Welcome to The Receipt, a series documenting how Bon Appétit readers eat and what they spend doing it. Each food diary follows one anonymous reader’s week of expenses related to groceries, restaurant meals, coffee runs, and every bite in between. In this time of rising food costs, The Receipt reveals how folks—from different cities, with different incomes, on different schedules—are figuring out their food budgets.
In today’s Receipt, a 40-year-old flight attendant eats crew meals at 30,000 feet in the sky and shops for wine and cheese on a layover in France. She lives in Queens, New York. Keep reading for his receipts.
Jump ahead:
The finances
What are your pronouns? She/her
What is your occupation? I’m a flight attendant for one of the major American legacy carriers, which I’ve been doing for nearly five years.
What city and state do you live in? Queens, New York
How old are you? 40
What is your annual salary, if you have one? I am paid hourly, currently at $44.73/hour. I receive additional pay per diem, holding (like getting stuck in a traffic jam while taxiing or not being able to pull up to the gate), flight leader position, which is the head flight attendant who makes all the announcements, among other things. Last year I earned $61,065.
How much is one paycheck, after taxes? While it usually falls between $2,000 to $2,500, it has been as low as $1,400 and as high as $3,500 (during one especially wild holiday season). Because I have flexibility in both picking up and dropping trips, and don’t work any kind of set schedule, my paychecks can vary significantly.
How often are you paid? Biweekly
How much money do you have in savings? $2,008.81
What are your approximate fixed monthly expenses beyond food? (i.e. rent, subscriptions, bills)
- Rent: $1,700
- Cell phone and internet, including Hulu/Disney+ package: $200 (I also pay for my mom’s line)
- Electric: $50
- Gas: $20
- Spotify: $10.79
- Netflix: $10.80
- Subway fare: $50
- AirTrain monthly pass: $40
- Unlimited pilates class package: $318.83
- Credit card bills: $400
- Interest on student loans from 20 years ago: $68
- Total: $2,868.42
The diet
Do you follow a certain diet or have dietary restrictions? I have developed some issues with IBS in the last few years (apparently a genetic curse), and am still trying to figure out what my exact triggers are. I’ve also been trying to dial back the amount of red meat in my diet.
What are the grocery staples you always buy, if any? Almond milk, almond or coconut creamer, eggs, kimchi, various alliums (garlic, shallots, scallions), berries, tinned fish, pasta, rice, and…cheese. An absurd amount of cheese. I keep staples like Parmesan and American in my fridge for the purpose of throwing together meals, but I’m particularly fond of rank French varieties like brie and Camembert.
How often in a week do you dine out versus cook at home? This is another variable that depends on how often I’m working that week, if I end up having a long day with no crew meals and haven’t brought food along (or if, let’s face it, I’m in a city that practically demands I eat out), or if I’m just tired and not in the mood to cook after a trip. But I do typically eat out several days per week. I try to eat most meals at home when not working.
How often in a week did you dine out while growing up? My mom would always get me a Happy Meal on Fridays. Most Saturdays we’d go out to dinner at a reliable chain or our favorite Chinese restaurant (RIP to the China Gate in my Southwestern town).
How often in a week did your parents or guardians cook at home? Almost every day until my brother was born (I was in middle school at the time), and then I was fending for myself a lot more frequently. By high school I was cooking myself dinner and often my brother’s too if our mom was working or taking a class that night.
The expenses
Week’s total: $193.43
Restaurants and cafes total: $49.47
Groceries total: $143.96
Most expensive meal or purchase: Drinks at La Suite in Antibes, France, 29.50 € or $32.59
Least expensive meal or purchase: Yellow squash at Key Foods, $0.31
Number of restaurant, cafe, and bar meals: 3
Number of grocery trips: 10
The diary
7:35 a.m. (PST) I wake up in downtown Los Angeles on day two of a transcon trip, or a domestic flight across the country. We came in from JFK Airport yesterday, and we’re heading back this afternoon. I ponder the eternal question: to brew or not to brew the hotel room coffee. This is something most flight attendants have strong feelings about, and many senior mamas like to tell horror stories about in-room coffee pots being used to rinse pantyhose, among other things. (This may be an urban legend; I can’t imagine anyone actually DOING it.) I’m unafraid as long as the coffee maker looks clean, though the coffee itself is some generic “private” label no doubt wholly owned by Marriott International. I stir in a pack of Vital Proteins collagen ($1.69 on sale) that I picked up at the Eighth & Grand Whole Foods last night. I’m not especially hungry for breakfast as I had a late dinner the night before, so I nibble at the Brekki vanilla cinnamon overnight oats I also grabbed at WF yesterday ($2.19, also on sale), reminding myself to meal-prep some oats on my off days this week.
