Ode to Pain Au Chocolat

You pain au chocolat! I remember

when I first saw you behind the aging

teal facade of Au Levain du Marais at

28 Beaumarchais. I was skeptical, I'll admit it.

I had food snobbery all over my face and a

privileged of sigh of oh, I guess you'll do for the movies

as I began a homesick trip of Landmark Cinema

popcorn with real butter and Izzy soda and even

ice cream, but here, a country serious about its movie-

going experience, a place serious about its pastries

as well, I figured you couldn't be too bad. Pain au chocolat,

how you proved me wrong! I left you into my pocket,

hoping that you would not betray this first trip to French cinema.

You startled me during first bite to as I heard your

roar of endless buttery crust and the catch of the

sweet baton inside. I had to wait then for Bowie

to blast on the scene, for vinyl turning underneath the needle

so I could crunch again into your middle, hearing

the acute silence around me, remembering

my Uncle Bob eyeing me at a Broadway show

when I opened a small foil of chocolate after the

show started. After, I waited, licked my fingertips and

fished you out of the folds of my scarf,

letting each piece of dough melt on my tongue,

wanting to lean over and tell Liam, this,

this is the best chocolate croissant I've ever had

waiting for the film to be over, or even,

for the next morning, to go back

for another.

*after Raymond Carver's Soda Crackers