Food and the French

I have a confession....at times, I am a serial Instagrammer, guilty of posting those foodie pics before devouring every delectable bite in sight. I will, however, admit that I only take one photo so as to be as time-efficient as possible, and so I can get on with it and move on to the delicious meal in front of me.

I still don't understand the whole "basic" concept - coffee in a cheap, recyclable plastic cup....but I'm not this terrible "Basic" if it's not coffee nor Starbucks, right?

Earlier this week, I tried the Nutella frozen Goodness {sans espresso} from the magical Folklore coffee shop a short, brisk walk from my apartment, partnered with a sandwich:

I'm a sucker for a good sandwich, not to mention the lure of a beloved Chronicles of Narnia character.

The French are known for their baked goods: crisp, hard bread; crêpes in every flavor and variety, sweet or savory; and of course, croissants.

With all of the French reviewing I've been doing with the Pimsleur Language Programs {thank you, DCLS!}, combined with the occasional strong desire for chocolate, I indulged by making my own chocolate croissants.

• Pillsbury croissant rolls
• Semi-sweet chocolate kisses
• Pam cooking spray
• Baking pan
• DONE

Despite my constant drive of improvement, especially in regards to my figure and the journey to self-happiness, I've found little treats are important for one's sanity and so there is not a total relapse aka making a desperate grocery store run and buying every chocolate bar in stock....except Hershey's.

Treat yo'self...as long as my bum continues to {ever-so-slowly} lift in perkiness and my stomach keeps flattening to its former glory days....

As hectic as life becomes, with crazy schedules and laundry lists of shit chores to do, cooking forces me to take that little bit of time needed to slow down and focus on the little things....like a perfectly cooked egg as part of my English brekkie after my morning run and workout.

Oh, how I miss walking into town to Weatherspoons for vegetarian English brekkie, listening to the old men discuss life with a beer in one hand and using the other to emphasize their accented opinions.

Et maintenant, je dois practiquer encore mon ukulélé et acheter du vin pour le dîner un peu plus tard....

I'm getting there....for some reason, food words in foreign languages are the ones which always stick. Wonder why?