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If you want to see a normally placid French person go into a crazed frenzy, you don't need to watch their reaction to me mercilessly butcher their language.

One just needs to utter a single word—cheesecake.

I've never met a French person whose face didn't soften and melt at the mere utterance of the word, and le cheesecake is always spoken of with a reverence normally reserved for the finest cheeses and most exclusive wines.

Although can you find Philadelphia cream cheese here at various outlets in Paris, when you do find it, it's prohibitively expensive. If you were to make your own cheesecake using four packages of the stuff, it'd run you about €20, which is nearly $30. Holy mother of Bristol Palin!

Rouchoux's caramel-filled chocolate bar.

At the shop, they advise you that after you've started it, to store it upright to prevent the caramel from running out.

That is, of course, is based on the assumption that there's going to be any left over in the first place.

John-Charles Rochoux
16, rue d'Assas (6th)
Tél: 01 42 84 29 45
(Map)

Related links:

And more chocolate: John-Charles Rochoux (TooManyChefs)

John-Charles Rochoux; Parisian chocolatier

Paris chocolatier...

Michel Chaudun
149, rue de l'Université (map)
01 47 53 74 40

Michel Chaudun (in Japan)

Pardon, Monsieur Linxe, but I disagree.

At a recent tasting at La Maison du Chocolat, I sampled at least eight chocolates—not to mention passion fruit ganache, chocolat chaud, plus two of their newest summer flavors: melon and star anise.

It was a lot to get through, let me tell you. I normally avoid any hot chocolate that's offered in those kinds of situations, because I find that's the tummy-buster, the stuff that puts you over the edge. And when faced with a plate of such fine chocolates, I want to enjoy and savor every chocolate-dipped bite. A warm cup of silky-rich chocolat chaud alongside? That's just dorer le lys. (Gilding the lily.)

My favorite chocolate at La Maison du Chocolat is Rigoletto Noir.

We're mid-week into our Paris Chocolate Tour here and we're having a great time. Everyone's enjoying the unusually fine weather, and of course, the chocolate.

I wanted to post a few shots and notes in my spare seven minutes—it's 5:34am so forgive any typos or missed links. I'll catch 'em later...in my free time ; )

Cheerful, and the amazingly-talented, Jean-Charles Rochoux shows us a chocolate replica of his arm in his laboratory. He made it for a Halloween display at a Parisian department store. The scoop of passionfruit sorbet is from Le Bac à Glaces, an ice cream shop just a few blocks away, where we stopped to cool down.

At M. Rochoux's swanky boutique, his assistant Murielle, packs up a box of chocolate. Check out the sexy glove. Oh la la! I may need even more sorbet to cool down...

If you do stop in, be sure to get a tablet of his chocolate from Peru. This is one of my favorite chocolates in his shop, along with the tablets of caramelized hazelnuts from Piedmont enrobed in chocolate as well as his latest; a bar of chocolate with a unctuous layer of creamy caramel oozing out.

A light French salad: la salade parisienne. Yes, there is some lettuce tucked under that mountain of ham, but I was more focused on the yummy house-made fries at Le Nemrod that I dove on as soon as they landed. Unfortunately, being the consummate host, I did share a few with my table mates. But not before grabbing all the crispiest specimens. Since my salad was so light, my guests knew I needed the extra nourishment to make it through the afternoon.

Did I mention how light it was? Just checking...

Of course, it's not lunch in Paris without un peu de rosé. I had a little pitcher, which was just enough to carry me through the afternoon. Well, at least until dinner.

If the above salad looked too light for you, the salad with soft-cooked egg melting over a huge mound of crispy bacon and studly croutons, may be more suitable to carry someone through a week of tasting chocolates. They also make a letter-perfect croque monsieur (and madame), if you're in the neighborhood.

If G. Detou didn't exist, I couldn't live in Paris.

Seriously. The overstocked, but impeccably neat shelves at G. Detou do indeed have everything, as the name implies in French (J. Detou is a play-on-words, meaning "I have everything".) But when you're someone like me that does an inordinate amount of baking, plus loves...and I mean loves...to discover new and unusual foods and chocolates, a place like G. Detou is truly pastry paradise.

This little shop near Les Halles is stocked, literally, floor-to-ceiling with everything a cook or baker could want. There's chocolates from across France, including a huge (and I mean huge) selection of bars including Michel Cluizel, Valrhona, Voisin, Weiss, Bonnat, Cacao Barry—the best of l'hexagone.

But even better are the big tablets and sacks that range from 3 to 5 kilos, that hard-cores bakers like me depend on. Although I'm not the only avid chocolate baker in town: When I was in last week, a tiny, meek little old lady came by and left hefting a 3-kilo sack of white chocolate, and a man in a hurry, who didn't remove the cell phone from his ear while he rattled off his order to the red-coated salesclerk, left with five enormous sacks of chocolate, as well as assorted other goodies.

I'm not sending you in search of wasabi-carrot-pistachio-veal verrines topped with fennel-durian marshmallows or raw sesame-crusted tuna towers with filo triangles served on square plates with a dusting of dried porcini powder and a scribble of sauce in the corner. Instead, these are some tried-and-true places and things that I like to eat around town and confidently recommend to all visitors.

And seriously, you shouldn't miss them if you come.

1. Arabesque Macarons at Pierre Hermé

I love les macarons and although I still think the classic ones at Ladurée are tops in town, Over at Pierre Hermé, he's always experimenting with unusual flavor combinations so you never quite know what you'll find here. But if you happen to be there and see pastel-orange cookies the color of apricot with a soft, creamy filling oozing out, hiding a nugget of crackly almond croquant covered with fine pieces of pistachio dust, I urge you to try one.

Although each time I go in, the amount of filling seems to be increasing to the point of excess, I can't resist popping one in my mouth. And in fact, when I go in now, my favorite saleswoman there instinctively hands me one over the counter.

(And people ask me why I live here all the time as well...)

One tip: The shop on the rue Bonaparte is usually mobbed and it's difficult to see anything or linger. Head over to the Pierre Hermé shop at 185, rue Vaugirard, which is much more spacious. And while you're there, stop in at des Gâteaux & du Pain at 63, boulevard Pasteur; the pastries and breads are drop-dead gorgeous there as well.

A blog is an online diary where you can write about what you see and what you eat. It's a marvelous thing that you can use to share your culinary experiences for everyone to read.

The flip side of having a blog is that others can, and do, read it.

A while back I wrote something about a chocolate shop in the Marais that I once walked by with a friend, a very talented chocolatier from Brussels. He looked in the window and didn't find the presentation all that enticing. So I wrote a few words about the place here on the site, a comment he made in passing, that wasn't necessarily glowing nor was it desultory. (Either way, I'm off the hook. He said it, not me.) But it was enough to invoke an email from someone at the company about a year later. But it wasn't signed by Joséphine Vannier.
Maybe it was a pseudonym for Her Divine Greatness! herself.

I can't find the message, but it went along the lines of, "David: Let us assure you that our chocolates are very fine and we invite you to come and try them."

Or something to that effect. There was definitely an emphasis on the words 'us' or something about coming in for a 'meeting' that I recall rather distinctly

Seizing the opportunity, I responded, saying I'd love to come in and get shown around, hopefully by the elusive Joséphine herself, and to be properly introduced to her chocolates with her expert help.
Alas, a response was not forthcoming: I never heard back.

