tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89623652405833151162011-04-21T22:53:57.682+02:00Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.comBlogger441100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-8024125735655041112008-09-08T05:03:00.001+02:002008-09-08T05:05:20.308+02:00

While visiting Houston last month, I dropped by Brazos Bookstore and picked up a copy of Susan Bourette’s Meat:  A Love Story, a book that truly made me appreciate my own lack of street cred.  Bourette, a Canadian journalist, spent four days undercover in a pork processing plant and, disgusted by punitive working conditions and the sheer gruesomeness of the job, vowed to swear off meat.  Her

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-48730979459147673432008-08-28T06:29:00.002+02:002008-09-06T21:55:57.031+02:00

If I have been quieter than usual over the past couple of weeks, I can blame it only partially on the fact that I’ve been traveling.  The other part is that now that I have returned to vegetarianism, the issues surrounding meat seem more complicated than ever.In my search for clarity, I have finally gotten around to reading Animal Liberation, Peter Singer’s seminal philosophical treatise on the

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-75707395657927895592008-08-10T03:52:00.003+02:002008-08-10T03:56:23.397+02:00

Alas, due to constraints of time, budget and metabolism, I was not able to try as many kinds of meat in Paris as I wanted to.  But for the sake of others looking to increase their intake of dietary cholesterol in the City of Lights, I’d like to share some of the restaurants and dishes that were recommended to me but that I wasn’t able to experience firsthand.Dan, author of the charming and

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-24846352228893837742008-08-06T01:38:00.002+02:002008-08-06T01:42:04.454+02:00

My days as a temporary omnivore in Paris are a thing of the past, but I’m not quite finished with this blog.  I'm eating vegetarian now but am planning to have one last meat-containing meal with Tristan when I get back to New York in September, and, until then, I’ll keep posting here (with a little less frequency than usual).  How does America’s food system look up close to someone who’s been

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-45106831828108081232008-08-02T19:41:00.002+02:002008-08-02T19:45:49.698+02:00

“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”  –Ernest HemingwaySomething seemed right about going back to Le Bistrologue for lunch on my last day in Paris.  It was a sunny day; a cool breeze combed through the leaves of the tall trees that line Boulevard Diderot—a reminder that

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-39802217206456320172008-07-31T03:52:00.004+02:002008-12-10T10:22:16.763+01:00

There are many reasons to visit Amsterdam: serene canal views and public parks, historical landmarks like the Anne Frank House, museums housing unrivaled collections of Van Goghs and Rembrandts, infinitely friendly locals.  But there is a certain image of tourists who come to Amsterdam, and, as a recent weekend trip to the Dutch capital taught me, there is more than a grain of truth in the

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-33831919404989580632008-07-28T23:35:00.004+02:002008-12-10T10:22:17.011+01:00

One of the few French pop songs I truly like is Vincent Delerm’s “Tes parents.”  In it, the singer envisions how his girlfriend’s parents might be and describes a few different familial scenarios, each more horrifying than the last.  The happy ending is that Vincent is willing to put up with a lot—slideshows of vacation photos, slobbering dogs, opera music—to make things to work out with his lady

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-42360815507946786822008-07-25T19:11:00.012+02:002008-07-26T06:08:55.046+02:00

Dear Cojean,I don't want this to be awkward, but I thought I owed it to you to tell you why I haven't been to see you in a while.First, let me say that I really enjoyed all the time we spent together. You remember those few months when I would leave work every day around 1:30 PM to come to your place just around the corner. I used to bounce through your doors with a smile on my face, looking

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-35469313043724385312008-07-24T17:11:00.005+02:002008-07-26T06:40:40.924+02:00

I really appreciate the comments people have made on Bitten and other online forums about my writing and my project, and (without stooping to pettiness, I hope) I'd like to respond to some of the interesting criticisms I've seen.Many took offense at my assertion in my Bitten post that “Taking the life of an animal for food is a morbid, ironic affirmation that we are alive.” I admit that, as Luke

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-7094417507202515632008-07-23T10:54:00.018+02:002008-12-10T10:22:19.188+01:00

Back when I thought I'd never not be a vegetarian, people used to ask me, "Well, why don't you eat only organic, free-range, ethically raised meat?" My answer was that to do so would be to start down a slippery slope. If I justified eating certain kinds of meat, it would then be very easy to start justifying eating other kinds of meat, and finally to start eating meat indiscriminately. I've

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-56009562882118561212008-07-22T22:26:00.004+02:002008-08-01T20:46:07.876+02:00

Mark Bittman has been so kind as to let me write a post for his blog at nytimes.com.  If you’re not familiar with Bitten, you should change that—it’s a great source of recipes and culinary musings by Mark and other food writers who know what they’re talking about but don’t take themselves too seriously.

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-82512415729025844852008-07-20T11:15:00.002+02:002008-12-10T10:22:19.371+01:00

This is the second installment in an occasional series exploring others’ alimentary habits and thoughts about food.Talented violinist and singer Leah Germer, my sophomore-year roommate at Columbia, is one of the most thoughtful vegetarians I know.  As a precocious five-year-old, she decided to give up meat and convinced her parents and sister to do the same.  The Philadelphia native is still a

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-32402440428383628992008-07-17T08:44:00.002+02:002008-07-19T20:55:31.402+02:00

Sometimes it feels as though The New York Times dining section is speaking directly to me, and it's a wonderful feeling.  Take yesterday's "In Paris, Burgers Turn Chic," which rocketed to the top of nytimes.com's "Most Emailed" list almost as quickly as last week's chocolate chip cookie recipe.  This week’s article, and its hauntingly gorgeous accompanying slideshow, left me with just one

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-67741583057136486232008-07-17T08:27:00.003+02:002008-12-10T10:22:19.718+01:00

Courtesy of Anu Garg’s A.Word.A.Day email newsletter:“Profits, like sausages... are esteemed most by those who know least about what goes into them.” (Alvin Toffler, futurist and author)Image © George Bailey | Dreamstime.com

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-42401321365846823712008-07-14T20:59:00.005+02:002008-12-10T10:22:19.982+01:00

The part of Saturday’s post about the noises that pigs make reminded me of the time last year when my French grammar professor, having gone off on a considerable tangent, taught my class the onomatopoeic words for sounds that French farm animals make.  A little Googling turned up this very useful list of animal sounds in various languages.  My favorite French ones, in increasing order of how

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-5997701424091587822008-07-12T17:38:00.004+02:002008-12-10T10:22:20.150+01:00

This week was Pork Week at Salon.com, and it marks either one of the most brilliant editorial decisions ever made or the beginning of the end for Salon—only time will tell.The four articles and one video in the series are a frequently self-congratulatory celebration of pork from pastured, organic, preferably acorn-fed animals.  There’s a personal essay about making bacon—as in, starting from the

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-36078377447021669202008-07-09T19:54:00.008+02:002008-12-10T10:22:20.357+01:00

I didn’t think that the list of body parts I’d be consuming would include hair, but it seems I was mistaken.  I’ve become addicted to a Lebanese candy known as sha’er banat (“girl’s hair”), a box of which has been sitting on a table within arm’s length of my work computer.  It looks like a haystack (much more than any of the cookies that Americans call haystacks), and it tastes like sugar,

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-43572090778777831922008-07-07T19:59:00.002+02:002008-07-07T20:03:55.991+02:00

When people used to tell me that chicken was their favorite kind of meat, I always inwardly rolled my eyes.  There’s nothing sexy or enigmatic about chicken.  It always seemed so boringly inoffensive to me, so conventional.  I chalked up others’ love for chicken to their predilection for blandness, their lack of gastronomic adventurousness, their underdeveloped palate.My own first personal

