After months of working on an upcoming book, we celebrated back in April. Not with a dinner, or a party, but with my husband unceremoniously putting me into the car and driving us to a Panera Bread positioned just north of the mall. Because I love to love them. The
Panera Bread spinach and artichoke souffle!
It's all I can do to not hork it into my face right away. I honestly try to stretch out the chewing/forking process to at least half an hour. Okay, I'm no souffle connoisseur, so don't crab at me too much for worshiping these franchise delights. Perhaps it is because they are a little difficult to obtain. You have to show up at Panera fairly early in the day to score one; they aren't made after noon or something. Why, I have no idea. They could power the whole damn town on all-day sales of these things.
These aren't cost-effective, though. I find them filling, but honestly, it probably isn't a lot of food for the price. I order a free glass of ice water to rationalize the purchase. It might be my one beacon of stable thought among the swarm of insanity that revolves around wrenching my ass out of bed, slapping on pants, driving, and making a human enough face for the cashier -all for the end goal of making an eggy purchase.
Truthfully, though, it isn't the price or early arrival time that keeps me away. I'm afraid that if I eat them more than once or twice a year, the mystically coveted foodstuffs will somehow lose the glimmering patina of my daydreams.
Okay, I worked for months on that book, so I got two.
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Toe mouth.