Taste of Cyn

I love Nutella. That’s probably the worst kept secret in the world. I talk about this hazelnut chocolate goodness all of the time. I prefer to eat it straight out of the jar with a spoon OR the best way possible – in the middle of a hot crepe with a sprinkle of icing sugar over top.

I associate Nutella with happiness and with writing because the first time I ever had Nutella was on a crepe from one of the notorious street crepe makers in Paris, France (yes, the same crepe makers who got run out of gay Paris for sleeping on their carts and performing other non-hygienic stunts).

I went to Paris with a group of students during my senior year in high school. I was 17 years old. I had never been out of the country before. I painted. I wrote. I loved French history (with their decapitations and their women warriors). I fell in love with Paris instantly.

Our chaperones had dozens of students to supervise so I would wander the streets by myself. Dangerous, yes, but it added to the fun. I was young and free and much more interested in the art and architecture than getting into trouble.

I also was on a budget and whenever I’d get hungry, I’d buy a crepe. The crepe makers would tell me stories. They’d been everywhere, seen everything. They, mostly male, would flirt with me, making me feel like a sophisticated femme fatale.

One Of The Crepe Makers In Paris, France

Looking back, I could also see they were protecting me, telling me to check in with so-and-so along my route. When I was late, that so-and-so would ‘accidentally’ bump into me. They made the dangerous streets a little less dangerous while still giving me my freedom.

Now, whenever I suck on a spoon of Nutella, I think of that first trip to Paris and I smile.

This Crepe, Filled With Nutella and Sprinkled With Icing Sugar, Was Made at Le Buffet, Paris Casino, Las Vegas