10:31 a.m. We arrive to the plane with a little less than an hour until departure, but have to hang out in the jet bridge (the tunnel connecting the plane to the gate) while the cleaning crew finishes up. I crack open an Ardor sparkling caffeinated water ($2.99, also from last night’s Whole Foods run) since I lack both the time and desperation to brew a pot of airplane coffee, which ranks well below hotel room coffee in quality. It’s supposed to be Starbucks, but it does not taste like Starbucks to me.
1:29 p.m. Having finished our first round of onboard service (beverage and snack cart, followed by coffee and water only, and trash pickup as needed), we can finally pause to eat our crew meals. On both transcon and international flights, these are identical to what is served in the premium first class cabin; departing LAX, the menu has been developed by a couple of well-known L.A. restaurateurs.
I opt for the pasta fagioli with white beans and kale, which is served alongside a mixed green salad with Persian cucumber and celery, a hunk of focaccia, and a piece of chocolate cake, the last of which my flight leader advises is best slightly warmed in the oven at about four minutes on low. The pasta has been sitting in the oven long enough to be lukewarm, but I’m shoveling it in my maw anyway. Accompanying this is a bottle of Bel-Aqua mineral water from Ghana, left behind on the plane from a previous flight to Accra. Hydration is extra important while working, as the dry air onboard is death to skin and sinuses both.
8:51 p.m. (EST) I didn’t want to eat for the remainder of the flight, thanks to all the water I chugged. I’ve been fantasizing about a Campari spritz for the last few hours, but as I exit the subway at the stop nearest my apartment, it’s clear that I’ll never make it to the wine shop before it closes at 9 p.m. for the required prosecco. The slice shop down the street closes at the same time, causing me to scrap my original idea of a quick and lazy dinner. Instead, I drag my rollaboard suitcase into New Yellowstone Farm, a neighborhood grocery with a sushi counter that sells the remaining sushi BOGO after 7 p.m. I grab a tuna and salmon mixed nigiri box ($12.95). I also get a “Fire Roll,” which is basically a supersized California roll with a tempura shrimp core, topped with spicy tuna and mayo (originally $11.95, but free); and a tallboy of Kirin Ichiban ($3.49). That spritz will just have to wait another day.
7:21 a.m. I was supposed to have a 7:30 pilates class, but foreseeing yesterday that I’d be useless at this hour, I canceled and waitlisted for the 9:30 instead. I have plenty to do around the house and only two days off though, so caffeine is in order, courtesy of the bougiest appliance in my kitchen: my De’Longhi Nespresso Vertuo. I ran out of my seven-ounce capsules a couple weeks back and haven’t restocked, so I make myself a double shot Americano with two Toccanto coffee pods, one last forgotten packet of Sports Research collagen I dug out of my work cooler bag, and a splash of Trader Joe’s almond and coconut creamer.
9:30 a.m. I linger outside the pilates studio hoping for a last-minute cancellation, but today it seems everyone is more functional than I am. I walk back home and stop at one of the sidewalk produce sellers, who’s offering four Cara Cara oranges for a dollar; I stock up, visions of spritzes in my head ($1.00 total).
I then head across Queens Boulevard to Key Foods with half-formed notions of potential breakfasts. I have only scallions in my fridge, so I select a white onion ($1.03, at $1.59 per pound). Then I remember I bought asparagus last week and forgot to check if it went slimy yet. Formulating another idea, I grab a petite yellow squash ($0.31, at $0.99 per pound), then hightail it out of there before I end up doing something stupid like buy cheesecake ($1.34 total).