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-90834473618430059562008-07-04T17:28:00.005+02:002008-07-05T18:13:00.106+02:00

I began this project operating under the assumption that European meat was bound to be better than the American kind, but at least a few fellow expatriates beg to differ. My coworker Chris, who hails from Florida but hasn't been in the States for over a year, gets a starry look in his eyes when he starts talking about American beef. "It's juicy, it smells good...it's just so damn good, I don't

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-24641330839567690332008-07-02T19:00:00.004+02:002008-12-10T10:22:20.582+01:00

Today I introduce a new feature founded as much on a lack of eventfulness in my own alimentary life—there are only so many new kinds of meat one can try—as on my immoderate preoccupation with what and how people eat.  “Other Omnivores” will take a look at other people’s thoughts about food and at their eating habits and preferences.   My fascination with eating is pretty equal-opportunity, and I’

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-80159259766782879172008-06-30T19:32:00.005+02:002008-12-10T10:22:20.793+01:00

As I try frantically to take advantage of Europe's geographical compactness during my last few weeks here, I've been doing a lot of traveling.  My time spent in transit has included encounters with plane and train food—which has made me realize how much better travel snacks are in Europe than in the U.S.On my flight to Berlin I was reminded of my all-time favorite complimentary airline snack, the

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-80935608334128922502008-06-26T17:26:00.007+02:002008-12-10T10:22:23.269+01:00

Even though the rest of us have long recognized that England is not a culinary wasteland, the French seem to hold on rather desperately to outmoded stereotypes.  “In London, in England, what do they have?  They have nothing.  I mean, a gastronomic heritage.  No, but anyway, apart from pudding, biscuits, there’s not much, you know?” said Gilles Ajuelos, chef of Paris’s acclaimed La Bastide Odéon,

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-83258979183198464812008-06-24T22:21:00.002+02:002008-06-24T22:24:32.916+02:00

Meat and cheese:  Is there any combination more straightforwardly indulgent—or more treacherous?I tried the cholesterol-laden pair twice last week and lived to regret it both times.  The first time was at Le Bistrot du Boursier, which, according to Gridskipper, has some of the best tartiflette in town.  I’d wanted to try the dish of potatoes, bacon and onions smothered with melted Reblochon

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-5290402860025915902008-06-20T11:53:00.004+02:002008-06-20T11:57:16.820+02:00

The USDA won’t let beef producers voluntarily screen their cattle for mad cow disease. How I wish I had worn my t-shirt today…

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-59879044252236291342008-06-17T09:44:00.002+02:002008-06-17T09:51:36.535+02:00

Before I left for Germany, a handful of people told me, “Berlin is a good place to go if you’re eating meat now.”  They were right. To be fair, Berlin is a good place to go for a lot of things. It’s a good place to go for laid-back bars and biergartens serving cheap, excellent beer.  My favorite was 25.  Its German name, fünf und zwanzig, is nearly impossible for native Anglophones to wrap their

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-62470378115384708392008-06-12T15:48:00.009+02:002008-12-10T10:22:23.576+01:00

Argentineans don't shy away from gruesomeness at mealtime.Exhibit A: The name for the grill commonly used in South American barbecue, parilla, is also the name of a torture device to which victims were strapped and electrocuted during the Argentinean dirty war.Exhibit B: Unico’s interior decoration scheme.Unico is the Argentinean steakhouse on rue Paul Bert where, last night, I had my first taste

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-51954181126113184402008-06-09T23:59:00.002+02:002008-06-12T07:20:25.522+02:00

I so enjoyed my sushi on Friday that I ordered even more last night, this time from Matsuri.  The phase of squeamishness about fish had passed; qualms about eating animals didn't even enter my mind.  I just enjoyed the surprisingly tender texture and mild taste of raw salmon and the smug knowledge that it was providing me with a good deal of protein and omega-3s.  I felt great.And then all my

