Is it weird that the thing I missed most in Europe was my morning bowl of Cheerios? (And yes, I know you can get cereal in Paris, but how could I in good conscience do that when there were so many pastries to sample/)


But as I poured myself my first bowl of Cheerios in over a month this morning, I found myself telling the cereal box -- out loud -- how much I had missed it.

We'll, um, just ascribe that to jet lag.

Gorgonzola and honey crostini. You want to eat these. Soon. And, if possible, you want to eat them here. Yum. Best new discovery of the week. (Though possibly only because I haven't yet had a chance to watch the new school paper reality tv show.)


And the universe taketh away...


Thus, with a rather ridiculous amount of gorgonzola crostini and other carbohydrates (and with many thanks to those who enabled such a  satisfying feast of excess), so endeth my consumption of bread--and pasta and cake and pretty much everything else I eat--for the next eight days.

I've heard tell there are people out there who enjoy Passover. None of them live in my apartment.

For those of you keeping track: The crankiness sets in tonight at sundown, the misery (for both me and anyone forced to endure my presence) will likely descend around tuesday, the starch withdrawal padded-room-bound insanity by friday.

I could, of course, just give up on the whole thing, and quit complaining.  But why quit when I'm so damn good at it?

"Happy" Passover, folks!