapple.
Okay now for some interesting carrot cake recipes…
Carrot Cake with Maple Cream Cheese Frosting by Life Is Great Blog. Recipe HERE.
Carrot Cake Balls. Recipe HERE.
Voilà! Carrot cake mastered.
*Something you don’t know about me? I am fanatical about
foodborne illnesses, cross-contamination and any basic germ. My aunt was a
nurse and scared me at a young age about all things bacteria. I treat raw
chicken like…think Silkwood. Don’t tell anybody but I have been known to just
throw away a cutting board after I use it with raw chicken. I am scared of raw
eggs and that’s why I have a hard time with mayonnaise. I always cook foods too
thoroughly just to be on the safe side. I would rather die than eat steak
Tartar. But somehow I will eat carpaccio. However, I will not eat ceviche. I
expect everyone in my house to wash their hands 375 times a day. I wish I had a
black light so I could expose the hidden bacteria and prove my point. My
husband and his family are the opposite. They eat everything and are never
worried about food poisoning. In my opinion, they should be dead by now with
all of the risks that they take. They eat food off the floor and don’t always
refrigerate everything promptly. Maybe they’ve just built up a tolerance and
that’s why they never get food poisoning. I have actually googled Listeria
before. I check all canned goods for dents and never ever ever leave food in an
open can. I have successfully shared this overzealous trait with Gracie. I will
not drink regular milk anymore because my friend Tom sent me a horrifying video
once regarding all of the bacteria in cow milk. I eat only organic meat and if
for one second I start to think that it is actually an animal that I am eating,
I instantly become a vegetarian…mid-meal. I want a hamburger so bad but I
cannot bring myself to eat one. I have been known to order a hamburger without
the meat. I’m cool with fish for some reason. It seems cleaner but don’t think
for a second I’m not worried about mercury poisoning. My doctor is convinced
that I have ALS due to a toxin that I ingested and my first response was… “I
knew it! I knew it had something to do with shellfish and tap water!” And yes,
I am a peach to live with.