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-24905853274658502442008-06-08T17:16:00.005+02:002008-12-10T10:22:25.251+01:00

It says “FUSDA.”  It’s meant to be a statement of admonishment for the United States Department of Agriculture.I don’t claim to be a farm policy expert, but it doesn’t take an expert to see that the U.S. government has committed quite a few agriculture-related transgressions in its day, from failing ever to tell its obese citizenry to eat less to diluting labeling standards to unloading unhealthy

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-3985321763529439972008-06-06T23:10:00.005+02:002008-06-07T11:08:04.822+02:00

Even fast-paced offices encounter the occasional slow period, and employees unexpectedly faced with little to do are prone to daydreaming about lunch.Today, during a stretch of hours during which we did nothing but make coffee and friend each other on Facebook, my colleagues and I decided to change up our midday meal by ordering in from Sushishop.  Samar, who sits at the desk catty-cornered to

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-63633263169488380592008-06-06T00:27:00.004+02:002008-06-06T20:06:07.068+02:00

Chicken farmer and San Francisco Bay Guardian columnist L.E. Leone has written a truly excellent piece for Slate about the reality of killing chickens titled “There Will Be Chicken Blood.”  (Why can’t I have a crew of witty copy editors writing my post titles?  I’d be much better off.  Let me know if you’re interested in the job.)Leone examines a pseudo-trend that has tagged along with locavores’

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-89320385247989629032008-06-02T22:50:00.007+02:002008-06-05T23:48:53.876+02:00

The much-beloved Cojean introduced a new summer smoothie menu today with a fresh spate of American-style promotional tactics.  Outside the Madeleine branch, a Cirque du Soleil reject performed acrobatic stunts with what appeared to be a blue surfboard.  Inside, the staff all wore crisp t-shirts that blazoned “Let’s get physical,” a phrase whose relation to smoothies I don’t completely understand.

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-64444923151860427872008-06-01T23:25:00.004+02:002008-12-10T10:22:25.447+01:00

The Rue de Joinville in the 19th arrondissement is officially open to traffic on Sunday mornings, but few motorists bother to turn onto the street:  these are the hours when pedestrians take over.  Singletons and families stroll down the middle of the lane, trailing trolley carts behind them, on their way to and from the open-air market at the Place de Joinville.The marché is no place for anyone

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-43421881844512440602008-05-31T00:44:00.008+02:002008-12-10T10:22:25.666+01:00

A few months ago the Brigitte Bardot Foundation, one of France’s few animal rights groups, mounted an ad campaign in Métro stops with the tag line, “Le cheval:  Ça ne se mange pas!”  The ads showed two pictures side by side, the first of a towheaded child hugging a Mr. Ed look-alike, the second of a bloody, questionable-looking raw steak wrapped in cellophane.  “How do you like horses?” the ad

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-31990122074844247622008-05-28T21:29:00.006+02:002008-05-31T10:02:29.814+02:00

Today the Times dining section chronicles the cult phenomenon of “flavor tripping parties” at which certain yuppies, jaded from having taken too many real drugs (or maybe just too uptight to try real drugs), consume miracle fruit, which “rewires the way the palate perceives sour flavors for an hour or so.”  Give $15 to a lawyer-cum-dealer who calls himself the Supreme Commander, swish a small

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-44864764719171804782008-05-27T09:57:00.004+02:002008-12-10T10:22:25.883+01:00

There’s no better breakfast, in my book, than muesli and yogurt.Certainly, I’ve dallied with other breakfasts over the years.  I still think about the semester when my earliest class started at 1:10 PM, and I spent half an hour in the kitchen every morning stirring old-fashioned oatmeal in a saucepan.  I sliced a banana and drizzled maple syrup over the top, then I retired to my bed with a spoon

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-83378642036152362162008-05-25T09:55:00.010+02:002008-12-10T10:22:26.148+01:00

