|Oh La La!|
My love for all things French started with my first bite of a croissant amande, when I was ten years old. We were visiting family friends who lived in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, in an utterly fabulous apartment. I remember that the kitchen was a city block from the dining room and the butter sat out on the kitchen counter and never spoiled. It was magical. At that age, I was a shy tomboy, who refused to wear the carefully chosen outfits that my mother had packed for me. Instead, I wore my very faded, too large jeans, that were held tight around my waist by a purple hair scrunchie. The look was completed with my favorite bright gold Brazilian soccer jersey. I was not chic. I was painfully shy. But, I walked alone, every morning to the boulangerie to to purchase my beloved croissant amande, which I ordered in my best French and paid for in funny looking coins. Thirty-plus years later, this is still a precious memory.