10:12 a.m. I’m chopping garlic while trying to defuse my mom via speakerphone, who’s upset over the latest shenanigans by her incompetent apartment management. The garlic and half a diced shallot go into a ceramic skillet with a knob of what you may overhear flight attendants refer to as “the French butter,” or Grand Fermage Beurre Demi-Sel aux Cristaux de Sel de Mer de Noirmoutier. This butter, studded with chunky sea-salt crystals, is an initiation passed down from senior mamas since time immemorial, a rite of passage of every new hire’s first layover in Charles de Gaulle Airport. I’ve tried a lot of different “European” butters like Kerrygold and none of them have that salty-crunchy aspect. It is really, really good. I brought back two 250 gram bricks (3.19 € each, or $3.53 approximately) on New Year’s Day and am still working on the first one.
Added to the skillet are diced asparagus and yellow squash, plus a few generous shakes of Penzeys Sunny Paris seasoning ($6.95, previously bought), which is a mix of shallots, chives, green peppercorn, dill weed, and a few other things. And I finally add two beaten eggs once the garlic has crisped up a bit and the veggies have softened. On top I grate a bit of Parmigiano Reggiano produced under the label of Italian grocery chain Esselunga, picked up on my last Milan trip (yeah, it breaks the Parisian theme, but I have no chèvre).
2:14 p.m. I’m feeling snacky after a couple hours of doing laundry and assembling desk furniture, so I slice up the prepackaged trio of bell peppers I bought at Target last week, whose skin is just starting to look saggy. I dip the strips in Whataburger Spicy Jalapeño Ranch ($4.93), which I previously had my childhood best friend mail me along with a few other regional exclusives from the Southwest that are not easily acquired in my adopted city. It starts out like your average ranch and then immediately kicks into a lingering afterburn that takes over your mouth the longer you consume it. I even have to take breaks from dipping, although I love jalapeño anything.
4:18 p.m. After running something like 15 auto-tunes with the “digital” rabbit-ear antenna I bought for my mom’s hand-me-down TV and still not getting Channel 7, I’m cranky. I wander over to Food Universe, thinking I need some notion of dinner before I start throwing back Campari spritzes. I have no battle plan whatsoever, but figure more protein would be good. By chance, Food Universe has a shrimp cocktail ring as a weekly special for $5.99, and on some intuitive whim, I’d also bought a jar of Acid League 1860 Cocktail Sauce ($4.07) at the Whole Foods in Downtown LA last Sunday, which sounded much more elevated than basic Heinz. I also grab another container of Campari: this time the Campari tomatoes ($3.99), which are a gorgeous deep red. Also, a loaf of Italian bread from Monreale Bakery in Ridgewood ($2.49), plus a bottle of Hal’s original seltzer ($1.00). ($13.61 total)
Then it’s over to Empire Liquors, the place that closed early enough to thwart me last night, where I pick up a 375 milliliter bottle of Mionetto Prosecco ($9.99) and a Pinot Noir I haven’t tried yet called Maison de La Villette ($11.99) from 2019, which was a really good year for me, personally. Wine is so cheap in Europe that I have a hard time paying more than $15 per bottle. I’ve already acquired a Campari on a recent layover in Venice; I learned the hard way that as a flight attendant visiting Italy, you HAVE to buy alcohol at the store before your return flight, because Duty Free will insist on a boarding pass, which obviously you don’t have as a working crew member. (This rule does not apply in the Dominican Republic, by the way.) ($23.93 total)
4:40 p.m. Ahhh, sweet bitterness. I indulge in a spritz (or two, or three) while texting my Swiftie bestie about how she’ll need to help me come up with an ensemble for the Lavender Haze Ball this summer. It’s a fan-run event where everyone just gets dressed up and dances to Taylor songs. (I don’t consider myself a “Swiftie” but multiple friends are crashing at my apartment to attend this, so I basically said, “Count me in.”)
5:47 p.m. Now I just want carbs, so I’m thinking about chopping up those Campari tomatoes for homemade bruschetta, and slicing up that Italian loaf and popping it in my Breville Smart Oven. I bought that oven on Bon Appetit’s suggestion after using Easy-Off cleaner and vinegar and baking soda multiple times on the inside of my gas oven and still barely making a dent in the disgusting blackened food crust left behind by a previous tenant (or perhaps, multiple tenants).
