He's pretty much me, if I were a forty-year-old gay white man.
(Which, let's admit, is pretty darn close)
I was recently recommended his recipe collection/memoir, "The Sweet Life in Paris" by Anna's mom (who had been a pastry chef herself in France) because of his many documented truisms about the French and their uncanny logic and way of life. Finishing the book makes me quiver at the thought of returning to Paris, with excitement -- and yes, a little bit of fear. But Lebovitz's observations about the French translates also to Americans, which is even more hilarious:
Each chocolate shop in Paris is unique, so I'd never recommend one as "the best." I tend to think of them all as my children, each having various and lovable quirks. Nevertheless, we Americans love our lists and even more, we love superlatives. The higher up something is, the more we like it. When the rest of the world wonders why America never adopted the metric system, it's because it's not very exciting for us to say, "Oh my God, the temperature's about to hit 37 degrees!" when we could gasp, "Oh my God, the temperature's about to hit 100!" And don't get me started on that silly "wind-chill factor," which allows us to use even more superlatives.
Think about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment