For the first five years in Paris, I wouldn't go to Scoop. I'd walk by, scan the selections of hamburgers and "les wraps", and keep going. Even though I was intrigued with the list of house-made ice creams, I'd always reason to myself, "I didn't move to Paris to eat a hamburger."

I was reading recently about a site called My American Market that carries American foods, mostly targeted at expats living in France. There's some hard-to-find baking products, like unsweetened chocolate and molasses, but there's also plenty of goofy stuff, like muffin mixes, trail bars, and something called Molly McButter.

For those of you who have The Perfect Scoop, you may already be familiar with my friend Heather Stimmler-Hall, who writes the popular website, Secrets of Paris. She's the one who attempted to seduce her Parisian neighbor with a batch of my ice cream. Not that she needs my assistance (I didn't ask her how it turned out since I'm such a gentleman, and she's the model of discretion). But for the rest of us, I tend to take help whenever—and wherever, I can get it.

Heather is the author of Naughty Paris, a guide to the sexiest and most romantic things to do in Paris. Because so many people come to Paris looking for a little romance, on our recent dessert date, I asked Heather for a list of her favorite, most sensual things to do in the city...just in time for Valentine's Day. So here is Heather's list of Ten Romantic (and Sexy) Things to Do in Paris. Merci ma chèrie! -David

A lot of people ask me advice on romantic things to do in Paris, and if they're visitors, I usually reply, "It's Paris, what's not romantic about it?" After all, you've got a gorgeous setting of historic monuments and scenic bridges over the Seine, a fashionably-dressed cast of Parisians sans baseball hats and "Who dat?" emblazoned sweatshirts, and some of the most mouth-watering cuisine on the planet.

Well, that is if you know where to go.

I can already hear the locals and Paris habitués groaning that they've already done all of the Valentine's Day clichés: a show at the Moulin Rouge, a cruise on the Seine, dinner on the Eiffel Tower, macarons at Ladurée...and I think everyone should try all of those things at least once in a lifetime (okay, once a week for the macarons). But then what?

Then you ask me, the woman who wrote Naughty Paris, for a few ideas—of course! Some of these are obvious, others less so, but all are perfect for a romantic rendez-vous when you're hungering for more than just a kiss. ; )

1. Oysters and Wine at Le Baron Rouge

Candlelight, soft music and a quiet table in the corner? Please. There's nothing more intimate than being crammed against each other in a cozy wine bar, jostling with the friendly locals and market stall-holders from the neighboring Marché d'Aligre for a glass of Burgundy and a platter of cheese and charcuterie.

The other night I was sitting at Le Garde Robe, minding my own business, trying to get down a glass of natural wine. Being seven o'clock, naturally, in addition to being thirsty, I was starving, too.

And the lack of food (and sulfides) must have started affecting my brain because I started thinking about how I often hear tales from visitors, such as when they told a Parisian waiter they didn't eat meat and shortly afterward, were presented with a plate of lamb. Or they ordered a salad, that was supposed to come with the sandwich, and was actually just a single leaf of lettuce. Hoo-boy, and yes, I've made a few gaffes of my own, too: I once ordered a glass of Lillet (pronounced le lait, which isn't well-known around Paris) and the perplexed café waiter brought me out a long, slender glass of le lait (milk), presented with great panache, on a silver dish with a nice doily. Of course, everyone was staring at the grown man who ordered a tall glass of milk. And I don't think it was because of the starched doily.

Anyhow, I was scanning the chalkboard at Le Garde Robe, looking at the various charcuterie and cheese on offer, and noticed filet mignon, and thought, "A steak is a funny thing for a wine bar to serve, especially one that doesn't serve hot food." Until I remembered what it is in French. And if everyone wasn't already staring at the idiot at the wine bar, nursing a stemmed glass of milk, I would've kicked myself for thinking that's a big, juicy steak. Which it's not, in France.

1. Mixing Up the Mignons

Mignon in French means "cute". And to my pork-loving friends and readers, that can only mean one thing: pigs. French people think cows are attractive.

A few weeks ago, I made plans to meet my friend Terresa in Pigalle, to check out a new épicerie (specialty food shop). I don't know if you're familiar with Pigalle, but the area has a certain well-deserved 'reputation' and if you're a middle-aged man walking around by yourself in the evening, casually looking in the windows of the cafés and bars, don't be surprised if a very scantily-clad woman tries to catch your eye back, and catch your fancy. And a few euros.

My friend was late, so after I cut my walk short though the quartier, I waited outside the Le Marché des Gastronomes, where we were planning to meet, which made me only slightly less of a target. And within a few minutes, people were handing me business cards for various 'services' of the female persuasion. So I was especially glad when the only woman in the neighborhood I was interested in hooking up with finally arrived and we went inside.

The idea of the store is to be one place filled with many great products. There were indeed some interesting things on the shelves, including Spanish hams and other European specialties. But when you live in France, it's hard to get worked up about shrink-wrapped cheeses, no matter how good they might be, when there's so many amazing fromageries in every neighborhood. But I think they're trying to be both a specialty shop and cater to the locals who need the basics, too. So I give them points for rising to that task, and most of us would be thrilled to have a place like that in our neighborhood.

You get a little lazy living here. At least I do. And because I'm not as spry as I used to be, if someone proposes a trip that's more than one métro change away, I usually find a way to opt out of it. Arrondissements that are far, far away, like the 15th or the 17th, may as well be on the outside of the périphérique (or l'hexagone, for that matter) and I haven't stepped foot in the likes of them in years.

One place that's worth going out of my way for is A l'Etoile d'Or, and I broke my cardinal rule when Cenk from Café Fernando came to Paris for a visit and he asked me where to meet up.

I've known Denise Acabo, who lords over her confectionery wonderland, even before I moved to Paris, when I'd stop in and gawk at all the amazing chocolates and confections.

I rarely make bread for reasons that should be obvious: it's hard to justify spending the day at home mixing, kneading, and baking bread when you live in a city where there's likely at least four very good bakeries within a two block radius. Unless, of course, it's the middle of winter and the idea of braving 0º temperatures is less-than-appealing.

Before the deep-chill set in this week, the previous week I was going to my dentist, and stopped in at the nearby Kayser bakery* (one might say I chose my dentist based on the proximity to that bakery, but I'll deny it), and they were selling their terrific Stollen, which they make for the holidays. The small loaves cost only €3, which makes them, in my opinion, the best bargain in Paris.

The odd-looking thing arrived in my mailbox recently, and I had no idea what it was.

So I spent some time spinning the wheel around and around, and around and around. And around and around.

There's a new girl in town. And she owns a small crêperie which has been getting lots of good press in the food magazines, in spite what some might feel is a relatively obscure address.

To me, though, it's not all that obscure because I go over there all the time, as it's located near one of my favorite buildings in Paris, which I keep walking by thinking that one fine, lucky day, there will be a A Vendre (or A Louer) sign up so I can move into one of the fabulous retro apartments. (And as a bonus, I could have fresh crêpes whenever I want.)

I kept meaning to ask owner and crêpe-maker Sophie Le Floc'h how she came up with the name West Country Girl for her French crêperie, located in the nondescript passage Saint Ambroise. But it's an address I'm happy to travel to, even if I wasn't apartment-hunting, because she's a true Bretonne and really know how to fry up a crêpe.

She offers a number of crêpes and buckwheat galettes, and like her, I prefer the simpler ones.

If you go to Lyon, you'll find Saint Marcellin pretty much everywhere. It's the best-known cheese from that region, and the user friendly-sized disks are inevitably piled high at each and every cheese shop you step in to. Locals bake them at home and slide the warm disks onto salads, and I've not been to a restaurant in that city that didn't have Saint Marcellin on the menu doing double-duty as the cheese or the dessert course. Or both. At the outdoor market stands, you can see how popular they are with les Lyonnais. And if you don't believe me, their presence is so pervasive that I once bought a ticket on the bus in Lyon and instead of change, the driver handed me a ripe Saint Marcellin instead.

Because they hover around €3, I used to pick one up at the fromagerie since they're an inexpensive way to add variety to a cheese platter. The ones I'd buy were decent, although I never heard anyone put a dab on their bread and say, "Good gosh David, that cheese is friggin' amazing!" (Although I'm not sure "friggin" is a well-used word around here.)

I'm not going to say a thing, because I'm certain I did the same thing back in the day. But a lot of people who are en route to Paris ask me where they can find things like bouillabaisse, a true salade Niçoise, or Kig ha farz, and when I answer, "You can't", they either don't believe me, or get irked because they think I'm being elusive and keeping those addresses a secret and probably say mean things about me behind my back.

To get those things, you need to go where they originate; they just don't travel outside their particular region in France. I'm not sure if it's because in America, we're used to things being available whenever and wherever we want. Or because of our "melting pot" status, we readily accept foods from other parts of the country and the world with a little more fluidity than they do elsewhere.

But I've been duped one too many times in places like New York City, that advertise "San Francisco-style" burritos, which are about as close to the original as most of the rice-plumped salades Niçoises you'll find on the Île-de-France are.

(The true salade Niçoise should only contain raw vegetables: cooked eggs are allowed, and in some cases, canned tuna or anchovies. But that's it, folks. And don't get me started on those New York City burritos...and I use the term "burrito" loosely. If you cut it in half and can see any air pockets, it's not a burrito.)

I've learned my lesson and will stick to Black & White cookies, corned beef sandwiches, and the Halal stand in Manhattan.

Doing a culinary tour in Paris is always fun, because not only do I get to meet some new people and make new friends (important...since the old ones keep deserting me), but I get to revisit my favorite places in Paris. And this week, we made a detour in Lyon as well. So there was a lot more to see, and eat...

Lyon is a wonderful city. Kind of a miniature version of Paris, but younger, more spacious, and more relaxed. The people are plus cool, and in less of a rush—perhaps because they are so busy digesting all that rich food down there.

I've written about Bernachon before, and this trip, we had an especially warm greeting in their adjacent café, starting with puffy brioche and warmed pitchers of hot chocolate, made with the famed bean-to-bar chocolate that's fabricated just a few doors away.

It's no secret that I love Bernachon chocolate.

Alec Lobrano has been writing about the food in Paris for over two decades, and was the Paris correspondent for Gourmet magazine. When his book, Hungry for Paris came out, I immediately opened to page one and read it cover-to-cover. He's one of the best food writers of our generation and each chapter tells the story of one of his favorite restaurants in Paris. And now, as a result, whenever someone suggests a restaurant for dinner, I'll pull my copy of his book from my shelf and see what Alec has to say before I confirm.

We recently dined together on steak frites and I was thrilled when he agreed to write up a guest post with his favorite places for steak and French fries in Paris to share with you. He not only did that graciously, but included notes about what cuts of meat to expect in a French restaurant, which many visitors will certainly appreciate. And for vegetarians out there, he listed a healthy alternative, too!

You can read more of Alec's Paris restaurant reviews and recommendations at his site and blog, AlexanderLobrano.com, which I read religiously. Not only is Alec a wonderful writer, he's a terrific guy, and I hope you enjoy his company as much as I do...-David

In Paris, Where's Le Bœuf?

According to one of the cordial waiters at Au Bœuf Couronée, one of the last old-fashioned steakhouses in the Paris's old slaughterhouse neighborhood La Vilette in the 19th arrondissement, they haven't been so busy in years.

Pour quoi? It seems that these trying times have a lot of people craving meat and potatoes, or as the French would have it, steak frites, that infinitely Gallic and profoundly consoling combo of steak with fries or some other form of spuds.

If you're one of them, I'm happy to share my favorite steak frites addresses in Paris (vegetarians please skip to the last paragraph), but first a couple of pointers.

I keep a piece of paper near my front door. On it are places in Paris that I want to visit. When I hear about a place that sounds interesting, on the list it goes. Unfortunately, it seems as soon as I cross one off, a few more get added. And the list gets longer and longer and longer and longer and...

One particular spot that I've had my eye on for too long was Puerto Cacao, located in the farthest part of the city from where I live, requiring more than my limit of two métro changes. The focus of the shop is chocolate équitable, or fair trade chocolate.

So I was surprised when I was walking near the Marché d'Aligre and the store with the pricey mid-century modern furniture that I used to covet was gone. And in its place was a new hot chocolate spot.

During my recent book event at the bouquiniste, I met up with Alain Huchet, who sells an extraordinary selection of vintage cookbooks, menus, and gravures, all relating to the pleasures of food and wine.

Naturally, the selection is heavily tilted toward French gastronomy, and I was a kid in a confiserie when I began rifling through the stacks of books. I've seen some extraordinary collections of cookbooks; including a pretty good one I left behind : (

But if I had the space to start up again (and beaucoup de euros), this is where I'd start.

Still, looking is free, and look I did. I'm a sucker for any cookbook dedicated to candymaking, baking, and the pastry arts, especially the old French ones, with their faded colored pictures of giant, dinged-up copper pots, and heavily-sugared candies lined up, glacéed and frosted within an inch (or centimeter, I should say) of their lives.

For my birthday, back in December, Romain presented me with a Kalouga bar from Bernachon, handwrapped personally for me by Denise Acabo of A l'Etoile d'Or, one the best, and wackiest, candy and chocolate shops anywhere in the world.

I've been afraid to open it since I know what'll happen once I do. So I've been saving it for a special occasion, or a WTF moment. And yes, I'm aware that it's a long time, but I guess things have been going pretty well lately.

Well, that is until a recent trip to my bank to simply change the status of my account since I found out I was being overcharged up the wazoo for services I didn't understand or use. (Like, even though she insisted I did, do I really need two free money orders a month? I think the last time I used a money order was in 1998. But I've learned that not speaking picture-perfect French can easily tack on 20-30% to the cost of things.)

The banquière hefted a thick dossier of paperwork so voluminous, it made the Sunday New York Times look like a pin-up flyer for a lost cat. It took my breath away, and I spent an hour and a half going through it and just to get out of there, I signed away whatever it was they wanted me to sign away.

When I got home, that bar was certainly tempting me. And I held off.

But I don't need to hold off any further.

This weekend, I'll be having an informal booksigning in Paris.

The event will take place on Saturday, September 12 from 2-3:30pm at A la Boîte bouquiniste, 31 quai de Conti. (Map)

There will be copies of all three of my books; The Sweet Life in Paris, The Perfect Scoop, and The Great Book of Chocolate available.

It's funny, because some people get the impression that I don't like where I live. Which is kind of strange, because I don't understand why anyone would think that I'd live somewhere where there was a dearth of clothes dryers if I didn't like it. And if you saw the paperwork that I have to fill out just to stay here, well, let's just say that one really has to want to live here to plow through it all.

I've read a lot of books extolling what a glorious place Paris is, with tales of skipping along Left Bank streets, happily shopping for new shoes whenever the mood strikes, and resting in one of those cafés on the boulevard St. Germain sipping a $7 coffee.

They certainly paint a rosy view of the city. But then I realized something: The authors of those books no longer live here.

Like all cities, Paris is a real place. A lot of people understandably come here looking for old bistros and quaint cafés, often to find those kinds of place disappearing, or disappointing. Then they'll step into La Maison du Chocolate, take a bite of a Rigoletto Noir, filled with caramelized butter mousse, and realize that life doesn't get any better than that.

Sometimes I'll be riding my bike around at night by the Seine, under the softly-glowing lights. I'll look around, and think, "Paris is breaktakingly beautiful." Other times, I'll scratch my head when the bank tells me they have no change that day. Or stare at the pile of paperwork that's arrived in the mail, filled with endless forms that need to be filled out, and think, "Can someone remind me why I moved here?"

Anyhow, I still live here and accept that like anywhere, Paris is a real city with its flaws and its fabulousness.

I'm not much for trendy restaurants. And I don't really care for chefs that are trying to show-off, especially when they don't have les bourses to pull it off. I recall a particularly alarming meal...and the bill, at the end of it...at a very, very expensive restaurant where I was presented with half of a caramelized shallot which arrived in front of me with a blitz of fanfare, on a plate the size of a hula-hoop.

I took a bite and it was good, but for what it cost, I wanted at least the other half. And look, I worked at a restaurant where nothing was held in higher esteem than a perfect, unblemished peach, so I don't think it's wrong to present food or ingredients simply. I just have a hard time swallowing a €55 bowl of tomato soup.

I have two bits of good news that are going to make you very, very happy. Okay, they make me happy. You, on the other hand, might not give a rat's derrière.

One is that the bakery that makes the sesame baguette is going to stay open for an indeterminate amount of time. That means that I won't be cut off from my Crack Baguette. What that does mean is that I'm going to delete the post where I gave out the address and I want all of you out there to clear out your cache, trash your bookmarks, then delete your hard drive, and forget you ever heard of the place. Thanks.

