Support for seasonal self-love comes from an unexpected quarter: the French daily Libération has issued a plea for us to embrace our “winter buddy”. That’s a soft, friendly winter body, forged of chestnut-based desserts, cheese and chouquettes, those sugar-topped mini choux buns they sell by the dozen in French bakeries (I’ve never seen a basket of them that didn’t make me yearn to unhinge my jaw and consume it in one gulp, like a python with a nest of bird’s eggs).
This winter buddy stuff is pure French fancy. The article conjures a wild, wish-fulfilled universe, in which having a bit of solstice padding makes you sexually irresistible rather than drawing barbed comments from your mother-in-law. I bet French intellectuals will remain whippety slim and elegant, though it’s reassuring to realise they’re probably dreaming of raclette, that nutritionist’s nightmare of molten cheese, potato and charcuterie.
