A World of Pain

That's French for "bread", that is.

At the beginning of our trip to the tiny (and like, so super-cute) village of Vieillevie in the Auvergne region of France, my affinity for French pastries and bread started innocently enough - with requests for a pain aux raisin/pain au chocolat/croissant breakfast (yeah, if you knew me, you'd know that was considered a restrained request) half-mumbled from my position under two pillows stacked on top of my head in our lovely river-view cottage (naturally, I asked others to purchase the said pastries for me rather than getting up and doing it myself).

Then as the days went on, my penchant for the stuff could not be subdued and I kind of went a little overboard (encouraged by a fluent French speaker, who eagerly showed off his French at the nearest boulangerie), so we graduated from the small bread basket to the, um, extra long one:

Then I got a little closer.  Likethisclose.

You know, just to like, document the full extent of the fluffiness of the pastry, the glaze on the top and the big, fat, juicy ... raisins with just the right amount of ... sorry.  Had to wipe the drool from my chin.

Anyways, with that, my obsession with French bread and pastries was in full swing.  I took pictures of myself knighting Tom with a baguette, me playing the "bread-flute" (which is possible if you hold a long baguette at a ninety degree angle to your mouth and hold accordingly - it makes quite a convincing wind instrument) and baguettes tucked under my arm at every available opportunity, like this:

I'm fascinated by the French attitude towards bread ... I love how baguettes remain unwrapped at the local shops and are then found loitering atop refrigerators, televisions, tucked under arms, tossed into tote-bags, balanced on the lap of a Vespa driver, etc.  It's so ... French (i.e. intimidatingly cool).  

I did go a little "pain" mad.  When Cristy and Tom posed for a photo (that I coerced them into taking, btw) by the Lot, I thrust a baguette in her face and demanded she use it as a prop.  Humoring me (or perhaps frightened that I'd blow a gasket if she didn't), she obliged. 

Mmm ... pain.