Another tranche of good news is that I recently revisited a bakery that's really out of the way, which I never would have found had it not been for a tip-off by Clotilde. Good, sturdy grainy breads aren't as common here as baguettes and other crusty loaves.

If you want to live in France, you need to get used to people speaking their mind.

Years ago when I was young and supple, I'd eat whatever I could get my hands on. And working in a restaurant, well, let's just say that's not the best food to eat on a long-term basis.

But I know all-too well about that because I was one of them. I'd cram foie gras, duck cracklings, and butter-roasted anything in my gullet whenever I wanted. And byy the time my shift was done, I'd head home, twist open a jar or salsa, rip open a bag of tortilla chips, and watch a few re-runs of unchallenging fare, like three episodes of Fantasy Island back-to-back, at 2am on the sofa, glued to the television, wondering at how many times they could work Barbie Benton into an episode while your brain turned to mush.

For a while, I worked in an Asian restaurant. People have this image of Asian cuisine as "healthy", which some of it is. But without pointing fingers, a lot of it is deep-fried or cooked in gobs of chicken or pork fat. And peanut sauce? Don't even get me started on what's in that evil destroyer of waistlines. But when a cook hands you a platter of deep-fried shrimp toasts, who am I to refuse?

So when I left the restaurant business, I had a petit paunch. It wasn't terrible, but was enough so that when I was heading to Mexico on vacation, I had to get rid of it tout de suite.

This morning when I woke up, it sounded like rain outside. Which was odd, because of the harsh sun streaking through the creases in my beloved light-blocking curtains, it seemed strange that there would be precipitation. And sure enough, when I stumbled over and yanked opened the curtain, the sky was crystalline bleu with just a few wisps of clouds lingering around the Eiffel Tower. There was not a drop of rain was in sight.

There was, however, a steady stream of French National Guardsmen, dressed in their finest, strutting down the boulevard, en route to the parade on the Champs-Élysées. The sleek, polished horses they were riding were making that pitter-patter sound on the pavement. For today is Bastille Day.

No one here calls it that, it's only us anglophones.

Three of the hottest, most sought-after tables in Paris are lorded over by les américains. A few are part of the "underground" dining scene, which seems to be a global phenomenon, another is a one-man show (for now), and the forth is a cozy little resto located in a back alley where a French chef, who trained mostly in America, is combining the best of both cultures.

Hidden Kitchen

When two young cooks moved to Paris from Seattle, they began hosting dinner parties in their apartment, which was stark and nowhere near as sumptuous as their current digs. I can't tell you where it is, but once you reserve, you'll be in the know soon enough.

Hidden Kitchen is now in a more luxe location and the open kitchen overlooks the dining table where a multi-course dinner is served, and ten courses isn't unusual. The chefs head to the market beforehand to scope out what's fresh, so you won't know what's on the all-inclusive menu until you arrive.

But the courses are small, impeccably fresh, and inventive. So you won't leave feeling overstuffed. And multiple wines are poured to compliment the food. They're booked months in advance, naturally, but you can also follow them on Twitter, where they post last-minute cancellations, if you want to be in-the-know.

Chien Lunatique

One of my most frequently asked questions is: "Hey David, do you know those two guys from Chez Panisse who...." and I cut them off right about there and finish the sentence for them, since I know what's coming.

I'm a big fan of wine bars. Not only because there's nothing more I'd rather do than work my way through a large list of wines available to sip by the glass or pot, but because they're some of the most enjoyable places to eat in Paris.

And with summer coming up, bringing warm weather and longer, lazier days, I find I'm more interested in eating simply, preferring to snack on interesting cheeses or share a slab of pâté, a mound of unashamedly fat-rich rillettes, and slices of chorizo and saucissons, accompanied by a nice glass of Sauvignon blanc or a cool, fruity-red Brouilly.

Le Baron Rouge is one of my favorites. With the wines on offer, you can make a more than decent meal with a large or small platter composed of various cheeses, or pile up some of their excellent charcuterie on a crust of baguette.

At a recent book event, there was a little Q & A session after I chatted and read from my new book. The only guidelines were that I told people that two questions were off limits.

One was; "Why did you move to Paris?", and the other "How long are you planning on living in Paris?" Because I get asked them at least six times a day, and I've been here seven years, (so do the math and you'll understand why j'en ai marre ), I figured I should just answer them in the book and be done with them once and for all.

Except when I said that, for a moment, I kind of blindsighted the crowd as I could tell that everyone was about to raise their hand to ask one of those two questions. Multiply that by 150+ people, and I'm not going to ask you to do the math again, but you see what I'm up against.

But someone did ask me a very good question: "What about Paris would you miss if you moved away?" which rendered me uncharacteristically speechless. In the book, I wanted to be truthful about my life here and balance the good with the not-always-good, and sometimes people focus on the less-alluring aspects of my life in this city, mostly because they're more fun than to hear what a spectacular city Paris really is.

So here are 15 things I would miss if I moved away from Paris.....

To celebrate the release today of my new book, The Sweet Life in Paris, the fine folks at All-Clad are giving away a brand-new 7 piece set of their magnificent stainless steel cookware!

This set includes a 2- and 3-quart saucepan, both with lids, a 10-inch frying pan, and a huge 8-quart stock pot. This is my favorite cookware (I carried mine over to Paris with me, piece-by-painstakingly-piece) and I'm thrilled they're offering a set for my readers. If you've always wanted to start or add some All-Clad to your collection, this is a great way to do it.

A woman who writes highly-regarded bread books recently contacted me. She's coming to Paris, to ask me some questions about various bakeries and their baguettes, and which I liked. I wrote her back, that I didn't want to sound like a dick, but when you live in Paris, you usually buy your bread from the local boulanger (there are four within a block of my apartment) rather than slogging through packed métro stations, being shoved from side-to-side en route or sitting next to some teenage yakking and tapping madly on their iPhone (pronounced EE-phone), and making two or three connections to get to some charming little bread bakery only to find out that they're closed that day, for a fermature exceptionnelle...from 1:37 pm to 4:06 pm...every forth Wednesday of months ending in "e".

I hate to have that whiff of "I'm over it, missy" air about me, but if I have a four hours to kill, I'm not inclined to spend a that time crossing Paris in search of a loaf of bread. Not that there aren't breads worthy of taking a trip like that, but if I have four hours to kill, I need to spend it doing something useful—like I did yesterday, when I used those few hours to go to three different supermarkets to find the lait frais demi-écrémé which I use in my morning coffee.

I have two strategies for finding good restaurants, which I use often—especially when traveling. I've never, ever been steered wrong using them, and I'm happy to share them with you.

One method I employ is to walk into a fish market and ask them where to eat. Fishmongers always know where to find food that's impeccably fresh and those strapping young men never fail to steer me towards the best addresses.

The other method I rely on, if it's lunchtime, is to walk around and see what restaurants are packed-full of older businessmen. Most often they've worked in the neighborhood for a long, long time and have their favorites—which is usually because of the good food.

Here's latest information about Paris transit passes. Tickets and passes are available in métro and bus stations, as well as RER and train stations, and kiosks at Orly and Charles de Gaulle Airport. You'll also find a link at the end for a listing of other places in Paris to buy transit tickets and passes.

Please note that many of the métro stations have changed and the people in the ticket booth no longer sell tickets. The major stations, however, are still manned by cashiers. Most of the transactions are now done by bilingual machines which don't take American credit cards, although the machines they do take cash and coins in euros. I recommend bringing exact change in coins when you go.

Paris passes are generally good for zones 1, 2, and sometimes 3, which are sufficient for most visitors. Tickets to the airports or to Versailles are best purchased separately.

In my opinion, if your arrival dates jibe with the ones for the Navigo Découverte, that's the best pass as it allows unlimited travel so you don't have to fumble and worry with tickets and transfers.

I'm often asked about kid-friendly things to do in Paris. Since I don't have any kids (at least I don't think I do...) I asked my friend Paul Bennett, a writer who runs Context Travel and has three small children, to contribute a guest post: Top Ten Things to Do in With Kids in Paris. Thanks Paul!... -DL

It always sounds glamorous when I tell people that my wife and I split our time between Paris and Rome. But that runway-model images wears off pretty quickly when I mention that we have three kids and a dog and spend far less time sipping kirs at sidewalk cafes than stacking the kids on top of each other in order to fit ourselves on the metro during a rush-hour dash to school, debating the pros and cons of each arondissement's public pool, or waiting desperately for the ferris wheel to open in the Tuilleries--the high point of a kid's year in Paris, let me tell you.

