Buying groceries might be more dangerous than you think.

"Treasure Island" is a dumb name for a grocery store - especially one that leases part of the main floor of the Playboy Enterprises building. However, along with Trader Joe's, that's where I've been doing most of my grocery shopping, and I'm really enjoying it. They have excellent produce, and the convenience of going right across the street for groceries outweighs some of the higher prices. But the prices are suprisingly good, in general anyway. However, as much as I enjoy Treasure Island, it is a nest of peril for the unwary dieter - I knew it would be as soon as I set foot inside. In an unpretentious case beautiful little chocolates, pastries, cakes, pies and Italian cookies of all descriptions are set out to catch the eye of the casual passer-by who only stopped by for milk and bananas. As if this isn't enough, there are the myriad delights of the olive bar and whole shelves of cheeses to resist. Or not. But today I discovered something even more dangerous.
This morning we were running late, so I took a trip down the elavator and across the street to get some coffee for Richard to take to class. The espresso machine is right behind the pastry case, and as my coffee was brewing I had a chance to take a look at some of the wares. I noted an attractive bread loaf. I touched it. It was warm. In fact, it steamed. As I watched, a French woman walked behind the counter, removed several small loaves from an oven, and asked my barista to put them out when they'd cooled a little. I didn't even try to resist such a promising impulse buy, and walked away from the pastry case plus a loaf. As I went through the checkout, I confessed to the cashier that fresh bread was my weakness. "You're not alone," she said. "This bread doesn't even last till ten o'clock- and it's hard to say no when you work here."
"It might not be easy, but I don't think I'll be coming in every day. At least I hope not."
"Well, good luck with that." She smiled. "See you tomorrow morning!"
I took my coffee and headed across the street, bread wrapped tight to save the heat. I gave Richard his latte and kissed him goodbye. Then I broke off a peice of crunchy new bread, still piping hot inside, and ate it right away - I couldn't even wait for butter. (Although I did use a liberal ammount of butter for the next peice. And the next. And...) Later, Richard and I used the rest of the bread for some truly spectacular hot grilled chicken sandwiches - the perfect end to a perfect loaf.