Americans have arrived in force in France once more. No young U.S. Army Rangers had to scale the cliff at Pointe du Hoc, no Sherman tanks rumbled through the streets of Paris, and no bombers darkened the skies above.
Nevertheless, a crowd of 500 Parisians gathered to meet — and fall in love with — this new invader.
Krispy Kreme has come to France.
Reporting from Paris, the NYT's Liz Alderman bore witness to the amazing sight of "the grand opening of the chain in France, and patrons — dozens of whom had camped out overnight — watched through a giant window as a conveyor belt ferried fried dough toward a waterfall of sugary frosting."
The younger generation of Parisians can't get enough of American fast food, and chains like Popeye's and Krispy Kreme are showing up where only massive multinationals like McDonalds and Burger King had dared tread before.
Even the advertising is cheeky.
Lol, I just want to note that their ad campaign is "the best croissant from Paris" pic.twitter.com/foESa8QwYu
— U.S. SpaceLawyer in France (@USSpaceLawyer) December 7, 2023
A generation ago, thems woulda been fightin' words. Today, a young office worker told Alderman, "I’ll be late [to work] but at least I’ll have doughnuts for my colleagues.”
I have to interrupt this report for a 100% Factually True VodkaPundit Tale.
The year is 2005 and Mrs. VodkaPundit is less than three months away from delivering our firstborn. According to her math, that means she's been pregnant for 17 years. So I do what I can to help her — and not just because of that time last week when she nearly drove a serving fork through the back of my hand for picking at the six-pound honey-baked spiral ham she'd picked up all for herself.
On this particular sunny Sunday afternoon, she decides she needs Krispy Kreme. "One dozen glazed," she tells me. "And you can get something for yourself, I guess."
At this point, I'm pretty sure she's been pregnant for 17 years, too, but I digress within this digression.
There's a Krispy Kreme about 15 minutes south of us in the parking lot of The Citadel shopping mall — that's the sketchy mall you only want to go to when you have to but probably not even then. I pull up maybe 20 whole minutes after having received my marching orders, a little surprised to see the terrible condition the parking lot is in, with cracks everywhere with weeds growing out of them.
Worse, Krispy Kreme is closed. Not for the day. It's out-of-business closed.
No problem; I've got this. There's another one just 50 minutes north right off of C-470 in Denver. Actually, more like an hour away since I'm all the way down here at the Citadel. But when your pregnant wife needs Krispy Kreme, you bring her Krispy Kreme.
This is 2005. The iPhone hasn't been invented yet, and I never carry around that stupid Nokia Melissa made me get. So I head up to Denver, her none the wiser. An hour or so later, I pull up to the S. Quebec St. Krispy Kreme — a fully armed and operational donut shop. They had a hot and fresh batch of glazed ready to go for me. Well, for Melissa.
Sure, I got home two hours late without explanation — but all was forgiven when she smelled the still barely warm Krispy Kremes. She says I'm the "Best. Husband. Ever." but still nearly stabbed my hand the next time I went for the spiral ham.
The point here is the attachment people develop to Krispy Kreme's fluffy yet crispy, never-too-sweet donuts.
Someday, maybe just a few months from now, someone will tell a story very much like mine — but they'll tell it in French.
UPDATE: Since this column went live a short while ago, I've received emails from female friends, coworkers, and members of Amazon tribes so primitive they've never even heard of the internet, reliably informing me that every woman in her third trimester has been pregnant for 17 years.
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