I use this garlic spread called Garlicgold that I purchased at a Tesco in Dublin a couple months ago (where I also acquired all the various British food accouterments that Heathrow Airport’s draconian liquid regulations won’t allow me to bring back) as a base. I add a little Penzeys Italian Herb Mix ($3.29, previously bought) to the diced tomatoes. I don’t even bother adding olive oil; I just let the bread soak up the juices.
6:37 p.m. Part of me feels extremely guilty at trying to call bread and tomatoes a “meal,” especially as it’s mostly a sponge to absorb wine, but then I realize the shrimp is pretty much thawed by now and don’t feel quite so bad. The cocktail sauce is surely beneficial for my gut thanks to its “raw ACV” and the hot horseradish gives it just the right kick.
10:43 a.m. For whatever reason, I’m not in a coffee mood this morning. Instead I mix up an instant Four Sigmatic Matcha Latte ($1.99, previously bought) while thinking about breakfast tacos. I was subscribed to the meal service Factor on and off for the last few months, seduced by the ease of having meals dropped at my doorstep that could be either nuked in the microwave or heated in a plane oven without having to be haphazardly wrapped in foil first. But I found out pretty quickly that reheated chicken breast gets really old really fast. In one of my shipments I received a free add-on pack of smoked pork and bison jalapeño cheddar bratwurst, which I hadn’t figured out what to do with until now.
I dice up two and brown them in the skillet; the cheddar oozes out and caramelizes the sausage. I chop up yesterday’s white onion, then scramble several eggs. I figure I’ll make a big-enough batch to have leftovers. I warm up a couple of the Siete cassava flour tortillas ($6.69, on sale) I bought at Whole Foods on Sunday. The crowning condiment is Tacodeli’s Doña sauce ($6.99, also from WF). In the Austin taco-chain wars, Tacodeli is my personal champion, and this bright green jalapeño sauce has a lot to do with it.
11:07 a.m. (EST) I’m a double-corn gal, so the cassava tortillas are much chewier than I’m used to, but the combo works. La Doña is really what pulls the ensemble together. I wrap up two remaining tacos for later, then realize I technically have enough filling left for a third. If I were on an Austin layover, I’d have three, so what the hell?
1:23 p.m. (EST) I snack on one of the oranges I bought yesterday while waiting for my hair to air dry. I’m venturing into Manhattan for various important errands, like getting more Nespresso capsules.
3:21 p.m. (EST) Nespresso boutiques always make me think vaguely of Ollivander’s wand shop in Harry Potter with the way the boxes are stacked behind the counter. Perhaps the stores could make the purchasing experience a little more whimsical for the customer’s entertainment. The salesperson tries to entice me into buying five sleeves in order to get a free one, but I barely even have room in my capsule organizer for two. I opt for the Melozio and the Golden Caramel. ($12.50 each, $25.00 total)
3:46 p.m. (EST) Wandering through Nolita in Manhattan, I remember that I clicked on an Instagram ad a while back for a plant-based fast food joint called Neat Burger, promising me a free burger for its grand opening. I sidle up, flash my email, and order the Cheez Burger (“Neat patty, cheez, onion, pickles, ketchup and mustard”) and a side of the spicy corn ribs as well ($6.43 with tip), with spicy mayo for dipping.
The patty reminds me of a Beyond Meat burger, less plausible as “meat” to me than, say, an Impossible burger, but the cheez oozes nicely and there are almost enough toppings to fake you out into thinking you’re eating a fast-food greaseball. The corn ribs are just spicy enough but lodge themselves in my teeth about ten times worse than regular corn on the cob.
Neat Burger happens to be next door to Bambina Blue, a funky little gelateria that I’ve eyed longingly at a distance several times but never visited. I tell myself I deserve it. As tempted as I am by flavors named “Kindness Bueno” and “Ferrari Rocher,” I have to go for a scoop of Miso Brownie ($10.45 including tip). For me chocolate is always best with an added element of saltiness, and I indulge while gazing at the pastel jungle and giraffe-themed decor.
