When I opened the double doors, waves of fragrant aroma rushed at me. They were full and robust, combinations that I had never smelled before. Somehow the air was rustic yet refined, and I was sent into a momentary bliss.

The table was already set. She said there was nothing for me to do but sit and eat. Fortunately for me, Madame Lafont was a well-off woman who only bought the freshest fruits and vegetables, the highest grade meats, and the finest wines and cheeses. It also didn’t hurt that her cooking skills were seemingly unparalleled. That evening, she had truly prepared a meal that could have fed a small country.

We began by passing around the fresh baguette and wine. She chuckled at my apprehension and explained that it would not be a French meal if either were absent. The meal started with an “entrée,” basically an appetizer. This consisted of 6 garlic escargots on a bed of thinly-sliced ham, chilled and well-aged, of course. Next came the “plat principal,” the main dish. That evening we had beef with a rosemary and red wine reduction, cooked medium-rare, a creamy buttery carrot purée, and thin green beans with a white sauce. I was plenty full at that point, but the meal was far from over.

The salad followed: freshly tossed tender greens with a simple homemade vinaigrette. Next in line was the cheese spread. This grew to be my absolute favorite part of every meal. There was hard cheese, soft cheese, mild cheese, goat cheese, cheese so strong that your eyes would water, cheese with holes, cheese with casings, cheese with unpronounceable names, etc. At that point I was really full. I mean really, really full. Too bad for me, because she wasn’t quite done.

We ended with a light and fluffy chocolate mousse with raspberries. That almost sent me over the edge, but it was so delicious, and I couldn’t be insulting and decline, right? It was an absolutely delectable meal. I could barely walk after, and I refused to think about my caloric intake. I probably couldn’t even count that high anyway…

I thought that this meal was a gesture of welcoming hospitality, a one-time deal, perhaps a special treat. I was wrong yet again. This sort of meal came on a daily basis. It helped me understand the intimate relationship that French people have with their food. A meal is not just a product to be scarfed down, but a process requiring time, effort, and most importantly enjoyment.

Had I eaten like this at home, I would have surely put on a few pounds. However, the Parisian lifestyle accommodates for these lavish meals; you walk everywhere, all day, every day. Every second I was absorbing more and more of the culture, and I was continually intrigued. Still, the Eiffel Tower was really the only thing I had seen at that point. I was in a city that is world renowned for its tourism industry, and I needed to experience more of it to find out why. That would have to wait until the next day because it was late. I was full and in need of a good night’s sleep.