Is Paris child-friendly?

Proving that just because you have good ingredients, doesn't necessarily mean you can make them good. True, it's harder to go wrong with stellar vegetables, seafood, and meat, but a recent dinner at L'Assiette proved that a little finesse, and seasoning, can transform decent ingredients into something pretty good. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case on a recent visit.

For many years, L'Assiette was the "go to" restaurant in Paris. When I worked at Chez Panisse, every cook who came here simply had to eat the cuisine of Lulu Rousseau, the beret-wearing woman who cooked simple food, and did it very well. The food came with a slightly hefty price tag which was mitigated by the good food on the plate. She sold the restaurant and I recently went back for a visit. The prices remain high, but what's on the plate doesn't exactly justify them

If you're into staying in odd hotels, the most unusual one in Paris is part of Hôtel Dieu, called Hospitel. Occupying the top floor of Paris' enormous public hospital, the hotel is adjacent to Notre Dame and features one of the most beautiful hotel lobbies in the world: a sumptuous, verdant courtyard framed by a sprawl of archways.

The location of the Hôtel Dieu was apparently chosen due to its proximity to Notre Dame. (Hôtel in French can mean a large mansion-like building, not necessarily as hotel as we know it.) It was thought that people leaving a house of worship might be more charitable on the way out. Eventually rooms were rented out on the top floor for people visiting patients in the hotel, and thereafter, the hospital opened them up to the public. For those of you that are concerned about noise, I doubt you'll find anywhere that's quieter than a hospital.

The rooms are serviceable (think of an Ikea-decorated college dorm room), but hospital-clean without a lot of extraneous decoration.

Neufchâtel got a makeover when it crossed the Atlantic, to the states, where it's used to refer to low-fat cream cheese, which bears no resemblance to true Neufchâtel, a cheese that certainly doesn't fall anywhere near that category.

The cheese is from Normandy, a region that few would argue produces the best cheeses in the world. Camembert, Livarot, and the especially creamy Brillat-Savarin are some of the more famous Norman cheeses, but I'm also happy that Neufchâtel is included in that privileged group.

Neufchâtel is available in industrial or fermier ("farm-produced") versions. All versions are made with cow's milk, although sometimes it's made with raw milk, others are made from milk that's been pasteurized.

(I recent met Bryce Corbett, who wrote A Town Like Paris, a book about his life in Paris, where he found the girl of his dreams. Since he's a terrific writer, I asked him to do a guest post, which included our visit behind-the-scenes at one of Paris' most exciting attractions. -David)

There are many fringe benefits to being married to a Paris showgirl.

Great tables at exclusive restaurants, never being called upon to fetch that hard-to-reach bowl from the top shelf (have you seen how tall these girls are?) and always stepping out with someone who knows how to accessorize with feathers (truly an underrated virtue in a woman).

But it's safe to say that the greatest fringe benefit to having a showgirl wife is also one that you'd probably least expect: She makes the most amazing cupcakes.

Now at first blush, you'd be forgiven for thinking that a woman who high-kicks on the Champs Elysées each night in feathers, sequins and not much else would have a natural aversion to baked goods. You would imagine that eating like a glutton and baking like a demon would be two practices well and truly off-limits to your average showgirl.

A number of folks consult the site for information about Paris, but it's always best to get some second opinions. So I asked a few friends and in-the-know colleagues about their favorite places around the city, and I'm happy to share them with you.

Included are links, when available, for complete addresses and additional contact information. Hours change and places close in Paris without notice so it's best to call first before visiting. For restaurants and wine bars where food is served, reservations are strongly advised.

If there any Paris favorites that you'd like to share, please feel free to do so in the comments. I'd love to hear about them.

Favorite Outdoor Market

"Paris markets are one of my favorite subjects. I can go to the same market every day of the year and still always find something new. I regularly visit the boulevard Raspail market, a "regular" market Tuesday and Friday, organic (and expensive!) on Sunday. The fish merchants there are incredible on all days, and I adore the poultry people at the Tuesday and Friday market. I love testing one fish market or cheese stand against the other, grading them on each purchase. For 20 years I lived near the rue Poncelet market and still have a soft spot there, especially for Alléosse cheese and coffee beans from Brûlerie des Ternes."

"When I have time, I also love the President Wilson market on Wednesday and Saturday, where of course one finds the famed produce from Joël Thiebault but also wonderful fish, fresh crêpes, and Lebanese specialties. The market is near my dentist's office so I always schedule a Wednesday morning appointment."

Patricia Wells, of Patricia Wells.com
(Author: Bistro Cooking and The Paris Cookbook)

Favorite Steak Tartare

"As an American in France, getting into the French staple of steak tartare means getting past it's resemblance to an uncooked hamburger patty. At Les Fines Gueules (2, rue la Vrillière, 1st) near place des Victoires they have cap-and-gowned the French standard by hand chopping Limousin beef (the best in France) and tossing the raw meat with white truffle oil, parmesan and sun dried tomatoes. Certainly not a traditional preparation, but an unbelievably delicious part of this American's weekly diet."

Braden, of Hidden Kitchen

I've hesitated about sharing this place with you, but have finally succumbed. After all, everyone has a right to find a great roast chicken place. Especially one that's incredibly affordable. And pretty delicious.

Churrasqueira Galo is a dive, a place where there's a always a lively cross section of residents of this transitioning quartier, including families out with the kids, drag queens, Portuguese soccer players, and assorted dubious characters (like me) looking for a good, inexpensive meal.

And beware of going during the full-blast heat of the summer: last year we had to leave mid-meal because it was so stifling hot. When I asked the sweating owner, who was manning the fiery rôtisserie, why they didn't get a fan, he told me: "They're so expensive! A fan cost the same as a day's earnings in Portugal."

I didn't want to point out that A) We're not in Portugal, we're in Paris, and B) A cheap fan costs about €20. No one asked me, but I think twenty euros is a pretty good investment if your customers are leaving.

When I moved to France from San Francisco, I worried about what every San Franciscan worries about— "What am I going to do without burritos?"

For those who aren't familiar with San Francisco-style burritos, these bullet-shaped tummy-torpedoes are rice, beans, salsa, and meat all rolled up in a giant flour tortilla and eaten steaming hot. I don't want to antagonize the burrito folks, but being a purist, I never, ever get cheese, sour cream, guacamole, or the worst offender—lettuce, all of which make a burrito about as appealing as a rolled-up newspaper left out for a week in the rain.

Turn on the television any night in France and chances are excellent that you'll land on a program, held in a brightly-lit studio, where celebrities, authors, and other French luminaries mingle, chat, and talk about issues—or whatever they feel like.

For some reason, though, they don't run a banner at the bottom while the person is talking, like they do incessantly on American television. And because of that, I usually have no idea who all those overly-made up people are.

So I'll ask—"Romain...who is that?"

He'll be surprised, really surprised..."You mean you don't know who Valérie Lemercier is? She is a very big star. Très, très connu!" I always hate bursting bubbles, so I'll nod kind of half-heartedly, although I'm not so good at keeping a poker face and hiding my feelings.

I was having dinner at Racines a few weeks ago, and excused myself during the meal to run upstairs and use the facilities. While up there, I had a few minutes to stare at the wall in front of me, which was covered with pictures and pages of text from various books. One page stopped me mid-moment, it was are recipe for something called Gâteau Zoë.

It was a pretty simple-looking recipe and when I finished up and went back downstairs, I noticed it on the menu, so we ordered it. And it was delicious! Because I'm a terrible journalist and never seem to carry either at the same time—and obviously, inspiration can strike in the most unlikeliest of places...at the most unlikeliest of times—I ran back up to the bathroom to jot it down.

It'll be a sad day in Paris if Chartier ever shuts its doors. True, the food isn't exceptional. But it's cheap and people seem to flock here in droves. And the interior? I don't think you'll find a more perfectly-preserved relic of an old Paris, with glass-globe fixtures, tables jammed together, coat racks high above the tables, and a menu that hasn't made a single concession to any of the culinary advancements of at least the last three or four decades.

Chartier takes no reservations and if there's a big line when you turn off the busy boulevard and step into the courtyard, don't worry. It's here you'll see living proof that refutes any notion that the French are inefficient. The host moves folks through the old revolving door and to their table at a shocking rate of speed.