6:39 p.m. Having ventured back into Queens, I stop by the Aldi in Rego Park for a couple of things before walking the rest of the way home. I have a domestic three-day trip beginning tomorrow afternoon, and I already sternly told myself that I’d prep some overnight oats, so I select the least-moldy container of Naturipe blueberries ($2.49) and, though I’m not terribly hungry for dinner, a clamshell of Simply Nature arugula and spring mix ($2.89) and some cremini mushrooms ($1.49). ($6.87 total)
7:10 p.m. I have an 8 p.m. pilates class, which gives me about another 30 minutes before I have to head out the door. I quickly dice and blanch my leftover asparagus and set it aside in the fridge to chill, then clean the mushrooms.
9:04 p.m. No wine tonight, as that would negate my effort, but I do stop by 7-11 on the way home for a bottle of GT’s Trilogy kombucha ($4.64).
9:21 p.m. I throw together a salad with the arugula mix, a couple of the remaining Campari tomatoes, the asparagus, half the mushrooms, and the Wild Planet smoked sardines with lemon I bought at the DTLA Whole Foods ($2.29 on sale). Of course, I neglected to notice when purchasing that they are neither skinless nor boneless, so I have to take extra time painstakingly yanking out their little spinal columns before assembling them atop the greens. Instead of pre-made dressing, I drizzle the salad with black Mission fig balsamic vinegar and garlic-infused olive oil from Green Olive Company, previously purchased at its shop within North Market in Columbus, Ohio (another excellent if unexpected food destination on a layover). ($5.00 each) I add sea salt and freshly grated pepper, and another dusting of Parmigiano Reggiano.
9:27 a.m. After getting home from pilates, and getting a notification from crew scheduling that I’ve been moved up from a domestic trip to this afternoon’s flight to Nice (yay!), I make coffee with one of the Golden Caramel capsules and my TJ’s creamer. I ordered another variety of travel-pack collagen online last week, but it has yet to show up.
10:50 a.m. My desire to meal-prep oats once again thwarted, I heat up yesterday’s leftover breakfast tacos instead, and have another orange.
12:05 p.m. I’m not about to bring home-cooked food to France (kudos to those flight attendants who do, you are made of much stronger stuff than I), but I do have produce in the fridge that I want to use up. I put rice in the cooker, then set about slicing the rest of the mushrooms and the bunch of scallions from last week’s Target run, and I soften them up in the skillet. Once the rice is done cooking, that gets dumped in along with gobs of gochujang and Lucky Foods kimchi. I’m not measuring any of this, just slopping it all in a pan until the rice is appropriately orange-red and the vegetable bits are crispy. Since I’m not actually hungry, this gets portioned into two takeout containers and tossed in the freezer, along with the rest of the pepper strips. I pick over and rinse the blueberries, reminding myself to freeze them too before I leave.
2:44 p.m. I realize as I’m walking to the subway station that I forgot to put the blueberries in the freezer.
3:42 p.m. We have complimentary brown-bag meals in the lounge, but none of them are especially appealing to me today. The chicken sandwich, cradled between hard, refrigerated ciabatta, is a pass; the quinoa salad with blueberries, feta, and spring mix looks better, but just feels like it’s missing something. Instead, I go for the least healthy option, a wedge of some pink-and-white frosted cake laid out for some mystery occasion, and a cup of black lounge coffee (superior to both hotel and plane coffee, but nothing special, either).
8:02 p.m. Only now am I getting any kind of opportunity to eat anything, as we’ve mostly just wrapped up dinner service in first class. I always volunteer to work galley position (or the “kitchen”) on international flights when available, so while I’m helping to put away trays and clear up the mess made from plating entrees, I nibble at some of the mixed cocktail nuts, still warm from the oven. I pour myself some Pellegrino and add a lime wedge. The corn chowder (which I serve myself in a paper coffee cup) seems saltier today than the usual on flights to Europe, but I just sprinkle some chives on top and finish it off anyway.
8:18 p.m. We’re still picking up from the dessert service, and I’m still pondering what I want for dinner. I end up choosing the usual—the braised beef short rib with mashed potatoes, green beans, and Bordelaise sauce. Hearty, reliable, and won’t sit in my gut all night the way the cheese-laden pasta will.
8:39 p.m. Do I need the ice cream from dessert service? No, but I also can’t resist the morello cherry topping. I could probably just eat that with a spoon and be happy.
