My friend K was in town for a meeting in Paris so we met at the Louvre because she wanted to take in and channel the energy of some of the Masters. We’re both from California, so this is a totally normal way to speak.

“You know you can find inspiration and good energy just walking down the street, not just at the Louvre,” I say to her.

She was pretty annoyed by my comment, to say the least. Maybe it was obnoxious, but I find the Louvre, with its crowds and sheer immensity, really difficult to manage and am baffled by people’s reverence they have for this institution and some of its “must-see” pieces, particularly the Mona Lisa. I get pretty worked up about it because I like to see and think about art but it’s also frustrating that institutions have decided that we, the masses, consume particular works of art that a group of elitist art historians deemed worthy and many people often eat it up without questioning how and where their own tastes have been derived. Honestly, I have nothing against you if you truly love the Mona Lisa but I just hope it’s based on your own judgment and not because you accept it as a “Masterpiece,” whatever that even means. Anyway, maybe these are musings that are more appropriate for Linda to talk about on her blog.

So with my own walking in Paris and browsing on the ‘nets, I found inspiration in the form of a sandwich.

This guy’s blog entry on Nutella and Caramelized Banana Sandwich stuck in my mind days after reading it. I still eat Nutella occasionally but my love for it went on hiatus after I spiraled out of control in college and overdosed on the stuff, but the picture reminded me of the banana toasts my mom used to make for me.

I have since begun a love affair with salted butter caramel. On a walk along Rue Cler, I recently bought three jars of this Breton caramel laced with honey, and while two of the three are not for me, they are sitting in my cupboard, so they could very well be consumed by me alone. I’m starting to see a self-destructive pattern here.

I followed the recipe, using the caramel instead. Without thinking, I slathered on some butter on the Poilane bread before grilling it on a pan (no toaster chez moi) so it turned out to be extra rich. Overkill, but remedied with a glass of milk.

Look at me now, all grown up: a childhood classic made fancy by a little bit of French touch.

I sliced my sandwich into triangles since it’s just one of those things that make life good.

And to me, good food is art too.

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