I went to a party last night and met a man—the French hostess’s British boyfriend—who had been a vegetarian for the first nineteen years of his life.  “But I just couldn’t justify it anymore,” he told me.  “I wear leather shoes.”“Do you like the taste of meat now?” I asked him.“Not really.”  He shrugged.  “My palate’s just changed so much, you know?”At the moment, I could see his point.  I was

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-50168831480266705702008-05-23T10:11:00.003+02:002008-05-24T15:11:18.818+02:00

Jezebel.com reports that Oprah Winfrey is planning to spend the next three weeks as a vegan. The Queen of America, who’s referring to the diet change as a “cleanse” and an “inner makeover,” is blogging about her newest weight-watching scheme.  Here’s what Winfrey wrote on Sunday:[T]his first day wasn't hard at all. For breakfast, I had steel-cut oatmeal with fresh blueberries, strawberries,

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-1313001461690652652008-05-22T23:19:00.006+02:002008-12-10T10:22:26.386+01:00

This is one of the sandwich shops I pass on rue Gay-Lussac on my way to my class at the Institut de Géographie.  I haven’t been inside yet.  I'm a little scared that I won't be able to go back to normal bread and salads once I try the fantasy-laced variety.

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-29286025409813897502008-05-22T07:02:00.002+02:002008-05-22T20:12:23.584+02:00

Old habits die hard. After grandly declaring my conversion from vegetarianism, I have spent the past five days as a pescetarian.  As I had suspected, eating fish is not that difficult, as long as it doesn’t have bones in it.  It can actually be quite enjoyable.  I enjoyed the quinoa and salmon salad from Cojean (which I’ve previously rhapsodized over) I had for lunch the other day.  The curried

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-49606629524584578032008-05-21T00:14:00.005+02:002008-05-21T09:59:04.437+02:00

When I first read Taylor Clark’s explanation of vegetarianism on Slate.com’s infrequently updated “Travel and Food” section, my reaction was:  Is this necessary?  Do Americans really still need someone to tell them that vegetarians are people that don’t eat anything that once had eyes?Clark apparently thinks so:Those of us who want to avoid the social nightmare have to hide our vegetarianism like

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-59122708704211978692008-05-19T22:17:00.007+02:002008-12-10T10:22:26.657+01:00

Though I went to the Fête du Pain (Bread Festival) by Notre Dame on Sunday in order to revert briefly to my old animal-free eating habits, I found myself face to face with the above.  It brings new meaning to the term "lobster roll."

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-21050234161612939432008-05-18T22:04:00.014+02:002008-12-10T10:22:27.115+01:00

The Chicago City Council has decided to repeal its municipal ban on foie gras, the French delicacy of fattened duck or goose liver, nytimes.com’s Diner’s Journal reported last week. The ban had originally been instated in 2006 in response to animal rights groups who claimed that the treatment of poultry raised for foie gras—which includes force-feeding the birds fats and starches to make their

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-33791485959836219742008-05-18T10:22:00.011+02:002008-12-10T10:22:27.352+01:00

My first foray into eating animals takes place at Le Bistrologue.  I am running late, and it’s pouring, as it’s been on and off for days now here, as I get out of the Métro at Gare de Lyon.  People look at me as I hurry down Boulevard Diderot in my coral-colored dress, umbrella-less, soaked.  They probably think I’m going to meet someone for a date.  I’m not, but my nerves are at comparable

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962365240583315116.post-19837073657308276842008-05-17T18:08:00.002+02:002008-06-05T23:49:46.805+02:00

I chose to conduct an independent research project on vegetarianism in France this semester, and my findings, which I am in the process of trying to draw out to 25 pages, are as follows:  The French aren’t really into vegetarianism.People ask if it’s difficult to be a vegetarian in France.  It’s not as easy as it is in the States, but it’s certainly not impossible.  My diet may have, at times,

Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01620655851523500572noreply@blogger.com0