Me, October 2000: “But man, the bread is good.”

Me, March 2002: “They bought two petit baguettes and a pair of croissants and a pain au chocolat. … They ate their breakfast in relative quiet, drinking the bottled water instead of the champagne, enjoying their last few hours in the Parisian spring air..”

Me, February 2005: “Voila!—your baguette is piping hot and quite wonderful.”

I am back in Paris, and you, dear reader, have no idea how fucking hard it is to observe Passover right now.