Sunday, December 17, 2006

creme puffs

I love those little things. I love the squish of just-thawed whipping cream through puff pastry, bite size, bite after bite. My mother made creme puffs about once a year. They were remarkably good. It is one of those pot-luck things that shows up on the table, and I can't stop going back for more. They don't hit me for about 45 minutes, and then I am sick. Gwen, if you read this, you took the high road and I wish I'd been on it with you. Me? I was aiming for moderation, a concept that has always eluded me. In every category, but especially creme puffs. They, as a food group, are so tied to childhood deprivation, of having three older brothers who always got more, and first, and this is the nature of my eating disorder: that boys deserve and girls do not. So when it is a room full of women, the allowance is overwhelming.

But as the recently deceased Peter Boyle would say: Stay out of my psychosis.

I'm full. And home. And now it is decorated inside and out. He hung the outside lights. We're ready.


Mama Jackie said...

Cream Puffs. WHO. BROUGHT. CREAM PUFFS? I, too, ate a handful of them. I, too, am full.
Thank you for coming today. As always, it is a shining moment to see your smile.

L. said...

oh man. as a kid, the helms bakery truck came around daily, like an ice cream truck but pastries... 35 cents for a cream puff no longer existent. i ate one each day and now, nothing can compare with memory. thank goodness for that. since that childhood luxury lead to this adult inability to hold my sugar. i hope they were sugarfree puffs!