I just tested negative for diabetes. Despite eating the 150-lollipop box that was gifted to me at a game show when I was eight. Despite consuming my weight in Nutella as a teenager. Despite not feeling the sugar rush anymore after eating sweets, but rather feeling suddenly abnormally tired and dizzy. You heard that right. I’m a survivor, as Destiny’s Child would say. And what am I going to do with that surviving gift, you may ask? Well, exactly what God intended me to do. I’m going to inspire… No, I’m going to advocate… No, I’m going to elevate… Yeah, no, I’m just going to eat more cakes. Until I make myself sick. Then I’ll blame it on my mom for “not stopping me.” Maybe the anger I’ll channel while arguing with her will make my body sweat off all that sugar.
These past few weeks were the winter holidays. Probably the best time of the year in Paris because you get to really enjoy the Christmas lights, the Christmas markets, the skating rinks… Or the annual “Best Christmas Yule Logs in Paris 2024: Crazy Creations from Palaces and Luxury Brands.” Which I totally didn’t spend four hours checking out while eating some raggedy shell-shaped cookies. For my mom and me, it’s a Christmas tradition. We sit there like two hungry hippos and start snake-tonguing every single yule log as if we were Michelin Guide inspectors.
“Is that supposed to be a skier? It looks like it was made by a three-year-old. That’s pathetic.”
“I know, right? I’m ashamed for him. He should just stick to chocolate making; pastries are clearly not his strong suit.”
“Look at that one! Rice pudding, sweet potato, and black cardamom? What is it, a dessert or a punishment from Les Misérables?”
“Why can’t they just stick to basic flavors? Why do they always have to bring in those weird foreign tastes? Like yuzu or Timut pepper? It’s like they’re saying French ingredients aren’t good enough for them!”
“Right on! Would you look at that! Pierre Hermé is trying to catch the train. This guy has been a has-been since the new generation of pastry chefs emerged from the telly. It used to be lame to be a baker, but the media made it cool. Guess the flavor of his yule log?”
“Oh dear. Let’s see… maybe anise? Ginger? Mint?”
“Worse! Passion fruit!”
“When are they going to learn? Exotic fruits are meant to be eaten in exotic places. Nowhere else! This man is a disgrace. Nothing good has come out of him since the Infinitely Vanilla Tart he created 9 years ago.”
“You’re going to love this! The Ritz baker is so bad that he came up with a sponge cake as a yule log. A sponge cake! That’s not even a yule log; it’s a kid’s birthday cake at this stage.”
“Nothing surprising. The guy doesn’t even know how to make a basic madeleine, so he came up with the concept of ‘revisiting the recipes.’”
“So much ego on that one. Check this out: they start off by announcing a decadent and exclusive concept.”
“Let me guess—the only decadent and exclusive concept is the price, though, right?”
“100 bucks, so yeah, pretty decadent to me. With clementine, lemon curd, pistachio, orange blossom water… And they’re so desperate for people to eat it that they even came up with a contest on Instagram to win one for free.”
“I wouldn’t eat it for free!”
“Me neither. Lemon curd gives me gastric reflux.”
“Lemon is meant for condoms and clogged pores. And, eventually, little tree air fresheners in cars. Nothing else.”
That night, I had a fever dream about running in circles on a giant donut before drowning in chocolate icing. The next day, my mom and I spent a couple more hours going over the yule logs with a fine-tooth comb, before deciding… not to buy a yule log. But wait, hold on. Isn’t it January already? You know what this means, right?
“Epiphany 2025: The Best Almond Cakes in the Paris Region.”
~ Zoé Mahfouz