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My heart started to hurt on Sunday night. And, no, I don't mean in some metaphorical, "my heart is breaking" way, I mean that I was having awful, stabbing chest pain and I seriously thought I was in the throes of heart failure or something along those lines.

Even though it really didn't feel like heartburn (the pain was very localized and too high in my chest) I convinced myself it was most likely just heartburn and went to bed thinking it would be gone by morning. No such luck. I woke up with the same stabbing in my chest and by dinnertime I was a little bit scared that I was going to, oh, I don't know, die? But I went out to Le Petite Marche with Joe, Joe's mom and aunt and Poon anyway (I can't resist those damn passion fruit creme brulee's).

Two (okay, maybe three...or four) glasses of red wine later? Chest pain gone. And not just because I was drunk because, really, I wasn't that drunk and besides it's still gone and I'm certainly not drunk anymore. So all that "red wine is good for your heart" isn't just a load of hooey.

My new theory is that my heart was missing red wine because I hadn't had any since my single glass at Louis Vins last Wednesday (five whole days ago) and it was DEMANDING that it be given some. Because you know, red wine nourishes your heart and all that good stuff. And here in France where wine is literally cheaper than soda, my heart has gotten quite accustomed to, uh, being "nourished" on a regular basis.

Labels: Bon Appetite, France, Heehee