All Alone With Dessert and the Giggles

I WOULD have to experience this alone. 

As a person who bakes, I’m always interested in what the cruise lines offer for desserts, especially sugar free numbers. 

What would you call this?

The Princess head chef, in his (gotta be a guy) wisdom, dubbed it “Paris Breast”.  

I couldn’t stand it. I got a case of the giggles at the buffet line.  Sheri, of course, decided to sleep in (this after I stayed in bed until after 11, we had another hour time change).  Someone…please…find this funny!

The jet lagged zombies, still recovering from yesterday’s bed tossing by Dutch immigration, shuffled past. 

Sitting alone at my table, still quietly mirthful, I suddenly heard my mother in my head. “But deah…Paris Breast is a very famous pudding.”

Oh, it is NOT.

“Yes, it is.”  She insisted. 

I’m try to hoard my rather expensive internet minutes, but that sounded like a challenge to me.  Google, show me the French boobies!

Holy cow, those Parisian broads have some weird titties, that’s all I have to say.  Or the women who sleep with French chefs seriously need to see some plastic surgeons.

And the Princess chefs must be English, because I’m thinking the French chefs intended for Paris Breast to be light, fluffy, delightful.

Instead, this chewy, sugar free disaster is filled with saccharin-y Nutella cream.  The crust tastes like someone left the lid off the tin for a couple of weeks and it’s gone soggy.  This Paris Breast belonged to an old tart.

The cruise could at least up the game by putting two of the failures on a plate at a time.  And replace the blueberries with raspberries.