Morning Buns

My doctor says it's time to pay attention to my creeping cholesterol count and those extra ten pounds. OK, I'm game. I know that. So what do we do?

We completely turn on end what I've been eating. I've eliminated breads, white rice, pasta before, cut down sugar, etc. so I was up for that. But this time, on day two of the regimen, it finally dawned no me -- my cappuccino and croissant mornings are a thing of the past. Granted, after France I still don't have much of a desire for the stuff and it's been so hot it hasn't seemed appealing. But what if I discover that foamed milk and sugar are the fuel of my writing? That the whole thing comes to a crashing halt when faced with the prospect of an unremitting diet of peppermint tea and a third of a whole grain roll?

I've been dutiful and even enthusiastic for eight days now. I truly feel good too. I planned for my drive to Napa like I was the provisioning officer for a company of Marines -- an ounce of mozzarella cheese and two black velvet pluots on the seat beside me and the confidence that I would pass at least a dozen Carl's Jr.'s where I could get a chicken sandwich and eat just the inside.

But now I'm at my conference in Napa. I went to Bouchon Bakery yesterday afternoon -- just to look -- and I couldn't leave that pistachio brioche all alone in its case, unclaimed as evening drew in. And this morning I went to the Napa Valley Coffee Roasting Company in St. Helena. Even though I have TWO breakfasts provided for me everyday -- one at the B&B where I'm staying and one at the conference -- I require more serious caffeine than that which a pot of communal coffee can provide. Especially to fuel the exciting and exhausting work ahead of me of thinking about voice and narrative arc all day. I need a hissing, steaming, metallic machine that looks like it could pull a line of train cars up to Promontory Point. I need a double espresso.

And my plan survived until I got to the end of the short line at the counter. Then I pointed a querulous finger at the little trio of pastries balanced at the top of the display.

"What's that?" I asked, trying to sound casual and knowing that Dr. Getz is hundreds of miles away.

"A morning bun," the young woman said.

I suspected as much. I could not resist. A yeasty fistful with a firm, crunchy exterior and just a dusting of sugar.

"I'll have one of those," I said.

Now I can do my work.