Winter is coming – and so is my 50th birthday. It’s time to eat all the pastries and grab all the joy | Emma Beddington
I’ve had enough of depriving myself. Give me a holiday, give me Campari, give me a soft, happy bodySupport for seasonal self-love comes from an unexpected quarter: the French daily Libération has issued a plea for us to embrace our “winter buddy”. That’s a soft, friendly winter body, forged of chestnut-based desserts, cheese and chouquettes, those sugar-topped mini choux buns they sell by the dozen in French bakeries (I’ve never seen a basket of them that didn’t make me yearn to unhinge my jaw and consume it in one gulp, like a python with a nest of bird’s eggs).This winter buddy stuff is pure French fancy. The article conjures a wild, wish-fulfilled universe, in which having a bit of solstice padding makes you sexually irresistible rather than drawing barbed comments from your mother-in-law. I bet French intellectuals will remain whippety slim and elegant, though it’s reassuring to realise they’re probably dreaming of raclette, that nutritionist’s nightmare of molten cheese, potato and charcuterie. Continue reading...
I’ve had enough of depriving myself. Give me a holiday, give me Campari, give me a soft, happy body
Support for seasonal self-love comes from an unexpected quarter: the French daily Libération has issued a plea for us to embrace our “winter buddy”. That’s a soft, friendly winter body, forged of chestnut-based desserts, cheese and chouquettes, those sugar-topped mini choux buns they sell by the dozen in French bakeries (I’ve never seen a basket of them that didn’t make me yearn to unhinge my jaw and consume it in one gulp, like a python with a nest of bird’s eggs).
This winter buddy stuff is pure French fancy. The article conjures a wild, wish-fulfilled universe, in which having a bit of solstice padding makes you sexually irresistible rather than drawing barbed comments from your mother-in-law. I bet French intellectuals will remain whippety slim and elegant, though it’s reassuring to realise they’re probably dreaming of raclette, that nutritionist’s nightmare of molten cheese, potato and charcuterie. Continue reading...