3:36 p.m. (CEST) After emerging groggily from my required, “it’s too early to do shit in Europe anyway” jet-lag nap, I stumble over to the grocery store nearest our hotel, part of a chain called Casino. I spend easily forty minutes wandering around and staring into dairy cases before making my selections: Lepetit brand Camembert (2.85 €), President brand Croque Emmental slices, which are like Kraft singles, but way better (2.19 €), and President Comté le Montarlier (4.99 €). I also get a wheel of individually wrapped storebrand Camembert wedges, marked down to 1.25 €, for utility eating, because that Lepetit is coming home with me. For unnecessary carbs, I select the Rians Crème Brûlée (2.99 € for two pots), plus a bag of “mini saucissons” or charcuterie (0.99 €), and a baguette, also to take home (0.79 €).
From the adult beverage section, I select a bottle of Ricard pastis (9.75 €), because that’s a south of France thang I have yet to try, and a bottle of Saint-Émilion bordeaux (10.69 €). I also grab a chilled bottle of Casino brand Brut Cidre de Dégustation (2.56 €), a sparkling cider, because it’s about that time of day.
At the register, I strike up a conversation with a local who very quickly deduces I’m American and compliments my choices of the Lepetit and Ricard pastis in particular. I tell him I’m here for work, and then make the mistake of telling him what that work is. I tell him it was nice talking to him, and then he asks me to wait for him to finish checking out. Reader, he propositioned me. I know this sounds like a pulp novel, and it has certainly never happened to me before at a grocery store, but it did. Sadly, I had to refuse. He was probably married anyway, and probably would have finished off my pastis. (39.05 € or $43.13 total, excluding the can of Elnett hairspray I also bought)
5:16 p.m. Back at the hotel, I pour myself some cider while texting an Italian friend on WhatsApp, and eat a wedge of the discount Camembert while pondering my life choices. The pondering goes on so long I end up eating all but one wedge.
9:55 p.m. My crew is all off doing their own thing, and because I’m solo this trip and not familiar with the area, I don’t really want to head too far away for nightlife or sustenance. I walk to a nearby wine bar called La Suite, pulled in by the lure of live music and Aperol spritzes.
I order a spritz (9 €) and the croque monsieur truffe (11.50 €), which is far less cheesy-queasy than most croque monsieurs I’ve had stateside. It has very thinly sliced ham, and it’s light on the bechamel with crispy cheese on top. There’s a group of older tourists with limited English skills who are absolutely tearing it up on the dance floor, and I end up joining them and almost spinning into a table twice, especially after spritz number two (9 €). After this, the bartender claims he can’t make me another, and I don’t know if he’s out of Aperol or if he’s cutting me off because I’m an insurance liability. Does he not know how hard it is to get lit off Aperol? I’m mostly just uncoordinated. (29.50 € or $32.59 total)
12:00 a.m. At closing time, the singer asks me if I want to go elsewhere for a drink, so I take the opportunity to rectify my earlier faux pas of turning down a dashing Frenchman. It’s rum mixed with some kind of carrot-citrus juice. I’m not much of a rum drinker anymore, but whatever, it’s all pretext.
10:20 a.m. The hotel offers us a complimentary buffet breakfast on the morning we leave, and I drag myself out of bed early enough to take advantage of it, running into three of my crew members on the way there. I get an allongé at the coffee machine and load up my plate with frittata squares, tomatoes Provençal, bacon, crispy round hash browns, and a slice of brown bread carved off the loaf for an off-brand Nutella tartine, plus a side dish of fruit salad. I top the frittata with what is advertised as a “spicy tomato sauce” but really tastes more like Pace salsa.
The pastry selection is set up along the wall on the way into the buffet room, and the staff has thoughtfully provided little glassine to-go bags, so I take a slice of apple tart for the road. It crumples in half before I even slide it in there.
1:55 p.m. I take advantage of a brief pause in setting up onboard to wolf down the tart, along with that last forgotten wedge of Casino camembert.
4:07 p.m. I go for the vegetarian crew meal this time, which is confit eggplant with artichokes, fennel, and zucchini in a tomato-based sauce, an endive salad sprinkled with crumbly cheese and walnuts, and a berry tart. (I skip the mini baguette, since I have a full-sized one in my bag that’s going to get destroyed tomorrow.) The eggplant tastes much better than it looks, but there’s just something about airplane ovens that has the tendency to render certain meals into brownish slurry.
