It's sort of become like an Agatha Christie play of disorders. Diabetes, bane of modern North American existence has tapped first my dad, then brother and now my mum. All are dealing well with a new lifestyle and routine medicines, all are a little annoyed.
I know I eat like an ant, glorious husband tells me this on a semi regular basis. I like sweets, and pastries, and if I'm honest am most of the way through a lemon tart as I post. Now it's gone. Have I mentioned the beauty of eggy tarts? That deceptively flaking crust saturated with succulant buttery goodness, cradling a golden disc of quivering custard reminiscent of a setting sun? O yes, fair sugar, I am thy slave. I identify strongly with the late great Queen Mum, who was all about the cookies and gin and lived to be 102, if I remember correctly. But that is not the fate of my bloodline; I am in my mid 30's and feel as though I am standing on the edge of a battle field peppered with traps and snares and things that go boom: diabetes, heart disease, alcoholism, cancer (blood and colon in particular), depression and (hurray!) insanity. I am armed with foresight, but perhaps limiting my love affair with sugar and refined carbs and moving my ass a bit might be better armor.
And yet, so close...coissant. Thou lofty and radiant gem of breads, so like your cousin pastries and yet within your hidden core lies a secret stash of chocolate...sigh. Breakfast of Champions indeed.