Don't hate me when I tell you this:

Last week I was invited to La Maison du Chocolat.

But not just to one of their swanky boutiques in Paris, the marble-lined, cocoa-hued temples where people flock to worship at the alter of founder Robert Linxe. (And yes, you can count me as one of the converted.) Instead I was invited to tour their chocolate production laboratoire just outside the city.

Descending the RER train in the nondescript suburb of Nanterre, we finally came upon a beige building that was scrupulously clean; we knew we'd arrived at le mothership.

Robert Linxe, who was born in the Basque region and founded La Maison du Chocolat, was one the major proponents of using ganache in his chocolates; that slightly-airy amalgamation of chocolate and cream. Then he went on to develop a flavor palette of ganache-based chocolates...and the rest is one of the most successful stories in chocolate history.

The problem around here is that I buy chocolate in 5 kilo, about 11#, boxes and every afternoon, and sometimes (ok...make that 'often'...) first thing in the morning, I dig my hand deep in the box and pull out a few pistols every time I walk by. People have the impression that I eat chocolate all the time, every day. And although I usually deny it, I would have to admit it's definitely true.

Except last night when I was flossing, part of one of my teeth flew out and plinked onto the floor. So today it's like eating and talking with a thumb tack in my mouth, and I'm having a rare, chocolate-free day.

Who knew it was possible to floss to hard? Does that make me a 'power-flosser'?

(When I called my dentist, I was stumped trying to figure out the verb 'to floss' in French. Ça existe?)

Anyhow, in addition to the little palets of dark chocolate I'm always dipping into, I also have tons of unusual chocolate bars around here I've been amassing over the past few months.

Many I pick up when traveling, and some I get sent by companies wanting me to try them out. I happily sample them all and love to find something new or especially unusual. Often I taste them systematically by sitting down, snapping off a corner and savoring the flavors. As I roll and chew the chocolate around in my mouth, I ponder the different characteristics, noting origin and the various flavors: Sweet, fruity, acidic, roasty, bitter, citrusy, woodsy—all the various tastes we find in chocolate.

And other times, I'm not so good and I rip off the covering and start gnawing away at the chocolate until it's nothing but an empty wrapper with a few crumbs of chocolate left. I never did well in science since I'm lacking in patience.

So during the next few weeks, it's your turn to be patient.

Living in a foreign country, as an outsider, you tend to notice lots of contradictions. If you try to learn the native language, like I am, you'll notice there's all sorts of curiosities specifically designed to trip your up. When people ask me what I do all day, they don't realize that just to do something as basic as write a check, I often have to pull out the dictionary. (Although I've seen French people consult theirs almost as frequently.)

But English ain't no walk in le parc either...we've got where, we're, wear, ware...that all sound exactly the same but mean pretty different things.

One of the things you learn when speaking a new language is that there are lots of rules...and seemingly just as many exceptions. Sometimes they're things not taught in classes but you just need to learn by osmosis.

For example, Paris is generally pronounced Par-EE, without saying the final 'S'.

But if you say the name Régis, you say Rey-GeeSS you certainly do pronounce the final 'S'.

Similarly, if you mention the 16th arrondissement, most Parisians who don't live there (or is that 'their'?) will sneer and say, "Oh, they are all snobs over there" or "I don't like those people there, they're not very nice."

So imagine me being pleasantly surprised when I went to visit REGIS chocolatier in the heart of enemy territory.

One of my favorite things to do in Paris is just wander around, often in neighborhoods that aren't really known for anything special. There's always something interesting to find; shops specializing in vintage hairbrushes and combs, a locksmith for doors installed only during the reign of Napolean III, or the recently-departed Reptiles World (sic), which was one of my favorite places to pass the time while waiting for a train at the nearby Gare du Nord.

And of course, I'm usually on the lookout for food, and am especially keen when I come across a shop specializing in candymaking or chocolate. If I get lucky, I discover some little treasure, often in the most unlikeliest of places.

Le Furet Tanrade was opened in 1728, and it's still one of the sweetest little chocolate shops I've found in Paris.

Sure, their chocolates aren't nearly as sleek or refined as their Left Bank counterparts, but I appreciated their handmade charm all the same. Especially the petits dark squares filled with a crisp morsel of mint fondant cloaked in brusque, dark chocolate. And the chocolates filled with caramel and feuilleté were certainly as delicious as those found in swankier boutiques.

One chocolate that picqued my curiosity was flavored with chanvre, a word I wasn't familiar with. Although I've been previously familiar with the green leaf embedded atop the chocolate in my younger days, she offered a sample since she was having difficulty explaining exactly what was inside. (The French word for what I thought it was is a four-letter word in English...madame might not have appreciated my translation.)

But then, in that little shop, I learned my Word-For-The-Day: the ganache was infused with hemp.

(For the record, I'd advise against overseas shipping.)

But should you find yourself near the Gare du Nord or Gare d'Est, and need to pass a bit of time (or want try to get a bit of a buzz)...or if you just want to take a journey to a less-visited quartier of Paris, Le Furet Tanrade certainly makes a tasty stopping point.

Le Furet Tanrade
63, rue de Chabrol (10th)
Tél: 01 47 70 48 34
Métro: Poissonière

One of the hardest things about writing about food is coming up with that killer opening sentence. It should start with something that grabs your attention right away, tickles your curiosity, then encourages the reader (which would be you) to follow the writer (which, or course, would be me) deeper into the story. Thankfully when writing about chocolate, I can include pictures to help me get going, so most of the work is already done.

The other difficult thing when writing about chocolate is that there's only so many superlatives you can use to describe it, and words like: dark, unctuous, bittersweet, delicious, seductive, etc...don't really seem to pinpoint that feeling that you get when you walk into a pristine chocolate shop and are completely overwhelmed by the heady experience, inhaling that sweet, unmistakable scent of chocolate that permeates the air and overtakes you. There's that quiet moment, when you step into a special place full of chocolate, where you briefly forget all that's going on outside.

I'm fortunate to live a city where there's an unusually large amount of very good chocolate shops, and all-too-often one needs a refuge from the fast-pace of the streets and sprawling avenues. Here in Paris, I have my favorites, and one of them is John-Charles Rochoux. His petit shop is located just off the bustling rue de Rennes. It's not just a refuge from one of Paris' busy boulevards, but a step back to another era. In his shop, chocolate is both an edible obsession and an object of sculptural craftmanship, and you'll find many intricate, precious little chocolate sculptures, as well as a rather serious selection of bonbons from one of Paris' top chocolatiers.

Although there's several chocolate shops across the city that are terrific, at Jean-Charles Rochoux you'll find lots of little wonders here to keep you enchanted, including the amazing chocolate sculptures that M. Rochoux creates in his small, pristine workshop just beneath the tidy boutique. This kind of craftsmanship is rarely found anymore, even in a chocolate-obsessed city like Paris.

I was fortunate enough to take some time from my busy schedule to pose for Monsieur Rochoux, so he could create one of the most iconic pieces in the shop: Le torse.