Yesterday was Jeudi noir, or Black Thursday, where pretty much everyone who works in the public sector, and many others, took to the streets across France.

It was a general strike, not just for one issue in particular, and reflected the frustration that people are feeling about their country and their President, Mr. Sarkozy, who is proposing (and implementing) the dismantling of a lot of programs that are a part of French society. True, there are certainly a few things around here that could be tightened up a bit. And cutting teachers in schools and reducing health benefits you may or may not agree with (I don't), but I give the French credit for taking to the streets when they feel their rights are abridged.

I'm not sure if there's a French term that's the equivalent of "phone tag." I'm pretty sure there isn't one for "internet tag", but I can say with relative certainty that there isn't one in English. At least I think there isn't.

I'd met Frédéric Chambeau's father about five years ago and he graciously invited me to visit their laboratoire in Paris, but hadn't heard back after our last bout of telephone messages. Then I got an e-mail from Frédéric, who'd taken over Fouquet, and after a few months of back-and forth messages, we finally kicked it into gear and made a date.

I don't think there's a comparable expression for "kick into gear", but it wouldn't be the first time I got something wrong in French. Or in English, if you want to get picky about it.

Fouquet is one of the oldest confectioners in Paris, and one of the last remaining who makes their candies and chocolates in their own shop, which is tucked away on a sidestreet near Drouot, the main auction house of Paris. Speaking of terms, when I asked him what "fouquet" meant, he told me it's an old French term for squirrels, but didn't know how the business took the name. (There's a fancy-schmancy restaurant on the Champs-Elysées with the same name, but there's no connection to them.)

When I visited Fouquet, it was just before the Christmas crush and the staff was in full swing, wrapping boxes of all sorts of treats, including colorful pâtes de fruits, orangettes (candied orange strips dipped in dark chocolate), and hand-wrapped squares of buttery salted caramel.

The yogurt aisle in any French supermarket is the largest, longest, most well-stocked aisle in the store. (Wine, I think, runs a close second.) While there's a disconcerting number of dubious treats there (coconut macaron or lemon madeleine-flavored yogurt anyone?) the simplest varieties are wonderful.

I'm hopelessly boring, but I like whole milk plain yogurt, which is my afternoon snack. I eat it with dried fruits, a tipple of berry syrup, or just slicked with honey. Luckily yogurt here comes in handy 4-ounce portions, the perfect size, and I don't miss those hefty pots of purple, super sweet, gelatin-thickened gloop, which barely resembles what yogurt even is.

In between all the yogurts here, you'll find a few oddities buried in there.

On her last visit to Paris, I introduced my cousin who's a Franco-phile, to confit de canard, knowing that she'd love it. When I saw the rapture that took over when she put that first forkful in her mouth, I could see that she was hooked as I am.

I'd taken her to Chez Dumonet, which is reliably excellent. This time, though, I'd like to take her somewhere else. A lot of restaurants offer duck confit, occasionally, but it doesn't reliably appear on menus.

You notice I don't do standard restaurant "reviews" on the site. I think dining is a personal experience and while one person might find a dish excellent, it might not be to another person's liking. Some folks like loud, hip places, and I'm more inclined to hit the classics. Another thing is that when I go out, I don't always tote my camera or want to have to remember and recount every single thing I ate, or recall every vintage I sipped during the evening.

What I like to do is to point you in the direction of places that I think you might like here in Paris.

Les Cocottes often gets described as a local version of an American-style diner. I don't know if that's true. For one thing, everyone speaks French. And for another, there were no snappy apron-clad waitresses pouring bottomless cups of coffee, no trucks parked outside, and no plumber-cracks hanging over the backside of the stools. After all, this is Paris, ya' know.

In fact, Les Cocottes sits on a pretty prestigious piece of land, in the seventh arrondissement, not known for good-value restaurants, or truckers. But Les Cocottes is a good value, and what makes it even better, the food is worth every centime.

This probably isn't the kind of bread that visitors come to Paris to experience, and while I like baguettes, I really, really crave breads loaded with grains. So when I was recently in Bazin to pick up my usual Bazinette aux Graines (seeded baguette), I noted a rack of these loaves lined up in the corner.

As usual, I was waited on by my favorite saleswomen. And I have to admit that her and I have a certifiable crush on each other and we always find more things to talk about than bread. When it's my turn, we make googly-eyes at each other and engage in small talk like teenagers in love, oblivious to the long line of customers growing behind me.

Tomorrow is the official start at les Soldes, the twice-annual period when the French government allows stores to discount merchandise. It usually last four weeks, although for the past couple of months, a few scofflaws have been marking things down discreetly anyways, flaunting the law in these cash-strapped times.

The area I live in is the Bastille, and it was once known as a hub of activity for furniture makers and interior designers. During the past few years, the Gap, Levis, and Nike, have muscled their way into the neighborhood as well. Unlike their American counterparts, they have to wait for the sale period as well.

I couldn't let the year end without a little reportage about Christmas this year. You heard about my last-minute scramble to find the World's Most Expensive Pastry Bag, which is now safely stored away in my Safe Deposit Box for next year.

There's a joke that the only bad thing about Paris is that it's full of Parisians. I'm not going to comment on that, but Paris pretty much empties out, and is glorious time to stay in town. Also Christmas is taken pretty seriously around here. It's considered a close, family holiday and even though the big department stores have spectacular window displays, Christmas hasn't been overtly commercialized and kids are content when la grande-mère hands them a bag of fresh clementines, and don't throw tantrums if they don't get the latest version of the impossible-to-get video game. At least in my French famille.

The only tantrums being thrown were by me, making my Bûche de Noël, which I'll get to in a bit.

Today I turn fifty. Excuse my French—but holy crap!

I'm sure you've heard this a zillion times before, but I have no idea where all the time went. Believe me, when it happens to you, you'll say it too.

Did I really go to college for four years then travel around Europe for another year after that? Did I really work away in restaurant kitchens, day and night for twenty-plus years? Did I actually hunker down in my home kitchen, here and there, melting chocolate and whipping up all those cakes in cookies? And what was I thinking, moving to a foreign country, one that I spoke barely two words of the language, and one where I didn't know anyone?

There's a phrase that's used in restaurant kitchens, in the weeds, which means that basically, you're sunk. It's when the orders are coming up too fast and you're behind, or that you've taken on more work than you can chew and you can't keep up.

A few weeks ago I volunteered to make a Bûche de Noël for the Christmas dessert. At the time, it seemed like a good idea, but this morning, I'm not so sure.

....would that be a selling point.

After making my last batch of Quick Mincemeat, which found it's way, then disappeared into, one of my Thanksgiving desserts, for some reason, I got a hankering to make the real-deal. I don't know what possessed me, but when I get something stuck in my craw, it can take the Jaws-of-Life to get it out of there.

Making traditional-style mincemeat requires one not just to mix up bunch of dried fruits and candied peel, but also demands one to include a generous blob of animal fat in the mix. Thus, I began my search for suet in Paris. Which you wouldn't think was all that hard. However I've learned that here, some things take a little less thinking-about, and a little more legwork than one might think the situation should really warrant.

I figured one of the many butchers at my local outdoor market would have kidney fat, no problem. But at each stand, they just solemnly shook their heads "Non." When I told them I needed it to make a dessert, you can imagine their Gallic reaction.

C'est normale for me when I'm trying to find something specific around here. With my luck, even if I'm searching for a four-legged table, I'll go to the magasin des tables, which'll have every conceivable kind of table—except for the kind with four legs.

I like Pierre Hermé very much. He's a genius, and his stuff is gorgeous and the fellow deserves all the accolades that are bestowed upon him. He seems like a nice guy and his shops in Paris are swanky as all get-out.

His white truffle macaron I found very intriguing. Rather brilliant, actually. And I'm a big fan of his Arabesque, two apricot-flavored disks with a dusting of pistachio and a hint of crunchy croquante in the middle.

But this one, I couldn't eat.

This week in Paris we had our first snowfall. I was at the dentist, and when I came out, the sidewalks were damp from the wet rain that had fallen while I'd had my semi-annual detartrage.

Then, as I walked up the rue Montorgueil, the annoying rain turned to little icy bits, then to large snowflakes, dusting everything, from the brick sidewalks, then coating my arms and shoulders. It was so blinding that it drove the communists distributing leaflets back into their headquarters. (And those people are pretty tough...or so they'd like us to believe.) As for me, those snowflakes drove me right into Stohrer, Paris' oldest pastry shop, because this time of the year—and only this time of the year—they make my favorite little treat: Zimtsterne.

