Actually, I don't know Monsieur Jean-Marc at all. Just his baked goods, pastries, and kitchen creations. (He makes a really mean Quiche Lorraine, I must say, in addition to the croissants, Breton cake, and French macarons.) Which in and of itself is enough.
But, oh, when I see him in his bakery on North Avenue, I do want to go up to him, anoint his head with oil, wash his feet, and kiss him full on the mouth, just to show my appreciation for the existence of his bakery in lil' ol' Pittsburgh, USA. I'm sure he would be fine without my showing that kind of appreciation, of course.
Nevertheless, I try to remember to occasionally herald the people and places that make a difference in our world. We all bring enough negativity to our daily situations--oui, moi aussi, as shocking as that may be to you, dear reader--so when something comes along that's praiseworthy, I try not to hold anything back. Thus my sincere offer to, um, French kiss the Pastry-maker of Millvale.
Too much? Agreed, but aesthetic pleasures mean a great deal to me (despite my general aversion to cleaning my bathroom and kitchen with anything approaching regularity). Having a sweet spot in an aging, Appalachian milltown, one that produces pastries with panache, means a lot to me and to others residing here. On purpose or by happenstance.
Alors, vive la pâtisserie! Long may it wave delicious and colorful fumes across the Allegheny and into the cold, gray heart of Steeltown.
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