That's the new one meter box of chocolates from Patrick Roger, over three feet of pralines, caramels, nougats, and creamy-smooth ganache-filled bonbons, all enrobed in ultra-dark bittersweet chocolate.

I don't know how someone would brave getting one of those home on the métro, but I'd surely appreciate their efforts if I found one under my tree!

Patrick Roger
108, Boulevard St. Germain (6th)
Tel: 01 43 29 38 42

People come from all over the world to sip le chocolat chaud in the busy and cozy cafés in Paris. Here are some of the top addresses in town to warm up.

Angelina
226, rue de Rivoli
Métro: Tuilleries

This famous hot chocolate salon is getting a well-deserved makeover. But no matter; the place is always packed-full of French society women and tourists side-by-side spooning up their gloriously rich, and impossibly thick, le Chocolat Africain. The service has taken some knocks, but most chocophiles forget any glitches in exchange for the priviledge of sipping the world's most famous hot chocolate.

Berthillon
31, rue St. Louis-en-Î'le
Métro: Pont Marie or Sully-Morland

Pair a mug of frothy hot chocolate with a scoop of Paris' best ice cream for a decadent afternoon snack. Their salon de Thé next door to the ice cream shop has terrific desserts, including perhaps the best, and most perfectly caramelized, tarte Tatin in Paris. Pair it with a scoop of caramel ice cream making it a wedge of heaven. Closed Monday and Tuesday.

Cafe de la Paix at The Grand Hotel
12, boulevard des Capucines
Métro: Opéra

Overlooking the extraordinary Opéra Garnier, this is the most picturesque spot in Paris to sip hot chocolate. Be sure to request fort en gout (strong flavor), unless you prefer your hot chocolate touché delicate, with a delicate touch. Open late in the evening for those after-the-opera chocolate cravings.

Charles Chocolatier
15, rue Montorgueil
Métro: Les Halles

Revitalize in this tiny, modern chocolate shop near bustling Les Halles on the trendy rue Montorgueil with a cup of their dark, bittersweet brew which gushes from their well-polished copper cauldron.

delicabar
At Le Grand Epicerie
26-38, rue de Sèvres
Métro: Sèvres-Babylon

Shoppers make a beeline to delicabar in Le Grand Epicerie to savor chocolate créateur's Sébastian Gaudard's dreamy concoction of chocolate and milk in this hip café. Non-purists (and hedonists) may choose to enhance their chocolat chaud with an optional dose of cassonade, the sticky dark cane sugar. The salty, buttery sablé cookies are delicious, and irresistable, as well.

Hotel Meurice
228, rue de Rivoli
Métro: Tuileries

Unwind in fabulous gilded splendor at this chic address across from the Jardin des Tuileries. The ultimate luxury here is ordering your hot chocolate according to the cru (tropical origin), including fruity Manjari chocolate from Madagascar and intense Guanaja from South America.

Jean-Paul Hévin
231, rue Saint-Honoré
Métro: Tuilleries

Divine hot chocolate is served in the upstairs tearoom. I challenge any die-hard chocoholics not to resist one of the rich, elegant chocolate cakes as well.

La Charlotte de l'Îsle
24, rue St. Louis-en-Î'le
Métro: Pont Marie or Sully-Morland

This funky tearoom serves their ultra-thick le chocolat chaud in tiny Japanese cups, encouraging you to savor it one chocolaty dose at a time. La Charlotte got a boost from a favorable write-up in The New York Times a few years back, so the cluttered shop can get a bit cramped on weekends.

La Maison du Chocolat
8, blvd Madeleine
Métro: Madeleine.
For other addresses, visit web site

Only a few locations of La Maison du Chocolat have tasting 'bars' where you can sit in the summer, slurping down a chocolate frappe or during the winter, treat yourself to a steaming mug of hot chocolate made from the world's finest chocolate. The exotic Caracas hot chocolate is not for the timid, nor is the Bacchus, with a rather adult shot of dark rum.

The hardest of all foods to photograph, I've learned, are chocolate-covered marshmallows.

The bright, fluffy, vanilla-flecked cubes of sweet, airy marshmallow in contrast to the thin, intensely-flavored coating of bittersweet chocolate certainly presents a challenge.

I futzed around a bit, trying to figure out how to show the lofty-white cubes in juxtaposition to the coating of pure, dark chocolate. They're such diverse colors and textures that I tried several variations and lighting situations, until I decided that they'd looked best with a piece broked off.

So I took a bite out of one.

Then I took another bite.

And then, I stopped shooting...

...and ate the whole pack.

Sorry.

Pierre Marcolini
89 Rue de Seine
Paris
Tél: 01 44 07 39 07

I'll soon be joining my friend Susan Loomis in her spectacular kitchen in Normandy, one hour from Paris, for a series of cooking classes November 5th-8th, from her home, On Rue Tatin...

We'll learn cooking tips and techniques from Susan in our hands-on classes and I'll be leading seminars focusing on all aspects of chocolate during special tastings and hands-on demonstrations: you'll learn everything from candymaking to making breakfast treats, and other ways to bake with chocolate in every way imaginable!

Susan is the author of On Rue Tatin, which chronicled her life moving to a village in France, restoring an ancient convent to become her cozy family home. Her other books include The French Farmhouse Cookbook (one of my French cooking bibles), and her latest, Cooking At Home On Rue Tatin.

There are just 2 spaces left for this culinary adventure and you can take advantage of some of the low airfares being offered right now to join us. You'll learn the secrets and techniques of French country cooking in Susan's stunning, professionally-equipped kitchen. Afterwards, we'll gather to dine by the fireplace with wines chosen from Susan's antique cave, and have a chance to savor a selection of Normandy cheeses, considered the finest in the world.

One evening our special guest will be Hervé Lestage, of Feuille de Vigne in Honfleur, who will lead us through a wine tasting, teaching you a new way to taste wine. My first tasting with Hervé changed everything I knew or thought about wine. Hervé is one of the most intriguing people I've met in France and we'll taste amazing wines from his cave which he'll specially select just for us.

As a grand finale to this culinary adventure, you'll have the option to spend a day and me and Susan exploring the gastronomic delights of Paris. We'll begin at an outdoor market, where you'll find an outstanding selection of Provencal olives, hearth-baked breads, artisan salt, raw-milk cheeses, luscious fruits, and sparkling-fresh seafood.
We'll dine in one of our most beloved Parisian bistros...but be sure to save room for all the chocolates we'll sample when we visit my favorite chocolate shops, bakeries and pastry shops in Paris afterwards!

Special Note: For this extra day on November 8th, we've made available 3 spaces available for people who aren't on our tour to join us, so if you live in Paris, or plan to be visiting then, you're welcome to come along! The price for the full-day gastronomic adventure, including lunch with wine, is just 225€. Contact me to reserve a space, using the email link on left.

You can read more about this Three-Day Chocolate Indulgence and at Susan's site, On Rue Tatin.

While I know that many of you reading this blog are desperately searching for information on Tucker Carlson, so call me a lousy blogger as I beg your indulgence while I introduce you to someone who I consider if far more interesting and important (and judging from the comments, better-liked): Henri Le Roux.

If you don't know who Henri Le Roux is, it's time that you did.