To those of you who've been writing and pleading to get into the laboratory of Jacques Genin, the most elusive chocolatier in Paris, the wait is over. After years of jumps and starts, he's finally opening his boutique in Paris, which is open to the public.

(Previously, one had to call, or just show up at his workshop in the 15th arrondissement, and hope he had a moment in his frantic schedule.)

So his dream is finally a reality—and what a dream it is!

A few weeks ago, I went to hear Alec Lobrano speak and read from his terrific book, Hungry for Paris, and someone asked if there were ethnic restaurants listed in the book. He replied that he didn't include them, because most visitors coming to Paris probably are looking for French food, so that's what he concentrated on.

He's right, of course. Lots of visitors do come here specifically to dine on classic French fare, but I also know that there are a certain number of visitors that eventually tire of so much meat and rich food, and are willing to explore some of the more unusual and diverse food available in a multi-cultural city like Paris. I also think that Americans (at least this one) are hard-wired to eat ethnic foods, namely anything Asian. Living in California, sushi, Korean bbq, and bun bo are pretty much a part of my normal dietary fare.

Since I arrived in Paris, I've noticed a strong uptick in the quality of Asian restaurants here. And I've also noticed there's much more of an appreciation of them, too.

This weekend, I'm going to my first-ever French wedding. I don't know if the Bridezilla phenomenon has taken root in Paris, but my friend insisted, nicely, that her gâteau de marriage be one flavor in particular: carrot.

I've written about a French-style carrot cake before, but she wanted an American-style one—nice and tall, with lots of billowy cream cheese frosting, bien sûr!

Normally when couples in France tie le nœud, a croquembouche serves as the wedding cake, which is a towering cone of sticky cream puffs filled with Bavarian or pastry cream, then drizzled with wispy caramel strands, tying whole damn thing together.

In a country where one of the tenets is égalite, there are, believe it or not, some people who are more "equal" than others. It's one of the less-discussed French paradoxes. No, I'm not talking about the motor scooter drivers who ride roughshod through Paris, bombarding pedestrians on the sidewalks or breaking through traffic, cutting off buses, bicyclists, and generally wreaking havoc in their noisy, smoke-spewing wake.

It's les bureaucrats.

The other day I had to go to the bank. And in France, before you go to the bank, if you need to do anything other than make a withdrawal or deposit, you need to make an rendez-vous. Each client is assigned a bancaire who is in charge of your affairs. You can't just go to any bancaire; you have to go to yours.

So it's important that they like you.

Americans have a funny relationship with honey. To many of us, it's that sweet syrup in the jar with the feather-topped woman, or the gloopy stuff stuck inside the crevasses of a plastic bear.

In France, honey is a Big Deal and there's boutiques like Maison du Miel, and vendors at the outdoor markets, which sell nothing but honey and honey-related products. (And believe me, you'd be surprised how many there are.)

Various types of honeys are said to have healing properties, although I don't eat them for my health: I've learned to enjoy the many different varieties available in France, and I switch them around and use a particular kind, depending on what I'm baking or simply for eating.

In Paris, there's a few ruchiers (beehives) in the city, the most well-known being in the Jardin du Luxembourg, whose honey is available sporadically. But few folks know that in our National Veterinary Museum, there are hives as well. And the good news is it's almost in the middle of Paris.

When I did my post about the opening of Grom gelateria here in Paris, they weren't open when I put it up, so I was unable to provide a photo that I took. And I used one I swiped from their website. (With permission, bien sûr.)

In the interest of fairness to my readers, just for you, mind you, I went back.

(Which is the understatement of the year...)

You see, unfortunately the opening day it was pouring rain, and I left my clicky-thing at home. And I felt so bad that I had to go back several times, mind you, to shoot some original photos. Which coincidentally, was when the gelato-makers and owners, Guido and Federico, were in town as well.

In my quest for a good burger in Paris, I was enthralled that many of you wrote with so many suggestions. I once took a course in food writing and the teacher told us not to use words like "enthralled" and "opt" because people don't use them in everyday speech.

When I opt to look out my window, I'm enthralled at the view of Paris.

So there.

Anyhow, thanks to my vigilant readers, I'm now armed with a comprehensive list—and so are you, of places to find a decent burger here.

And to the person who wrote on an online bulletin board that they didn't feel sorry for me, well, I ask you, where is the love, folks? This isn't supposed to be the RNC.

Let's just say I believe that it's every American's constitutional right to have access to a great burger no matter where they are in the world, and leave it at that.

I am so glad I'm not on a low-carb diet. If I was, I'd have to move.

Seriously—if I couldn't eat bread, I would shrive up and die. The only thing keeping me from doing that is constant hydrating myself with wine. Luckily, that's another one of the other things around here that I don't need to avoid.

Yet.

When I told Romain's mom that we didn't have bakeries in the US like they have in France, she couldn't believe it.

"Ooohh?..." she wondered aloud, "So where does everyone get their bread every day?"

One of the first places I went to in Paris when I was setting up house, was Goumanyat. My friend David Tanis took me there, who is a chef and lives in Paris part-time. And as I roamed through the neat shop, poked in the wooden drawers and sniffed in the jars, I was thrilled to find such a treasure trove of spices and comestibles to stock my petit placard.

Yet the real star of the show at Goumanyat is saffron, which they stock in every conceivable fashion. Of course, there's a huge glass urn of wispy saffron threads, which one can use to flavor a tagine or even a batch of ice cream. But saffron also shows up in many other guises here, sometimes in places where you'd least expect it.

For those of you who don't live here, you're probably scratching your heads as who in their right minds would want a hamburger in Paris. If you're a visitor, you probably don't come to Paris in search of a burger (unless you've got kids in tow). But Parisians, as well as the rest of us, often get the craving for a nice, juicy patty on a big, fluffy bun, and I'm happy to help in our quest to find the best of the lot.

Here's a list of the places that were suggested by helpful readers in the comments of my post on the burgers at Hippopotamus. I was pretty bowled over with the choices out there and look forward to trying some, or all, of them out.

Please note that I haven't been to most of these places (yet), and I can't personally vouch for them.

Hence I'm trusting you guys on these...so they'd better be good! : )

I've been craving a big, fat, piled-high juicy hamburger for the last few weeks. I don't know why. Romain told me, "C'est normal et culturel, Daveed." I'm not entirely sure about that since I've never been a big beef eater. But lately, just the idea of lifting a hefty, rosy, big mess-of-a-patty of seared meat wedged between two fluffy, lightly-grilled cushions of bread with plenty of fixin's, has been first and foremost in my little mind.

While l'hamburger is available at more and more cafés and restaurants in Paris nowadays, too often the dried-out burger is paltry, the bun is lame, and the much-anticipated le hamburger that arrives is wildly overpriced and nothing more than a glorified, microwaved sandwich.

Since the last post (#3) focused on something so beautiful, and so perfect; an exquisite cup of gelato, I thought it'd be okay to spring the Musée Fragonard on you now.

Located in on the eastern fringe of Paris, the Musée Fragonard d'Alfort is part of the Alfort Veterinary School, founded in 1766, which is one of the oldest veterinary colleges in the world. Lest you think I've got a thing for cadavers of malformed animals and tumorous cow spleens, you're wrong.

But what I do have is a thing for are very unique places in Paris.

This week, Grom opens a branch of their famous Italian shop in Paris.

Originally from Torino, Grom uses all-natural flavorings, which include growing some of the organic fruit they use in their sorbets and graniti, grinding up vivid-green Sicilian pistachios for pistachio gelato, and melding the exquisite hazelnuts from Piedmont with Venezuelan chocolate for their ultimate, silky-smooth version of Gianduja.

I first tasted their exquisite gelato in Florence with my friend Judy and was hooked. It truly is one of the best in Italy, and now you can savor it in Paris.

I just spent a long weekend in the French countryside, trying to enjoy the last bits of summer before the rentrée, when everyone in Paris returns en masse, usually bronzed to an unsavory crisp.

And because last Friday was a national holiday, I spent a prodcutive morning at a vide grenier, an enormous and pretty fabulous flea market in the town of Esterney.

Like anywhere, once you get out the big city, prices drop substantially and I can't believe the stuff I hauled back to Paris!

