It’s amazing to come home from a trip a better physical specimen than when you left. It wasn’t a spa vacation. I was lucky enough to return to Paris this past week. I offer tours there once a year–small group–only eight people–and it’s always wonderful to be there. First and foremost, all physical bodies feel wonderful in Paris. French law does not allow glysophate (pesticides) to be sprayed on the food that grows there, and you simply feel better after a week of French food. Bloating clears up, your skin looks better, and you just feel better all around. This is a common experience for American visitors leaving France—this feeling of wellbeing.

Their government simply won’t let them poison the food that is central to their culture. It’s too important. And for me, French food is one of the things I treasure most about being there. Even an airport meal I had this late morning consisted of a slice of quiche Lorraine (better tasting and a better consistency than I could ever make myself) and a beautiful salad with goat cheese, walnuts, yellow raisins and other good things. I don’t know why I can’t imitate their French vinaigrette, but even the airport presented a little bottle of perfectly balanced dressing.

One reason Americans often return from Paris feeling better–lighter, clearer, even healthier–isn’t just the magic of the Seine or the charm of the sidewalk cafés. It’s the food. Or more accurately, it’s what’s not in the food.

Unlike the United States, where chemical additives have quietly become part of the weekly grocery list, much of Europe–France especially–has drawn a hard line. Additives like potassium bromate, BHA, BHT, azodicarbonamide, artificial dyes, and certain preservatives that fill American shelves are banned across the EU. The result? Food that is closer to what it was always meant to be: real.

The difference is almost immediate. Americans who can’t eat bread or pasta at home often find they have no issue enjoying a croissant or a plate of tagliatelle in Paris. European wheat hasn’t been genetically altered to the same extent as in the States, and more importantly, it’s not drenched in glyphosate right before harvest–a common U.S. practice. The same goes for meat and dairy. French cows aren’t pumped full of hormones or routinely given antibiotics. Their cheese is richer, their butter more flavorful–and somehow, it sits lighter in the body.

I’ve felt this firsthand. After just a few days in Paris, the bloating I have been dealing with vanished. My skin looked better, my energy returned, and for once, food felt like a friend instead of a battle. I ate cheese, bread, and chocolate daily–and felt better than I had in months. It wasn’t indulgence; it was nourishment.

The French also eat differently. Meals are savored, not scarfed. Ingredients are bought fresh, often from local markets, and processed foods are far less dominant. Even the fast food in Paris is made with higher standards than what we accept as normal. There’s a sense that food is to be respected, not rushed. It’s part of life’s rhythm, not just something to wolf down in the car between errands.

Maybe that’s the real difference. In Paris, food is still sacred. It’s not a battleground of diets and food labels and secret sugars–it’s a daily ritual grounded in pleasure and balance. That simple shift–eating food that’s clean, fresh, and intentional–can feel like a revelation to an American body worn down by hidden chemicals and rushed meals.

So yes, there’s magic in Paris–but some of it is in the butter, the bread, and the beautiful truth that food doesn’t have to hurt us. It can still be what it once was: a source of joy, connection, and healing.

It makes you wonder: why are we still allowing so many of these additives and toxins into our food supply? Why aren’t we demanding better? The answer is uncomfortable–corporate profit, weak regulations, and a system that prioritizes convenience over wellness. But perhaps travel awakens us to something deeper. When you realize how different you can feel in just a week–how your body responds to real nourishment–it’s hard to go back to pretending this is normal.

Maybe we can’t all move to Paris, but we can make small shifts. We can read labels, buy local when we can, support farmers who care about quality, and speak up when we see our food system failing us. Most of all, we can remember that our bodies are always talking to us.

I went to a corner bar last night in Paris to catch a quick meal. There were no chicken wings and burgers on the menu. I ordered a plate of leeks and haddock bites, and boiled, sliced potatoes all served with an amazing sauce. I laughed all the way home.

That was corner bar food.