There's a lot of very talented chocolatiers and pastry chefs in France. Some are quite famous, and some just go to work everyday and do their jobs well. A few have rather large egos, others are more humble, preferring the lights of the kitchen to the ones in the television studio. (I was at a recent event with another food blogger who correctly noted that all the famous chefs mostly talk about is one thing: Themselves.) But if you mention the name 'Henri Le Roux' to any chocolatier or confiseur in France, they stand silent for a moment. Then nod agreeably. He is perhaps the most respected and admired pastry chef and candymaker I know.

I first met Monsieur Le Roux when I went to the Salon du Chocolat in Paris with my Thierry Lallet, who has an excellent (and highly-recommended) chocolate shop in Bordeaux, Saunion, one of the best in France.

Before that day, I thought that caramels were caramels, and until that point, I'd tasted so many things in my life that there was little left that would deeply impress me. M. Le Roux is a very kind man, who basically changed the way pastry chefs, glaciers, and bakers everywhere think about caramel: he created caramel-buerre-salé (caramel-salt-butter), which he simply calls C.B.S.
And they are truly divine.

Henri Le Roux, whose Breton father was a pastry chef (and lived in New York for 5 years, cooking at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel) started making caramels in the seaside town of Quiberon in 1976, located at the tip of a dramatic peninsula in the south of Brittany, where the best butter in the world is found (the first chapter in his book, is called "Le Rideau de Beurre", or "The Curtain of Butter". He decided to open there, selling cakes, candies, and ice creams. But like warm, buttery caramel, word of his candies spread and he stopped making cakes and tartes to concentrate all his energy on candymaking. Just 3 years later, in 1908, M. Le Roux won the award for the best candy in France, Le Meilleur Bonbon de France at the Salon International de la Confiserie in Paris.

Salted-Caramel Buckwheat Florentines just-slathered in bittersweet chocolate

M. Le Roux was kind enough to let me explore his workshop with him when I paid a visit during my August vacation in Brittany. As he raced from room to room, he flipped open bins of almonds from Provence or hazelnuts from Turkey to give me a sample, later showing me how he grinds his own fresh nut pastes in his broyeuse with massive granite rollers which keep cool, while metal rollers would heat the nuts too much, losing some of the flavor. And a rarity in the pastry field nowadays, M. Le Roux uses true bitter almonds in his almond paste, which he sources from the Mediterranean. Almond extract is made from bitter almonds, even in America, but they're hardly used anymore since they're difficult to find (and those pesky toxicity issues.) But in the land sans lawsuits, M. Le Roux makes that effort and blends a few into his freshly-pressed almond paste which tastes like none other I've tasted in France.

Exceptional chocolates from Henri Le Roux, which were too good not to eat right away

I like to ask chocolatiers which chocolate they use.
Most are secretive, but M. Le Roux led me into a cool room packed floor to ceiling with boxes of various chocolates he gets from all over France and Belgium. He tore into them, breaking off chunks for me to taste and explaining how he uses some of each, blending them as he wishes to get the desired tastes he's after. Valrhona and Barry-Callebaut are used, but he also sources chocolate from François Pralus, an artisan chocolate-maker located in Roanne, just outside of Lyon, who specializes in single-origin chocolates, as well.

I wanted to describe each and every chocolate in the box, but decided that that would constitute cruel and unusual punishment. (Actually, I ate them all and didn't feel like writing down what tasted as I was eating as I went. As mentioned, I'm a lousy blogger.) But I remember Harem, a filling of green tea and fresh mint, Sarrasine, infused with blé noir (buckwheat), and Yannick, blended dark cane sugar, salted butter and ground crêpes dentelle, hyper-thin, crackly lace cookies ground to a crunchy paste.

Oh yes, there's C.B.S. too, nutty salted-butter caramel enrobed in dark chocolate as well, which was my favorite.

Le Roux
18, rue de Pont Maria
56170 Quiberon, France

(Will ship internationally.)

Henri Le Roux's caramels and chocolates are available in Paris at:

A l'Etoile d'Or
30, rue Fontaine
Tél: 01 48 74 59 55
M: Blanche

M. Le Roux will also be at the Salon du Chocolat in Paris which takes place October 28-November 1st, 2006.

This was an easy post!

If you'd like to know what it's like to visit Jean-Charles Rochoux with me, one of my favorite chocolatiers in Paris, go visit Too Many Chefs for Meg's write-up of our visit.

Summer is here in Paris. It arrived without warning last week and was brutal. It was hot, and it hit around 31°(about 88°) and so humid, I faced a real-meltdown of chocolate. And just about everything else around here, including me, suffered the same fate. Just when no one couldn't bear it anymore, it stopped. Then we had rain and cool weather. It's so other-worldly (hey...am I back in San Francisco?), but summer arriving means a lot less clothes, and since I'm now European, it's obligatory that they're much, much tighter. Damn Europeans and their fine-tailoring. So that means it's time to pay for the last 8 months of eating too many pastries, tasting too many chocolates, snacking on too many macarons, and drinking perhaps a bit too much vin rouge. I don't know if I can hold my stomach in consecutively for the next three months, but I'm going to try. I've unpacked my shorts for summer and they definitely are un peu serré.

Speaking of tightening ye olde belt, last week I got to spend the morning at my favorite place in Paris, getting rid of a few excess US dollars I had lying around. My favorite place isn't the Eiffel Tower nor the Louvre (they don't take dollars), nor was it the Museé d'Orsay or the Jardin du Luxembourg. Yes, I got to go to the American Embassy, my favorite place in Paris! I like hanging out there, since everyone there understands me, unconditionally, and without judgment. There's no raised eyebrows or startled expressions, like last week when I recently ordered 'Big Turd Jam' (confiture des grosse selles), when I meant red currant (confiture des groseilles). Luckily they were out of the first one.

But the American Embassy is great: I can argue back with impunity and get huffy with them. Hey, why not? I'm on equal turf, and I'm an American and my English is just as good as theirs.
And I can argue with anyone all I want and make perfectly-formed sentances with correctly-placed pronouns and not worry if this verb is masculine to I need to match the adjective to the gender as well, or decide if I need to decide which of the gazillion French verbs I need to conjugate correctly, unlike I have to do at the Préfécture.
What are they going to do if I screw it up my English at the US Embassy? Kick me out? Or in?

So there I was, on the rue St. Florentin, where I waited, stood in line, got scanned, went through the metal detector, then had my water bottle confiscated (I guess it's a threat to national security), then headed to the IRS office. Being a foreign resident you get an automatic extension for paying your taxes, which comes in handy when the mail isn't very reliable. I guess somehow they caught on and give us expats a break.

So in my bid to help fight the war on terror and make the world a safer place (though things don't quite appear to be quite heading in that direction) I sat under the over-sized, overly-glossy, and over-polished pictures of George and Dick (whose has a rather curious smirk on his face for an 'official' portrait), and the Only Uptight Black Woman In The World, and wrote my checks.

And prayed things wouldn't get any worse.
And in fact, for me, they were about to get better.

A whole lot better.

Since I was in the neighborhood (well, not really, but since I left my neighborhood, I'm gonna stretch it), I decided to visit chocolatier Jacques Genin. A lot of people talk about M. Genin with a hushed reverence and most of it is directed at his terrific chocolates. But one bite of his Passion Fruit Caramels and I'm singing a different tune. And you'll be too.