During the next week, I'm going to do a series: Five Great Places in Paris That You Might Not Know About. In a city that hasn't been overrun by chain stores and restaurants, it's nice to be able to profile some of the smaller places around town that I frequent.

When I've had friends come to visit and suggested we go out for pizza, they balk.

"Pizza? I didn't come to Paris for...for...pizza!"

To which I always want to reply, "Honey, well I didn't come to Paris to listen to you diss my dining suggestions."

But when you live somewhere, no matter how good the local cuisine might be, one cannot live on duck confit and galettes de sarrasin slathered in butter forever, you know.

Even though I live in a small apartment, I'm not especially good at keeping it tidy. I'm fairly neat and organized, which is essential when living and working in the same space. But I'd rather spend my time baking brownies than scrubbing sinks, if you can believe it.

Jeanne is my housecleaner and she comes every other week. (Except during her eleven-week summer vacation.) The first time we met, she strode in the front door for her interview, and immediately said to me, "Je ne suis pas une voleuse, monsieur"—"I am not a thief."

I was sure she was telling the truth, since she was better dressed than I. She arrived wearing a silk scarf tied impeccably around her neck and strode through my door in elegant leather pumps. The flowery lilt of French perfume wafted towards me as she entered, and her hair was so neatly-coiffed and sprayed into place that a mistral, the violent wind that sweeps through Provence, wouldn't have been able to budge it.

Being from San Francisco, I did the brief Adam's-apple check and yes indeed, Jeanne was the real thing.

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

I recently received a desperate message from a reader, whose subject line read "Coffee Emergency!!"

She and her husband were in Paris, desperate for a good cup of coffee. Feeling her pain, I compiled this short-list of places where one can be pretty much assured of having a properly-made café express.

A few tips:

• Check and see if the place uses an Italian brand of coffee. This isn't always the most reliable trick, but is an indication they're not just pulling coffee from the easiest-available (and cheapest) brands.
• Look and see if they're grinding the beans fresh, firmly packing the coffee into the tamper, and keeping the filter holder in place when the machine isn't being use to hold in the heat. Those are indications they're somewhat interested in doing things correctly
• Peer into some of the cups that are being passed over the bar before ordering. A real espresso should be about a tablespoon of coffee with a layer of lighter froth floating on top.
• If you want the closest approximation of a true espresso, ask for café serré, a "tight" coffee. The French normally drink their café express with more water than a customary espresso.
• It's hard to avoid, but most cafés use sterilized, ultra-pasteurized milk in milk-based drinks, which tastes horrible and will ruin even a decent cup.
• When in doubt, such as on the autoroute or train, resign yourself to ordering a café noisette; an express marked with a bit of steamed milk, which'll tame any bitter or acrid flavors.

A while back it was cannelés.

Those little eggy pastries baked with a cracky-crust, that everyone was going ga-ga over and just had to bring home the copper molds to make. (Hands up, folks. How many of you have ever used them?)

Then everyone moved on to macarons, dainty little "sandwiches", made from two crispy almond meringues, with a layer of buttercream or jam in the middle.

So when I heard that pastry chef Arnaud Lahrer, who's won the award for the best macaron in Paris, opened a shop devoted solely to macarons and chocolate, I put on my reporter hat and caught the métro up to the 18th arrondissement to taste them.

Of course, I couldn't do it by myself, so I enlisted my friend Heather to come and help with this daunting task.

Clotilde Dusoulier is the ultimate Parisian insider, one shares her tasty tales of life in Paris on her blog, Chocolate and Zucchini. In this very handy guide, a native Parisian happily leads us around Paris, taking us from little-known specialty food shops and classic bistros to authentic Japanese noodle bars and wine tasting venues.

One of my favorite parts of Clotilde's Edible Adventures in Paris are tips on how restaurants and food shops work here. For example, knowing that you're not a "customer" but a "guest" explains a lot of things to foreigners, who are used to the Customer is King attitude.

Other cultural tips, like keeping your hands on the table while you're eating and not resting your bread on the edge of your plate, are explained so you can avoid making a faux pas, as I did shortly after I arrived in Paris and was scolded for my bread infraction by the host at a dinner party.

And I always thought it was rude to scold guests! Who knew?

You might think it was these gorgeous, glowing yellow limes...

...which I'm not sure what I'm going to do with, but their sweet-tangy juice might make a refreshing summertime sorbet.

Or a batch of frosty Mojito Granita?

It wouldn't be a stretch to think it was coming home with a just-roasted poulet crapaudine, a chicken rubbed with herbs, spices, and a generous amount for salt, which seasons the crackly skin. I'm always wary about buying a whole one, since I'm certain I'd eat it all by myself—in one sitting.

(Not that I've ever done that. But I've heard about people that do.)

No complaints about the food at Racines. In fact, it's one of the best places I've eaten in Paris in a long time.

Unfortunately I took some of the worst pictures of one of the best-looking—and probably the most heavily-inked—restaurateurs in Paris, so you'll have to go meet Pierre Jancou for yourself.

I finally got a chance to track down that butter I found worthy of rapture from Le Jules Verne. Oddly, when I searched the name, I found out that I actually commented on way back in 2006. How I forgot about it, I’ll never, ever know.

It’s from Pascal Beillevaire, a chain of cheese shops in France. While their cheeses are very good, I have a little bit of difficulty getting past the beret-wearing salesclerks, theatrical straw mats, and hyper-bright lighting.

Here's a list of some restaurants in Paris that are open on Sunday. Note that some are quite basic while others may fall into the slightly touristy category. Nevertheless, I still think they're worthy of a visit. All but the most basic restaurants prefer that diners make reservations.

Another Sunday dining option is to visit one of the outdoor markets and make up a picnic. Markets open on Sunday morning (9am-2pm) include Richard Lenoir (M: Bastille), Aligre (M: Ledru-Rollin), Raspail (M: Sèvres-Babylon), and Place Monge (M: Place Monge).

Feel free to add any favorites restaurants of yours in the comments.

Breizh Café
109, rue Vieille du Temple (3rd)
01 42 72 13 77

Excellent buckwheat crêpes served in a casual, yet sparse setting. Especially busy at prime lunch hours.

Chez Paul
13, rue de Charonne (11th)
01 47 00 34 57

This traditional French bistro flies under the radar of many but is a great choice for Sunday lunch, especially after a visit to the nearby Richard Lenoir market. Hearty fare.

Paris chocolatier...

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

Michel Chaudun (in Japan)

Alain Ducasse recently took over la direction of Le Jules Verne, the high-end restaurant in the Eiffel Tower that had lost its reputation and luster as a fine dining destination during the past several years. I hadn't ever eaten there, since its reputation had preceded it. But this week, I finally got my chance to dine there.

We waited patiently for the private elevator of the Tour Eiffel to lift us up to mid-tower, over four hundred feet in the air, above Paris.

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.

I've been reading through a nifty, new guidebook to the bakeries, chocolate shops, and tea salons, called The Pâtisseries of Paris. This handy little book is full of great addresses and tips, and is just small enough to slip in your shoulder bag when hitting the streets of Paris, should you come to Paris on a mission for sweets.

I was surprised at how in-depth this guide takes you. Naturally, the usual suspects, like Ladurée and Stohrer, are in there. And chocolatiers like Jean-Charles Rochoux and Patrick Roger are always a stop whenever I'm on the Left Bank, so I was happy to see the nods toward them.

There's few places that aren't worth the trip. Such as Au Panetier bakery, where the dry cookies don't make up for the glorious art nouveau tilework.

This guest entry is from my friend Gideon Ben-Ami, who graciously stepped in and wrote this post about vegetarian dining options in Paris..Enjoy...dl

A you can imagine, being a vegetarian in Paris can be a challenge. During my 5 years in Paris I've witnessed many die hard veggies succumbing to the sins of the flesh. The usual excuse is that it's just too hard (or the temptations too great) in the self-proclaimed food capital of the world. "I never ate meat till I tried the duck," one friend told me while another announced, "Technically I'm still a vegetarian, though sometimes I do eat steak."

If you're dining at a neighbourhood bistro, you'll probably get by okay if you eat fish. But if you're vegan, then you might need to smuggle in a nut cutlet or two under your raincoat as you'll soon get tired of munching on side salads. Unlike many other European capitals, restaurants here don't necessarily have a vegetarian option on the menu.

Paris does, however, have its fair share of vegetarian restaurants.
Are they any good?

