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I Moved to France and Made Peace with Crumbs
Do you also suffer from crumbitis?
Growing up, I had crumbitis.
Ugh, crumbs! I disliked them in any size, smell, or form.
If you so much as took out the first potato chip from the bag…Or pulled out bread from the pop-up toaster…Or ate a crispy cookie without cupping a hand under your chin…
I would’ve given you the side eye.
But that was moons ago when crumbs bothered me. Today, it’s different.
Everything changed when I moved to France.
Land of la baguette. Home of les pâtisseries. One mega-Crumbland.
Bread and flaky things came at me in every meal, every single day. At first, I wanted to scream when I saw crumbs everywhere.
At breakfast…
The croissant made a big, crumbly mess on my shirt.
At lunch and dîner…
The baguette was passed around the table — sliced, pulled apart, or broken with hands — leaving a messy trail.
At dessert…
The crumblier, the better, they said. Tarte au pomme, fraise, ou citron. Paris-Brest, Saint-Honoré, kouign amann, mille feuille.