I had stopped at a bakery down the street for bread and noticed les palets Breton, delicate buttery cookies made from salted butter, so I bought a stack. Four was the minimum for some reason... this from the country where you can buy half a baguette for 42 centimes, and when madame wants to buy one fig, madame will be given the same courtesy and service (and take as much time) as, say, an American pastry chef trying to race through the market buying a flat of figs or a few kilos of nectarines to test recipes.

So I bought four, but M. Genin was happy to relieve me of half of them. In exchange, he swooped his hands into the tray he was wrapping of caramels and stuffed them in my bag (and those caramels are as precious as gold, since you can't buy them in stores.) As you can see, each caramel is buttery, tender, and keeps its shape just long enough to get it into your mouth, where it dissolves into an explosion of creamy-smooth sweet goo, slightly tangy from the passion fruit, with exactly enough of the tropical pulp to offset the restrained sweetness of the caramel.

So I can't say I'm going to get any thinner, or my shorts will soon fit better, or when I hit the beach in August, I'll be turning any heads. But when you have a guy like Jacques Genin feeding you chocolates and handing you caramels, who cares if your belt needs to be loosened out a notch.

Or two.

Jacques Genin
18 rue St. Charles
Tel: 01 45 74 68 92

(Not a store. Call before visiting...and pray he's available.)

Want to know what's it like to visit one of Paris' finest chocolate shops?

Read along here as Meg and I sample and learn about Richart chocolate, from the master of les petites Richart himself.

Richart Chocolate
258 Blvd St. Germain
Paris
Tél: 01 45 55 66 00

(Stores worldwide or visit them online.)

I'm currently working on solving two problems, and I beg forgiveness.

I recently upgraded to a digital SLR camera, and I've been struggling to understand all those little dials, digital read-outs, flashing numbers, and the myriad of switches that will make me look like the pros.
So that's one problem I'm tackling.

The next problem: I have too much chocolate.
Here is Paris, the temperature is starting to soar and after a recent project I worked on with several of the top chocolatiers in Paris I was handed multiple boxes of chocolates to sample and taste.

("What project?", you might be asking. I'll be sending more information about that to my Subscribers. What? You're not a Subscriber? Enter your email address is the green box on the right and you'll get wild and wacky updates from me.)

So I hope you indulge me in letting my try out my new camera photos here on the site, and I'll be introducing some wonderful chocolates, and other French confections, in the next few postings. Some of the postings will be short and sweet, and others I'll ramble like a madman on chocolate. And sugar.

The chocolates above are from Patrick Roger, one of my favorite chocolatiers in Paris. The collection is called Le Best-of and each stick contains something different:

• Ganache baies de Sechuan: Chocolate ganache seasoned with grains of Sichuan pepper.

• Gananche mandarine: Ganache infused with tangerine peel.

• Ganache citron vert: Ganache with lime zest and a touch of the lively juice.

• Pâde d'amande chocolat et châtaigne: Almond paste compounded with chestnut puree.

• Praliné nougatine: Crunchy nougat paste. (my favorite!)

• Ganache et gelée de coings: Jellied quince paste layered between chocolate cream.

• Mousse caramel: Caramel mousse (ok, I lied...this is my favorite...or am I allowed two?)
  

Patrick Roger
108 Blvd Saint-Germain
Paris
Tel: 01 43 29 38 42
M: Odéon

47 rue Houdon
Seaux
(RER station B: Seaux)
Tel: 01 47 02 30 17

(And Muchas Gracias to a certain señorita too!)

We often take things for granted.
Me, for example. I take things for granted. I get messages from readers, "You're so lucky! You get to live in Paris!".

To be honest, it wasn't like one day back in San Francisco I came home and there was an envelope waiting for me with an airline ticket, an apartment lease, and all the blanks filled in on the paperwork filled for a French visa. It's a lot of work living in a foreign country; it's so much easier just to stay 'home'. So when people say I'm 'lucky', I prefer to substitute the term 'fortunate', as living in Paris has some challenges (nasty salespeople and Steve Seagal concerts) but also its rewards.

But each and every time I step out of my apartment, I'm amazed at the beauty that surrounds us here. Everywhere you look is something special, from the stately Place des Vosges to the over-the-top Opera Garnier. Perhaps I'm a dork, but each time I pass something of significance, I stop and take a long, deeply-felt look. There's fresh bread everywhere too. I can have a buttery croissants, a rich, cream-filled éclair, a yeasty kugelhof, or a scoop of glace Berthillon whenever I want.

(Except on Monday and Tuesday, when Berthillon is closed. Or in July or August. Or on Tuesday and Wednesday, when my bakery with the good croissants is closed. And in August. Although this year it might be July. Or on weekends, when the place I go for kugelhof is baking them. If they're in the mood, of course. But I won't know that until I get there. Unless there's a holiday. Or a strike.)

Anyhow...I spend a fair amount of time here exploring the chocolate shops, which seem to keep reliable hours. Nowhere in the world is more devoted to chocolate than Paris, and there are really excellent chocolatiers here, who I visit and write about often. But although we're often excited by what's new and unusual, sometimes we return to the classics for a reason: the simple fact that they're really good.

Robert Linxe founded La Maison du Chocolat in 1977. He was a young man from the Basque region, famous for its abundance of chocolate shops, although many are sadly gone. When he opened shop in Paris, M. Linxe distained fillings heavy with nuts, spices and sugar (which had quite a long shelf life), in favor of smooth, creamy (and highly-perishable) ganache, that suave mixture of pure chocolate and heavy cream, which has since become synonymous with fine chocolates that we enjoy today.

Last week we held a private tasting at La Maison du Chocolat for my guests, which reminded me that I had forgotten how absolutely extraordinary their chocolates were, and still are.

Each time I bit into one, I found something new and delicious, wondering how a chocolatier could consistently hit it exactly right with every bite of chocolate. Each one was melting, pillowy-soft, with the true, fresh flavor of whatever M. Linxe had infused.

Zagora is my favorite. A melange of dark chocolate ganache steeped with fresh mint leaves. Bacchus is filled with Smyrna raisins soaked in the best Caribbean dark rum, then flambéed. And a life-changing Andalousie, where just the right amount of grated lemon peel is mixed with the ganache, is resplendent with spritzy lemon oil without a hint of bitterness, tasting remarkably like grated lemon that was zested just moments before.

When I went back a few days after the tasting to personally thank them for their warm and generous hospitality, I was offered a few more chocolates to sample. Not wanting to be rude, I pulled up a seat at the counter and unwrapped Cerise Griotte, a house-made candied sour cherry enrobed in dark chocolate, which exploded in my mouth, a wash of bitter-sweet cherry liquid bathed in alcohol with a thin, dark chocolate coating...it was pure heaven. Before I could even ask, the salesperson came by with a napkin for me to spit out the pit. (Wow, a salesperson that doesn't argue with you.)

I felt like I was coming back home, as I'd first discovered chocolates from La Maison du Chocolat what seemed like so long-ago while on vacation a long time ago in Paris. And here I am now, rediscovering them all over again. La maison means home, and I do feel indeed fortunate, and just a bit lucky, that I get to live here.
And that this is home.

