French women don't get fat...but I do

For the first few weeks in Paris, I was pretty sure I was losing weight.  In my new life, I walk all the time, eat delicious fruits and yogurts instead of processed foods, and have cut way down on my nasty snacking-over-the-kitchen-sink habits.   I chortled gleefully to friends, “I eat giant wheels of cheese and baguettes the length of my arm and my jeans keep getting looser and looser!  It’s insane!”

Emboldened, I added a pain au chocolat to my daily breakfast.  An extra roll appeared next to my plate at lunch.  As I became more confident speaking French, I started ordering exotic pastries and giant macaroons and terrines from my local shops.  How far could I push this, I wondered?

Then my jeans stopped getting loose, and started getting tight.  

I was bemoaning this fact to my boyfriend on the phone a few nights ago, and he urged me to write a post about the lurid ingestive realities of the average French culinary school student.  He believes that I have not made it entirely clear exactly what and how much I eat every day here.

So, here’s the appalling truth.  On mornings when I’m feeling virtuous, I eat a bowl of cereal before school (with whole milk, natch).  But more often I will zip into the corner boulangerie for a croissant that I scarf down in the changing room at school before class.  If I don’t eat something in the morning, I can hardly make it to midday, because all the food smells turn my stomach into knots.  Cooking school plays games with your appetite because you are often confronted with the aroma of, say, fish guts and frying veal first thing in the morning, which inspires a weird combination of nausea and salivation.  

In the Ritz program, we arrive at 9 a.m. and essentially start cooking our lunch.  We usually prepare two dishes, but sometimes three or more.  Around noon, we set the table and sit down to a group meal in which we discuss the food we’ve made.  Some people pick at their plates and others refuse to touch a single morsel for fear of gaining weight.  Um, not me.  

By the time noon rolls around, some of us are sneaking rolls off the table before we’ve even plated our dishes.  We always have two courses but we don’t always make an appetizer, so often we are eating what amounts to two main dishes.  Here’s what we made earlier in the week:

First course: Sea bream on a bed of fennel with red wine sauce


Second course: Sea bass with sweet peppers and vinaigrette

We also whipped up some of my beloved Oeufs Meurette to review for the exam, so naturally I couldn’t refuse a small helping.

Another day, we began with:

First course: Leek and broccoli terrine with truffle vinaigrette
And then moved on to:

Second course: Pork fillet in whole grain mustard sauce with steamed leeks

Side dish: Potatoes stuffed with cheese, bacon, butter, fat, cream, lard, and crème fraiche.  Well, not exactly all of those, but you get the idea.
Lunch always includes warm bread brought upstairs from the Ritz bakery located down in the bowels of the hotel's basement.  Like Pavlov’s dogs, I start drooling whenever I hear the translator announce, “I am searching your bread now.”  The rolls serve the crucial purpose of sopping up all our buttery sauces, and might take the form of mini baguettes, tiny wheat loaves, or slices studded with nuts and dried fruit.

Sometimes while we’re eating, a pastry student from the kitchen next door will poke her head in and ask us if we would like some of their extra cake.  She doesn’t have to ask. She will then drop off something like this:


Everest cake
“Oh no,” I say. “I can’t do it.”
“But this cake is special! It is very rare!” protests my instructor. “You must try!”

Gosh, if it’s rare, it might be my only chance in my entire life to taste it, I reason. I really shouldn’t pass up this golden opportunity, even if my pants are starting to come unsnapped from all the belly pressure.

“Okay, but just a small slice.”


Chef urges me towards obesity.


My slice.

So we’ve made it to 1 p.m. Now, on any given day, I could have a dinner date, a friend visiting who wants to go out to eat, or a pile of stinky cheese, delicious fruit, crusty bread and éclairs taking up space in my fridge. And then there are the pre-dinner ice cream dates…because hey, Berthillon closes at 8!


Christine with Berthillon cones (we tried wild strawberry, almond, and peach)


Carrie and Wendy at Scoops (we tried chocolate, caramel and fleur de lait)

If we go out to a restaurant, we might get a set menu with three courses that looks something like this:


French onion soup, one of our starters at Les Degrés de Notre Dame


Another starter, goat cheese and lardons salad


Main dish: Duck breast with honey and Xeres vinegar sauce, roasted potatoes, more salad


Dessert might be chocolate cake with coffee sauce…


Or a classic crème brulee.

Obviously I need to start making some changes in my diet. More fruit, less bread, more salads, more walking, less overall unrestricted indulgence.

Starting tomorrow, of course.