Foodie or Fashionista? You Can't Be Both

Judith Jones, writer, editor, foodie, and Francophile, wrote, "I believe that some of us are genetically predisposed to love food, whereas others are not so blessed."

I am one of the blessed. Food drives my life, it motivates my day, it sends me regularly on pilgrimage to Paris, mecca for food lovers of the world.

Fashionistas are just as driven. They are passionate about Prada, frantic to flaunt the latest Fendi, and, when fashion dictates, they hobble happily on Manolo Blahnik stiletto heels.

What foodies and fashionistas have in common is that both our hungers are best fed in Paris. Mine never more so than when I walk through the doors of La Grande Epicerie de Paris, the ultimate foodie destination in the City of Light. Sandra Gustafson, whose books are a roadmap to good eating abroad, says, "Close your eyes and think of a supermaket in heaven. Open them, and you will be in La Grande Epicerie de Paris."

This vast, deluxe food court of Au Bon Marche, the venerable Left Bank department store, never fails to entrance me with its dazzling displays of all the foods that France is famous for: artisanal cheeses made with raw milk that intensifies their taste but keeps them out of U. S. markets, charcuiterie offerings of mosaic pates and lusty sausages in their floury skins, pyramids of pristine produce that only the most fearless of shoppers dare touch.

And my personal dietary downfall, the boulangerie. In France, bread baking is considered an art, and Parisians are discerning patrons. Waiting my turn on the bakery aisle at La Grande Epicerie is pure pleasure. I never tire of gazing at the nests of puffy croissants, the flat onion-and-olive-studded loaves of fougasse, the voluptuous sourdough boules snuggling into long, lean baguettes. Even for Paris, where all food display is theatre, La Grande Epicerie is a showstopper.

Depending on the time of day, I may choose a pate de campagne, a crisp baguette, and a wedge of Pont l'Eveque for a picnic in the park across the street. If I'm between meals, I wander up and down the aisles, lingering in the luscious prepared foods section, mentally putting together a dream dinner, then choosing a wine to enhance it further.

I always return to Au Bon Marche just before the flight home and fill a shopping bag with gifts for my foodie friends and treats for myself that I try to make last until my next visit. On the check-in line at the airport, I stand proudly amidst the fashionistas with their glossy couture packages, a jaunty baguette leaning out of my bulging supermarket bag.

I don't know what started me on the path to seeking nirvana in food rather than fashion, but at some point in my life, I chose cuisine over couture and have never looked back. Maybe it was the sign I saw in a Paris boulangerie that read, "Bread is the warmest, kindest of words." It brought tears to my eyes then. It still does.