Why are French people thin?

We attended our second cooking class last night at The Wooden Spoon. This one was called "French Classics" - the menu comprised of Coq au Vin with Riesling, roasted brussel sprouts with bacon, warm goat cheese salad and profiteroles with chocolate sauce. Think you'd be thin after that? Neither am I. And neither is the husband, after the chef offered only him the second helping of profiteroles while prefacing it with, "You seem like the one with the big appetitite."

I immediately noticed something different from our first cooking class. The husband had acquired this heightened level of cooking class confidence. Our friends attended with us to celebrate both of our birthdays. That husband, a cooking class virgin, likely wanted to be anywhere else but put on a happy face (and an apron).

My husband, however, was disappointed in the inefficiencies of the cooking class "assistant," who generally cleans dishes during the class but also has "wine opener" in her job description, and proceeded to try to pry the cork out himself with a knife. He could also be found noticing a fellow student chopping and scooping up herbs with improper tools and bringing it to her attention. I married a complete stranger. Or, perhaps just a cooking class convert.

The food was incredibly heavy, in that really satisfying way. Heavy cream merged with cognac and wine is not a sauce you can dance all night after, but who needs to dance when you can stuff yourself sick? It was glorious. I think I'll try to make it one Sunday when I'm feeling half as confident as my husband was last night. Or, maybe I'll just let him make it.