parle vu frappe?

Did you ever have the feeling you needed something but didn't have a clue what it was?  I'm talking about that hunger for a particular taste that totally escapes your appetite memory banks.  You head for the kitchen to forage.  Is it a salad?  Ice cream?  Pizza?  Big Mac?  Beans and rice?  Damn, the list is endless and after trying everything you realize nothing on hand is what your appetite wants.  It's like trying to remember the name of your third grade teacher.  It's on the tip of your mind but you just can't seem to grab hold of it.  Thoughts of Wendy's, Long John Silver's, and Vesuvio's pizza run through your mind as you discard each of their menu selections as not quite what your body craves.  You go back to the basics and ask yourself if you want something wet or salty or sweet or pungent or sour and you dismiss them all as not quite right.

Your choices are clear.  1. You can eat everything and feel full but not fulfilled or, 2. you can continue to go through your appetite repertoire in an endless roster of everything you ever tasted since childhood from your first sip of cold coffee to the fruit cup you had after dinner last night.

You remember the last time you chose number 1.  You probably pigged out on cold lasagna and Hershey bars topped with Ready Whip.  The leftover fried squash didn't do it for you so you moved on to potato chips and mustard, only to realize these vial concoctions just don't ring any bells.  As you lay on the floor, ankle deep in detritus from canned cream corn and empty pop tart wrappers, your underwear-clad body in a fetal position with a coke in one hand and a wedge of cabbage in the other, you realize the craving is still there and you have no more room in your distended stomach for one more pirogi with sour cream.

Let's not go there again.

My search took me down the road where the stench of over-cooked McDonalds, Taco Bell, and Burger King pseudo-meat is wafting through the air.  I stared dreamily at the golden arches as if a frappe was the answer.  No such luck.

In a state of half-dead starvation I wandered down the grocery isles in a drunkards walk of appetite unfulfillment.  Staring at housewives shopping carts and crashing into day old bread racks, I noticed what looked like a baguette and then it came to me like an angelic blast.  I grabbed the baguette and headed to the specialty cheese section and frantically searched for the brie.

On the way home I glanced at the bread and cheese on the passenger seat and wondered if I had enough butter.  No time for second guessing.  I'm on a mission.

Once home, I got out my best steak knife and sliced that bread from stem to stern, opened it, slathered soft butter on both sides, and stuffed that sucker with thick slices of brie and took a bite.

All I can say after that is, thank God for the French.