Coming Home — Cheese, Chips and WCs

I felt a bit guilty when I lied to the very kind customs man who welcomed us back into the United States.

“You’re not bringing in any food?” he said.

“No,” I replied.

My local fromagerie in Paris

My local fromagerie in Paris

In fact, my bag was 50% clothes, 50% food. I had several very alive raw milk cheeses, a few packages of salted Italian bottarga mullet roe, a large box of vialone nano risotto rice, five or six cans and jars of foie gras, four boxes of dried pasta and miscellaneous containers of salts. It is probably only the first two that would’ve raised border control eyebrows.

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Snack Attack

My name is Sean, and I’m a snackoholic.

There, I got it off my chest. And I feel much better.

My wife and kids would say, “Oh yeah… like that’s news.”

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I notice I most often snack when I am either bored or procrastinating, which is how I know I have a problem. Also, I eat small meal portions, so I wind up hungry between meals. Fortunately I’m not one of those people who eats a gallon of ice cream or family-size bag of chips when I’m depressed. I don’t eat anything when I’m depressed. Which might counterbalance my snacking habit, were it not that I’m hardly ever depressed. More