Oh how I loved pain au chocolat. Can I even begin to
describe the pleasure and pain of my morning trips into work? Somehow, I would
drag myself out of bed, never having had enough sleep. Washed and ready to go,
standing in front of my bathroom mirror,
a grey face, sticking out of an ill-fitting office shirt, stared helplessly
back at me: “will someone please get me out of here!” the red rimmed eyes
seemed to beseech.
In order to
make it all the way up the hill to the train station, into Paris and ultimately
to my place of work, I needed more of an incentive than a handsome pay-packet
and the gratifying feeling of a day’s hard work. This was just as well because
I wasn’t going to get either of them anyway. What I really needed was a café crème and a pain au chocolat to help me on my way.
The lady
behind the counter knew my order, but would always ask anyway,
“Qu’est-ce que je vous sers?”
I liked her
because although she always made an effort to sound cheerful, I thought I could
sense a strain behind her façade. I figured that she too felt imprisoned in her
job.
“Un grand crème et un pain au chocolat, s’il vous plait.” I would smile back at her.
Well
sometimes I would actually just say “un crème” to which she would reply “un
petit ou un grand?” The ritual didn’t really change much apart from this.
However, on a couple of occasions it hadn’t been the same lady and my coffee
had been luke warm. Those were upsetting times, but I soon learnt to specify
under such circumstances that I wanted it bien
chaud.
I would take
the first lifesaving mouthful as I hurried towards the station turnstile and like
a dying person who comes back to life as the vampire’s venom floods into their
system, so would I feel the will to live and love come flowing back to me.
Next, when I was once again a sentient being in full control of my limbs, I
would take the first delicious bite of pain
au chocolat. Usually, she gave me a pain
au chocolat from the oven; the 50% daily recommended intake of saturated
fats would have soaked through the paper bag in the short space of time and
would be moist against my fingers. Biting down on the perfect texture at once
my mouth was filled with soft warm crispy chewy buttery oily pastry and melted
chocolate; which I washed down with another scorching mouthful of strong café
crème. And then, just for a second, life was complete and everything was just
how it was supposed to be.
Elation was
as short lived as the pain au chocolat
unfortunately. I would assume a place on the ugly burgundy train seats and
finish my pain au chocolat and coffee
with disapproving glances from the other passengers. I didn’t care though: I
had pain au choco and they didn’t. I
had a caffeine high and they could piss off. I also invariably had pastry
flakes all over my coat, chocolate on my cheeks, lipstick all over the coffee
cup and a tedious journey ahead of me. Never mind, I would think as the train
trundled closer to Paris picking up more cross people on the way; closing my
eyes and resting my head against the window I would plan my next coffee and
imagine the joy of doing pretty much any other job than my own.
