Moules. Frites. And one happy Husband.

This is what happens when you live in France and your baby sleeps 10 hours one night and zero hours the next: Pumped up on adrenaline from the wacky sleep schedule you take a walk through the market and decide to buy 2 kilos of fresh mussels. The guy looks at you funny when you ask for 2 kilos, but you just smile and repeat yourself. You pay and then he hands over more than 4 pounds of shellfish. And you don’t even know how to make mussels.

Back home you do a little google sleuthing and decide to steam your catch in Belgian beer with mushrooms, bacon and a whole lotta garlic. Oh, and about two tons of butter, just in case the bacon fat isn’t enough. And just for kicks, you decide to make homemade frites, because even though you hate Michael Chiarello his recipe looks just too good to pass up and it’s 7pm but it feels like midnight and your brain feels like maybe someone slipped something into your afternoon pain au raisins and you can’t stop yourself from zipping around the kitchen like a maniac because if you stop now you might implode from sheer exhaustion.

And then Husband comes home and tells you you’re nuts. And that he loves you even more than the day he married you.

 

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