6:53 p.m. A crew member and I have been assigned to mind first class while two others are taking their breaks. As is habitual for flight attendants, we start scavenging through the galley for leftovers. She pulls out the pre-molded scoops of vanilla ice cream from dessert service, softened but still retaining shape, and because I need caffeine but don’t want to actually drink coffee, I put our onboard espresso maker to good use and make myself an affogato.
8:33 p.m. (EST) After being home again for several hours, I’m only now interested in eating, but not in cooking. I heat up one of my previous kimchi fried rice bowls and crown it with an over-easy egg. I feel like it needs something else in the way of texture, so I add a handful of Trader Joe’s crispy jalapeño pieces on top.
9:03 a.m. After pilates, I head over to Forest Hills Greenmarket, a farmer’s market I try to hit up whenever I happen to not be working on a Sunday morning. Today the weather is lousy and the market is subdued, and I’m not looking to buy produce since I’m on call for the next three days, but I do stop by the Goodale Farms tent to buy a dozen eggs ($8); they often have mussed feathers stuck to them, giving you the impression you’re eating them straight from the hen’s ass. I don’t mind paying a premium for farmer’s market eggs since that’s my go-to source of protein most of the time, but when I’m not able to buy them here, I usually buy Nellie’s free-range eggs from Target.
9:47 a.m. Coffee, again the Golden Caramel with TJ’s creamer, as well as the Further Foods collagen that just arrived yesterday. These packets cost just as much as the Sports Research ones I usually get ($29.99), but only have eight grams of collagen to SR’s eleven. Sigh.
11:50 a.m. A lazy, rainy Sunday calls for an egg and cheese bagel, but the only bagel I have in my freezer is a cinnamon raisin left over from a half dozen I got from Forest Hills Bagels some weeks back while taking advantage of its Too Good To Go app deal. I figure it’ll work well with my Croque Emmental singles anyway, but it needs something else to tie it together. In the pantry there’s a jar of Les Niçois Aïoli de Tonton Jean (4.50 €), a garlic aioli I bought on that last Paris trip in January. It’s not overly garlicky and along with the cheese serves as a nice contrast to the sweet bagel.
I always try to keep the yolk undercooked just enough so that it’s slightly runny, but the angle I cut the bagel at causes said yolk to spurt out off the plate and hit the kitchen floor.
3:04 p.m. The weather’s taken an even gloomier turn and there’s no way I’m heading out in the pouring rain. The book How to Be Parisian Wherever You Are by Anne Berest and several more French women suggests that a tartine of Camembert and a bottle of Bordeaux are an acceptable remedy for the “Sunday blues.” Not that days of the week have much meaning in a profession like mine, but I happen to have both. I cut the Lepetit in half, storing part in a sealed Pyrex bowl (that Camembert stink permeates every square inch of the fridge otherwise), and letting the other come to room temperature so it can become appropriately runny for spreading on the baguette, which has traveled back stateside pretty well (only the ends are a little stale).
My go-to wine glasses are small, opaque pink ones with a floral relief pattern from the Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo, both for portion control and because they’re very kitschy and make me happy to look at.
5:57 p.m. While I very much believe that bread, cheese, and wine make a perfectly sufficient dinner, I still have that arugula mix in the fridge and would like to use it up before I am inevitably sent away tomorrow. There’s still a half shallot left over from my breakfast scramble earlier in the week, which I mince; this becomes the base for an impromptu salad dressing along with heaping spoonfuls of Trader Joe’s Dijon and Trader Joe’s Sicilian Selezione EVOO. (Yes, even with France and Italy easily accessible to me, I still buy these staples at TJ’s.) I add a tin of Season skinless boneless mackerel packed in olive oil, which I buy multiple cans at a time off Amazon ($32.05 for twelve). Mackerel has a more subtle flavor than sardines, and here it takes a background to the mustard and shallot. It’s not the most attractive salad ever tossed, but it tastes pretty good and alleviates some of my inner embarrassment at my quintessential Sad French Girl Sunday dinner.