La Maison du Chocolat
52, rue François 1er
Tel: 01 47 23 38 25

Other locations across Paris, as well as in London, Tokyo, and New York. All chocolates ordered through the La Maison du Chocolat web site are handmade in their Paris workshop.

LATE-BREAKING NEWS: I just tried the Rigoletto Noir, buttery caramel mousse enrobed in dark chocolate.
Wow...simply sensational.

I can't tell you how many times people ask me, "Aren't Parisians rude?"

Unlike Americans who are nice 100% of the time, yes, there are rude Parisians. And today I met one.

I took my guests into a well-know chocolate shops, whose name I won't mention (ok, twist my arm...Jean-Paul Hèvin). My normal mode for visiting chocolate shops is this: We go inside, we meet the chocolatiers or salesperson, I explain the chocolates, often we'll do a tasting, then guests will buy some chocolate to bring home. On occasion, some folks like to take a photo.
And I always ask politely before taking photos anywhere in Paris, even if I know it's okay. It's a courtesy. If someone says, "No, we don't allow that here", I'm fine with that. Several places in Paris have a no-photo policy, as do several places in the US (Central Market, Trader Joe's, and Whole Foods, for example). My thoughts are that we're on private property and it's the owners right to deny or approve photos.

Fine.

So I ask at Jean-Paul Hèvin if it's okay. The salewoman looks at me and says (and I'm not making this up), "You can only take a picture after you buy something."

Incredibly tacky. Oui?

After I had a few 'words' with the shopkeeper, we finished our tour and I came home and deleted any and all references to Hèvin in the two magazine articles I'm writing and a future book project.
Au revoir.

One of my guests, however, said it was a very interesting lesson, illuminating the difference between rude & unwelcoming vs generous & gracious. And speaking of generous and gracious...

This is Michel Chaudun.
He's the owner and chocolatiers of his own shop, Michel Chaudun, located just a few blocks away. M. Chaudun was the head chocolatier at La Maison du Chocolat before striking out on his own twenty years ago.

When we showed up at his shop, M. Chaudun was preparing to make a delivery but when he saw me, he came over to warmly greet me and my guests. As you can see from his charming smile, M. Chaudin clearly loves what he does. I not-so-secretly wish that he was my grandfather.

We tasted many chocolates, from cocoa nib-flecked disks of pure dark chocolate to tasty bits of crisp caramelized almonds enrobed in bittersweet chocolate, but my favorite are always Les Pavés, tiny squares of singularly-perfect ganache. Each one is the perfect bite of chocolate. He also had us sample a new chocolate, filled with a smooth paste of toasted sesame seeds and surprisingly, peanuts. (He created them for his shop in Tokyo since the French have the same distaste for peanuts in chocolate that Americans have for bull scrotums in tripe sauce.)

He's also the master of chocolate sculptures and whimsical forms, including an exact replica of a Dremel drill, a full-sized perfectly-detailed feathered duck, and a miniature Hermès Kelly Bag with a matching orange sack that is a few thousand euros less than an original and certainly more tasty (although I've never tried to eat a Kelly bag, so I can't be sure. But that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

And yes, these are replicas of sausage made entire of chocolate. Wow!

There's a moral to this story somewhere here, but I can't quite find it...and am heading off to bed early, since we have an exclusive private tasting at La Maison du Chocolat.

But I would advise visitors to Paris to come to the boutique of Michel Chaudun.
And skip one of the others.

Michel Chaudun
149, rue de l'Université
Tel: 01 47 53 74 40

I began our week-long Paris Chocolate Exploration tour here in Paris this week, starting with a private tasting with famed chocolatierJacques Genin, the elusive chocolatier who works out of his very small laboratoire hidden away in the 15th arrondisement. Ten of us, including Mort Rosenblum, crammed into his tiny workshop while he explained how he began his career, the methods he uses to fabricate and enrobe his chocolates, and divluged some of the secrets (I said some...) of his exceptional chocolates.

For well over an hour, we tasted everything from ganache-filled chocolates infused with exotic tonka beans, lively peppermint leaves, and fragrant (and expensive) Bulgarian rose oil. There were soft pâte de fruit made with elusive Charontais melon, fresh black currants, and fruity raspberry. All the while his staff worked around us, packing boxes of chocolates destined for the finest hotels and restaurants in Paris, including the George V and Le Comptoir. Some were destined for Chez David as well.

The best, unquestionably, were his caramels. No pun intended, but I really have a soft spot for caramel. Caramel is a combination of cooked sugar, usually with butter or cream added. But much skill is needed to get it just-so. The sugar needs to be cooked to the exact temperature. Enough so it's got a bit of a burnt 'edge' to offset the sweetness, and to give it a texture so it retains its shape with remaining toothsome but not tar-like and gummy. Jacques caramels were truly brilliant.
Each nugget was the perfect combination of sticky-soft and intensely flavored.

The first one we tasted was a bright-yellow caramel sharpened with tangy mango puree. We followed that with dark bitter chocolate caramels, oozing with the taste of buerre fermier, aka French farmhouse butter. When I'd reached my limit, which is admittedly high, Jacques stuffed my pockets with salted-butter caramels, which I ate this morning just after breakfast.
Is that wrong?

Jacques Genin
18 rue St-Charles
Tel: 01 45 77 29 01
Not open to the public, but may sell chocolates if you stop by and get lucky. Advisable to call first.

Pain de Sucre
14 rue Rambuteau
Tel: 01 45 74 68 92
Sells Jacques Genin chocolates.

Update: I recently was in there (11/07) and found Pain de Sucre no longer carries Jacques Genin's chocolates and at present (although it's worth checking back as I've heard reports otherwise); there's no other outlets where they're sold in Paris that I know of.

Jean-Charles Rochoux has perhaps the tiniest chocolate shop in Paris, located on an unassuming side street off the Rue de Rennes. It's hard to see and easy to miss if you're not looking for it. But what causes most passers-by to stop are the window displays, filled with intricately-sculpted statues and figures, crafted entirely of chocolate.

M. Rochoux spent many years in the workshop of Michel Chaudun, one of the best chocolatiers in Paris. And indeed, a look around this sleek boutique reveals much inspiration from M. Chaudin, including his version of Colomb, little disks of chocolate studded with cocoa nibs, and Les Pavés, tiny cubes of chocolate ganache that instantly dissolve in your mouth, the lingering pleasure lasting a few precious minutes. Then you decide it's time for another. I always buy at least six at a time for that reason.

But stacked discretely in the corner are stacks of chocolate bars, and after we had a lengthy discussion on chocolate one day, M. Rochoux handed me a tablet labeled noisettes to take home as a gift. When I got home, I tore open the wrapper and took a bite.
I was completely surprised by what I found inside.

Each individual roasted hazelnut was coated in crunchy, crackly caramel, then enrobed in the chocolate bar. The contrast of hyper-crisp hazelnuts and bittersweet chocolate makes this my new favorite chocolate bar in Paris.

Although I love finding something new, sometimes I have the opportunity to discover something nearly forgotten.

Many years ago I had the pleasure of bringing a group to tour the workshop and chocolate boutique of the world-famous Bernachon, in the city of Lyon.

