“I lived in Ghana for a semester; Paris will be a breeze.”

This is indicative of the simultaneously arrogant and naive things I thought before I came to Paris. When I left for Ghana, I had few expectations other than that everything was going to be really ridiculously different. In truth, things were probably nicer and cleaner and less-different than the hut-dwelling images Americans are given of all of Africa (which isn’t to say that there isn’t a whole lot of that too). Sure, it was an intense experience — my short version is that it was the hardest and best thing I have ever done — but I was housed and well-fed and all of that delightful stuff. The point is that I went in expecting it to be difficult.

Tomorrow marks one month since my arrival in Paris, and I can already tell that this will not be nearly so transformative an experience as Ghana was. That said, it is an adjustment. There are certain things that strike me at random moments and remind me that living abroad is inherently disorienting. No matter how placeless we delude ourselves into believing we are these days, geography takes on profound significance when you relocate. Language, for starters, has a way of making even the most basic activities become an absolute chore. Culturally, too, things are far more different than you might expect.

There are a great many “profound” identity politics issues I could bring up here, but I am a graduate student who reads somewhere in the neighborhood of a millionty pages a week (rough estimate) and the last thing I need is to have that conversation here on my blog. But I am taking this to a place of crucial importance to basic human existence: food.

Again, I am in Paris. Food here is AWESOME! I can’t even begin to tell you how much I missed cheese when I was in Ghana. I ate Laughing Cow like it was the most amazing substance ever created because it was as close as I could get to cheese. The French? They love cheese, and I love them for it. They have loads of delicious gourmet cheeses at the grocery store for less than what I would be paying for processed sliced cheese in the US.

This is not cheese.

Doing my undergrad in a foodie town like DC also makes me appreciate the fact that as an incredibly populous city and the world’s most visited city, there is really a little bit of everything here in Paris. One of my classmates started an entire blog dedicated to Vietnamese restaurants in Paris.

However, food nostalgia is a condition you will encounter in any extended trip abroad. My friends in my study abroad program and I had more conversations than I can count about what our first meals would be when we returned from Ghana. Sure, Paris has just about everything and as Americans, we can find our crap almost everywhere — there’s even a Chipotle here in Paris. (No, I have not been. Yet.) In spite of the endless gastronomic awesomeness to be found in Paris, there are a few things I miss.

5. In-N-Out

This is only at #5, because of its regional implications. Technically, my last residence in the US was in Missouri, and thus I was deprived of this food even then. Regardless, I had a ridiculous craving for In-N-Out the other day and I was ridiculously sad that I could not have it.

4. Peanut Butter

Yes, they have peanut butter here, but it is hard to find and you can be duped into purchasing something that I assume is probably more natural, but is not the sugary processed goodness Americans expect to find when purchasing peanut butter.

3. Skim Milk

Look, I get it, café crème is a bazillion times better with good fatty whole milk. But sometimes, Paris, I like to just drink a glass of milk. I am also a cereal fiend (my undying devotion to cereal in France could merit a whole post of its own) and this “demi-écrémé” nonsense is just not cutting it for either occasion. I want my damned skim milk.

2. Pumpkin Spice Lattes

This is actually what inspired this post. HOW AM I EVEN SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT IT’S FALL IF I CAN’T HAVE A PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE? My friends and family are blowing up Facebook and Twitter with all of their devotion. “OH LOOK, FIRST PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE! IT’S FALL! ;LAKJSD;FLJASD;LFKJASFD” Or something like that. I’m digital slapping you from across the globe. I want your damned latte. You can keep everything else, but give me that latte. As an addendum to this (because item #1 is going to be a bit of a cheat) I will add that full-sized coffee doesn’t seem to be a thing unless you go to Starbucks. This is how I justify my frequent trips to the one on campus.

1. Pumpkin Anything

I warned you that I would be cheating a little. Confession: I am not even that infatuated with pumpkin, and I don’t particularly like pumpkin pie. However, I love the smell of pumpkin flavored foods and I love to bake. This time last year I was trying out different pumpkin cinnamon roll and pumpkin muffin recipes. I can do none of this here, partially because I don’t have an oven and this is a travesty I still don’t know how to deal with, but mostly because the French just don’t seem all that into pumpkins. Much like the Pumpkin Spice Latte, this is one of my great indicators of the change of seasons. It’s one of those things that I expect to see, smell, and taste as a signifier that YES, IT IS FALL!

So now that I have taken some time to wallow in my sad, difficult life, I am going to drown my sorrows in a nutella crêpe. Ex-pat life is hard, my friends.