Je suis une lover du chocolat

Sweet Jesus on a lighthouse, do I love chocolate. Why does it have to be so sinful, so fattening, so yummy, so rich, so decadent?

The real absolute truth is, I love fat. In lots of artery-clogging forms. An excellent full-fat cheese, thick-sliced bacon, real cream, duck confit, European butter, dark chocolate pots de creme -- anything with loads of animal fat that is vaguely French, I love. I shy away from the organ meats -- I'm American enough to still think of it as having a smidgen of eau de roadkill, so I leave the goose liver to them. I remember something Julia Child once said, in response to the low-fat craze that swept the country, that "giving up butter, for instance, means that in two years you would be covered with dandruff." I quite agree. I once had a creme brulee that was so rich, so silky, and so loaded with luxurious velvety fat that I couldn't decide whether to eat it or rub it all over my body.

The French paradox is truly a phenomenon. How do they eat all that fat and drink wine and stay thin? I suppose a lot of has to do with the fact that they walk everywhere they go, plus lots of them smoke. Every cafe in Paris -- and there are 12,000 of them in that city -- has people sitting, smoking, drinking their glass of wine or aperitif, and ninety percent of them are positively scrawny. It's infuriating.

But, they also eat lots of local, fresh vegetables and homemade dressings, and their portions are small. This is something that I am re-learning during the Project - portion size. I am enjoying having a few high-quality treats as opposed to a flying-saucer-sized plate of dreck.

At least that's what I told myself as justification, as I drank my glass of red wine and ate my single chocolate truffle on Valentine's Day. The Project has made me take better care of my body, but sometimes, you just have to feed the soul.