Bernachon's Signature Cake: 'Le President'

Not only does Bernachon make great chocolates, they actually make the chocolate itself. Let's say you go to a shop to buy filled chocolates, or bars of chocolate. You're buying chocolate that the chocolatier has bought (and perhaps mixed to his or her specifications). That's the difference between a chocolatier and a chocolate-maker. There are very few chocolate-makers in the world, only 14 exist in the United States at present. Bernachon is a small shop, but it's stunning what they're able to produce.

Piping 'Couronne Noisette': Hazelnut and Praline Paste Blended with Milk Chocolate

I love Bernachon chocolate, although it's nearly impossible to find outside of their shop in Lyon. But what great chocolate it is and it's certainly worth the 2-hour TGV ride from Paris.

'Les Roches', Just-Dipped in Freshly-Made Dark Chocolate

Their most famous bonbons are the seriously-rich, ganache-filled palets d'Or flecked with bits of real gold. At the shop, they barely have time to keep them in the showcase, as customers come in, the salewomen fill boxes directly from the decades-old wooden storage trays.

A Super-Skilled Chocolatier at Bernachon Making Chocolate Ruffles

But when I visit, I stock up on their chocolate bars, which allow me to commune with the pure chocolate all by my lonesome. I like the Nuit et Jour, the Night and Day bar, where one side is bittersweet dark chocolate. Flip it over, the reverse is smooth milk chocolate. Moka is made by grinding roasted coffee beans along with cocoa beans for a double-buzz, and Extra Amer is a super-dark bar of chocolate with very little sugar. It's bliss for some, and too intense for others.
I fall into the first category.
But my absolute favorite is Kalouga.

'Kalouga' Bar

Kalouga is a rather funny name for a chocolate bar. I'm told it's the Basque word for 'Caramel' (any scholars of the Basque language out there?) But I found the Basque word for tasty, gustagarri, and that's what this is. I first tasted one of these bars about 5 years ago, but was dismayed to find they stopped making it since. Too much of the luscious caramel would begin oozing out after the tablets were made and it was problematic to store them.

But I kept asking them to make them, and word got back to them that there was an American living in Paris who was insane for them. And lo and behold, they're back in production! (Yes, that was the story I was told...whether or not I believe it is another story...)
Either way, you may thank me later...once you've tried one.

Once you bite inside, the gooey salted caramel immediately begins spilling out, and it's hard not to eat the whole thing at once. If you're the generous type, I recommend opening it when you have a bunch of friends over to share the bouny.

Otherwise, you can just eat the whole thing yourself.

Guess which I did?

Jean-Charles Rochoux
16, rue d'Assas
Paris

Bernachon
42, cours Franklin-Roosevelt
Tel: 04 78 52 67 77
Lyon

When the winter chill comes to Paris, one of the great pleasures is sipping a cup of rich hot chocolate, le chocolat chaud, in a cozy café.

Contrary to popular belief, most versions of Parisian hot chocolate are made with milk rather than cream, and get their luxurious richness from lots of top-quality chocolate. This cup of chocolat chaud is deeply-flavorful, but not over-the-top rich...so there's no need to feel guilty indulging in a nice, warm cup whenever you feel the need.

Parisian Hot Chocolate

Four 'Parisian-sized' Servings

2 cups (60 cl) whole milk
5 ounces (130 gr) bittersweet chocolate, (with at least 70% cacao solids), finely chopped
optional: 2 tablespoons light brown sugar

Heat the milk in a medium-sized saucepan.

Once the milk is warm, whisk in the chocolate, stirring until melted and steaming hot. For a thick hot chocolate, cook at a very low boil for about 3 minutes, whisking frequently. (Be careful and keep an eye on the mixture, as it may boil up a bit during the first moments.)

Taste, and add brown sugar if desired.

Serve warm in small, demitasse cups.

Note: This hot chocolate improves if made ahead and allowed to sit for a few hours. Rewarm before serving. I also like to add a few flecks of fleur de sel, the very good sea salt from Brittany.

I am often asked the difficult-to-answer question, "Who is the best chocolatier in Paris?"

There are very few parts of Paris where you can't find something delicious made of chocolate. From my apartment, I'm one block from Dalloyau and two blocks from Lenôtre. Walk out my front door, cross the street, and there's Joséphine Vannier near the Place des Vosges, a small chocolate shop which I've never even been into (the selection in the window seems to delight the tourists, but belies the more serious chocolates inside.) And I'm only two blocks from A la Petite Fabrique, but the saleswoman is so rude that I refuse to shop there (...since she refuses to wait on me, I guess we're even).

Surrounded by all this chocolate, how does one name a favorite?

Last December, Patrick Roger decided to open a boutique in Paris (his workshop is in Sceaux, in the suburbs of Paris). Instead of setting up in a super-chic arrondissement, his shop is close to the bustling Boulevard St. Michel. Each time I pass by, there's always people pressed hard against the tinted glass (which is to protect the chocolates from the sun), peering in to catch a glimpse of Roger's stunning bonbons and whimsical chocolate and marzipan confections.

When it comes to chocolate, my philosophy is 'Simple is Best'.
The finest chocolate bonbons allow the flavor of the chocolate to come through without interference from the other flavors and ingredients. The zippy notes of fresh lime juice enlivens a cushion of ganache, a hit of Sichuan pepper, smoky Earl Grey tea, and meltingly tender rum raisin-filled nuggets: all are examples of the masterful balance of flavors that compliment dark chocolate, not compete with it.

Little flakes of oatmeal embedded in a smooth ganache. Mounds of crispy slivered almonds enrobed in dark chocolate. Oozing caramel with the curious and welcoming addition of with pear juices enclosed within a vividly-colored, über-glossy half-dome. These are some of Monsieur Roger's creations that continue to seduce me. They're intriguing when I taste them. They satisfy like classic chocolates do, but with curious new flavors that thankfully aren't meant to shock, but to simply taste good.

Rochers, square cubes of chocolate, flecked with little crackly-bits then dipped in chocolate couverture are my second favorite chocolates here at the moment. My first love are perfect squares of nougatine, a caramelized melange of crispy nuts and burnt sugar, ground together to a paste, formed into cubes and neatly enclosed in chocolat amer.
They are my absolute favorite chocolates in the world.
At the moment.

For now, Patrick Roger is still new to many Parisians, and most of the time I stop by, many of the customers either wandered in off the Boulevard St. Germain, lured by the simple, yet dramatic chocolate displays in the window and seem to walk around the shop in a daze, not sure of where to begin or what to taste.

The other customers I find there are food-saavy Parisians, who've stopped in to pick up a little sack of noisettes, wild hazelnuts dipped in crisp caramel and dipped in dark chocolate, a few pure chocolate tablettes, or a selection of chocolate bonbons in the easily recognizable green-blue box, which has become a frequent addition to my chocolate checklist here in Paris.

Dalloyau
Locations across Paris

Joséphine Vannier
4, rue du Pas de la Mule
Tel: 01 44 54 03 09

Lenôtre
Locations across Paris

Patrick Roger
108, Boulevard St. Germain
Tel: 01 43 29 38 42

Since I wrote the book on chocolate I realize that I should be blogging more about chocolate, but all the answers to many of your chocolate questions can easily be found in The Great Book of Chocolate. This book is the ultimate guidebook to the world of chocolate and a wealth of information with delicious recipes. If you're like me and can never have enough chocolate, this is the book for you.

Want to know the difference between bittersweet and semisweet chocolate? What's the difference between Venezuelan and Ecuadorian cocoa beans? Which country produces the best chocolate? Which chocolatiers worldwide produce the most interesting and scrumptious chocolates? All the answers, and everything else you've ever wanted to know about chocolate, can be found in The Great Book of Chocolate.

One of the most common misconceptions about appreciating chocolate is that you should base your opinion on the percentage of cacao in the bar. The was reinforced this week when a close friend came to visit, and brought me a tablet of the fantastic chocolate from Cacao Sampaka in Barcelona, which I profiled for Saveur magazine last year in their 100 Best issue. Like everyone that I bring into chocolate shops, he was raving because the chocolate tablet that he graciously brought me (albeit half-eaten) was 71%! (...insert his enthusiasm here.) Like lots of people, everyone seems to expound upon the theory that the higher the better. (...insert everyone's question here... "But what about anti-oxidants?...)

I like my friend very much and he may be reading this and if he is, I want him to continue to bring me care packages from Target and Trader Joe's on his return visits so I don't want to make him feel cuplable (well, maybe a little.) But I feel compelled to get folks to understand that the exact percentage of cacao in the bar is truly unimportant to the taste or even the bitterness. I've had chocolate bars that are 99% cacao that were palatable and other bars that were 80% cacao that were bitter and inedible (and I like very bitter chocolate.) I've had 90% bars that were amazingly good and smooth, while others were 60% and were crumbly and mushy.

So quit throwing your nose up in the air and saying, "I only eat chocolate that's at least 75%." To me, the numbers are, um, interesting, but not what I look for when evaluating chocolate, since by muddy chocolate-colored logic, that argument means that the 75% chocolate is inherently better than a 70% chocolate. It's amazing with this analytical mind that I didn't make my mother proud and become the lawyer (or better yet, the doctor) that she always wanted in the family.

Look what I have. Two Italian chocolates from Baratti & Milano in Torino:

One is 65% and the other is 80%. Does that mean the 60% is the worse of the two and should be avoided at all costs? You'll also notice one is made from beans from Ghana and other from beans from Grenada. Quick: which one is better?

It means little to judge a chocolate based simply on a number (or origin, but that's information that can be found in the book.)
Why?
The percentage doesn't take into account...

The variety of beans,
or...
The quality of the beans,
or...
The careful roasting of the beans,
or...
The blending of the beans by the chocolate-maker,
or...
The sweetness of the beans themselves,
or...
The acidity of the beans themselves.

I think part of the reason many of us Americans are hung up on high numbers (which is why we never adopted the metric system) because It sounds so much better to say, "Oh my gosh! It was 105 degrees today!" rather than, "Mon dieu, it was an unbelievable 40 degrees today!"

John Scharffenberger of ScharffenBerger chocolate says to pretend you're Helen Keller when tasting chocolate; Don't read the label and don't listen to what others tell you. Taste the chocolate and judge for yourself.
If you like it, it's good chocolate!

Some people think that all day long I visit pastry shops. Although I'm often quick to deny it, I sometimes do! When I hear of someplace interesting or that sounds fun, I put it on a list and then I set out a plan of attack.

Pim and I took off late one morning, beginning at Poujaran. Even though Jean-Luc Poujaran sold the bakery last year, it still retains it's rustic charm in spite of the location in the chic 7th arrondisement. Poujaran makes the most delicious financiers anywhere: moist ovals of ground almonds and sweet butter bound together with the least amount of flour, just enough to bind everything together. They're moist, delicious, and perhaps the best in Paris.

Making sure we were well-fortified for our pastry crawl, we pulled up a few stools at Table d'Hôte, which is the whole idea of a table d'Hôte. You lunch at a long table with others, which (judging by the faces of the other diners) is a rather unsettling idea to Parisians.

Or maybe it was just the idea of sharing a table with me.

We split a first course of sardines escabèche. It turned out to be a few mushy little fish piled up next to well-dressed, tart leaves of lettuce. Not very exciting. I wanted to tell the chef to mash the fish with a few potatoes to make a paste and spread it on crisp toast, which would have been delicious.

Next we had a selection of charcuterie from the Auvergne. I found the ham rather moist, fatty, and chewy (Pim liked it) but we both agreed the dry-cured salami with soft, vinegary cornichons which I sensed were homemade, was great. Our salad was brought out, piled high with turnips, carrots, and haricots verts (tiny, slender green beans, which the French cook thoroughly, unlike Americans, who like their green beans crisp.) Resting atop the salad were two crescents of puff pastry filled with potatoes and cheese. Okay, but not fabulous. Let's face it, buttery puff pastry either needs to be warm to entice me, or feather-light crisp. It was neither.

We opted to find his less-well-known shop on the rue Vaugirard, which is more spacious than his cramped, but gorgeous shop on the rue Bonaparte. After taking a mini-mis-stroll down the street, I sensed the error of our direction and we backtracked and found the shop.
It was blissfully serene...pastry heaven.

I had them pack up a sack of the outstanding Arabesque macarons and tried an Ispahan cake-on-a-stick; a round of raspberry gelée, flavored with lychee and rose, enrobed in raspberry-flavored white chocolate. The whole thing was a tad sweet and fell apart as soon as Pim took a bite. I saved it by catching the pieces as they fell from her mouth in the napkin, since that little sucker cost 7 € ($9 US.)

We métroed to another bakery, the old-fashioned La Moulin de la Vierge, off in the middle of a rather grim neighborhood overshadowed by blasé highrises. We were delighted by this quaint, teensy shop with gorgeous old tiles and beautiful levain breads. Some items were rather commercial-looking (the madeleines that we tried has the depressing taste and aroma of artificial vanilla.) But the mini-canelé were darling and the crusty levain bread was great.

After swooping down on Christian Voiriot, who studied bread-baking in Germany, we snagged the last two loaves of grainy Norlander bread, then whizzed over to Laurent Duchêne. As we rounded the corner to the bakery with great anticipation....closed! For some reason the shades were drawn and the sign read "Fermature Exceptionelle". Dejected, we headed back, stopping at a new branch of Eric Kayser's bakery right next to Gerard Mulot's new pastry shop, which had just inexplicably opened in this still less-than-chic (um, drab) Paris neighborhood. Weighed down with loaves of bread and macarons, we resisted buying Kayser's terrific pain aux céréales, one of my favorite breads on earth, and headed to Mulot.

Less-upscale (is that a double-negative?) than his boutique in the tony 6th, we were able to calmly peruse the macarons and perfectly-decorated cakes and tarts that Mulot is famous for without dodging matrons and madames. I was intrigued by macarons flecked with poppy seeds and hazelnuts, although I passed on the ones with dried basil, since most desserts made with basil ended up tasting like pizza. Glistening candied clementines stunned us with their gorgeous color. We surveyed fancy chocolate cakes glazed and sculpted with dark bittersweet shards of chocolate, and seasonal tortes which featured crisp disks of almond meringue with plump, perfect raspberries.
Everything, as usual at Mulot, was flawless.