Christian Constant has a mini-empire of restaurants in the 7th arrondissement, taking over an entire side of a city block. On one corner is the Café Constant, bookended by his upscale bistro, Le Fables de la Fontaine. Violon d'Ingres was his high-end joint in the middle until he decided to go 'downmarket' and turn it into a more everyday dining experience. With linen table runners replacing the starched tablecloths and waiters shucking their Hugo Boss togs (which the menu duly noted), the food is some of the best in town and now it's more accessible to many more diners.

I had a terrific roasted Guinea fowl braised in a casserole, and learned an obscure new French word; "luttée", which I thought meant 'fight' (lutte), although here it meant a luting paste.

While Paris is a meat eater's paradis, there are pockets of places that are vegetarian-friendly, or are completely vegetarian. As a sideline to my guest post Vegetarian Restaurants in Paris, here's my tips for dining out and getting by.

Whether you're coming here to live, or even on vacation, there's plenty of classes for everyone from débutants to those looking to master the elusive French verbs.

While I don't personally make any recommendations, you can visit their sites to check for class times, size, and prices. Some schools do offer housing for longer programs and you can even get student visas if you sign up for longer sessions, helpful if you'd like to stay in Paris for a while.

Another plus about enrolling in a school is with your student ID, you can get discounts in museums and at the movies. Plus many gyms and sporting facilities give substantial student discounts and there's student travel deals to be had as well.

A few tips:

One of the questions I'm rather frequently-asked is for romantic restaurant recommendations in Paris.

It's not that I don't go out to eat. It's just that I don't get asked out to romantic restaurants, so I wouldn't know. Most of the time, I'm lucky if a paramour plops a falafel in my hands on the rue de Rosiers or I'm sharing a nasty bowl of stag stew with sex writers and rugby players—which someone commented made me look kinda 'horny'.

I don't know where they get these, and I don't really care. But if you stop in da rosa and don't pick up a bag of them, you're making a terrible mistake.

These little dusty ovals of chocolate enrobe a Marcona almond tucked in the middle and there's just a touch for the smoky taste of pimente d'Espelette, the bright-red Basque chili powder that I like to sprinkle over everything from pumpkin purée to chocolate-peanut bark. Once I open the bag of Pimandes, it's assured that the rest will soon be history.

To be honest, I wanted to show you the inside of one.

Really I did.

If you're coming to Paris and have special needs, such as access for a wheelchair, here's a list of resources that will help you plan your trip. Please note that I haven't used many of these services, especially the tour outfits, so ask as many questions of them in advance as you need to get the most information about the services they offer before you sign on.

Paris is a very old city and although new construction includes accessibility for wheelchairs, the older buildings and narrow sidewalks aren't always easy to navigate. However over the past few years, there's been a heightened sensitivity to people with various abilities and services to assist them. Below I've put together this list of websites and services that I hope will help. If you have limited time and want to make the most of your trip, hiring a guide or at least a van for the day may allow you to see and do more, and the additional expense might be mitigated by the convenience.

A few things to remember:

When a British travel writer asked if I'd like to meet for brunch last week, he also asked if I could suggest a reasonable place for the article he was doing. So I put on my thinking cap, kicked off my slippers, tossed my funky pajamas in the laundry bin, showered and...get this...shaved!...and actually took a break from my project and got a few breaths of fresh air.

Imagine that!
(This is getting to be a habit around here...)

Le Brunch is indeed available at some places in Paris, but je deteste being around people first thing in the morning—and I'm not so fond of Le Brunch either. So we compromised on the more civilized hour of 1pm. Not much is open in Paris on Sunday, which our President is fixing to change, so I suggested Breizh Café a tidy corner spot specializing in galettes de blé noir, commonly known as buckwheat crêpes.

This sparsely-finished restaurant is in the heart of 'bobo' (bourgeois bohemians) land, so there's no shortage of strollers or hipsters hanging out in this part of the Marais on Sunday. Once you get by all the posers skulking on the sidewalks peering in gallery windows, cigarettes perched in the corners of their mouth and the obligatory Sunday am dark glasses...(who unlike me, couldn't bother to shave)...it's a relief to find an inexpensive place to eat where the food is anything but trendy.

Because owner Bertrand Larcher is a true Breton, the Breizh Café focuses on the quality of the products and lets them shine, rather than trying to mess with the originals: there's no red pepper dust on the corner of the plate or twirls of squiggly sauces that have no business being there.

Last night I rounded a corner, and looked up.

It made me realize that sometimes it's easy to get caught up in too many things.

And what's really important is to give myself a moment to stop everything—take a look (and a photo)—and remind myself what a beautiful city I get to live in.

Although I don't think happiness necessarily depends on where you live, I'd say in my case, it definitely has something to do with it.

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.

Located a few blocks north of the historic place des Vosges, steps away from the hubbub of tourists clogging the sidewalks, is Café des Musées, a terrific restaurant in Paris.

Chef François Chenel makes his own pâtés and smokes his own organic salmon, which arrives with a spoonful of crème fraîche, chives, and toasted levain bread. Both are also available to take home, including pre-cooked lobes of foie gras, even if you're not dining here.

We split an order of grouse. One of the great things about France is that in the winter, restaurants will feature game like partridge, wild pigeon, and other specialties that are hard to find elsewhere. The grouse was dark and meaty-red, just as ordered. Alongside were triangles of braised celery root, a pile of dressed watercress and quetsches, Italian prune plums, cooked until jam-like. Although as unctuous and sweet as I would have liked, a shot of port in the deglazing would've sealed the deal.

Other menu options are a pretty well-crusted entrecôte steak, served with real French fries, which are unfortunately rare nowadays in Paris. Cochon noir de Bigorre (which looks like a licorice pig) is always great here, a neatly-classic steak tartare, and for those looking for a vegetarian option, a cocotte of seasonal vegetables comes in a casserole, bathed in olive oil. (A friend who ordered this pronounced it "boring", so perhaps that's not the best choice.)

For dessert, we shared a raspberry Dacquoise; a slightly-crisp almond meringue which had a nice cake-like chew. It was served with excellent, dark cherry-red raspberries which were so sweet they were syrupy.

For those on a budget, at both lunch and dinner, on offer is a prix-fixe option. One recent fixed-price menu was vichyssoise and foie de veau, veal liver, with dessert for just 19€. Another time it was a poached egg in red wine with a lamb shank following up for the main course, with dessert being rhubarb crisp.

The service is a bit scattered, but that to me is the charm of eating in a neighborhood-type restaurant where people just go for good food but are welcome to linger. It's the kind of place where the tables are pushed close together so you're rubbing shoulders with your neighbors and perhaps sharing a basket of good bread. That's one of the pleasures of dining in lesser-known Parisian restaurants and cafés.

My friends and I shared a bottle—ok, two bottles—of fruity gamay from the Touraine which went very nicely with everything from the charcuterie to the game and through the dessert. And afterward as well.

Café des Musées
49, rue de Turenne (3rd)
Tél: 01 42 72 96 17
(Map)

Related Posts and Links

Eating & Drinking Guide for Paris

Two French Dining Guides

Marling Menu-Master for France

10 Insanely Delicious Things You Shouldn't Miss in Paris

Gluten-Free Eating & Dining in Paris

Paris Favorites: Eating, Drinking and Shopping

Tips for Vegetarian Dining in Paris

Real, live French women on why French women don't get fat.

(via The Food Section)

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 craftsmanship, 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.

At last count, there are 1263 bakeries in Paris.

On just about every street, there's at least one, if not two, or even three bakeries. Some of them are very good, a few are perhaps not so fabulous, and several are excellent. Parisians eat a lot of bread, far more than their American counterparts.

Visitors often wonder, "How come we don't have bakeries like this is America?"

"Because people won't eat bread in America anymore. Everyone's afraid of it." I respond

Tragically, most nod in agreement.

Luckily there's not too much of that nonsense here in Paris. From early in the morning, until the last baguette de levain is handed across the counter for dinner, you'll find folks en queue, lined up impatiently waiting to get their daily bread.

And for some reason, I'm always in front of the most impatient one, who firmly keeps nudging me forward. My strategy against those Parisian pests is to gently innocently start backing up, which kinda freaks them out and invariably causes a chain reaction, since the person behind them is usually pressed up against them as well, nudging them forward too.

It causes a certain amount of shuffling and mild hysteria, but tant pis.
Anyone who wants to get that close to me better buy me a drink first.

Or at least a loaf of bread.

But when there's a bakery as good as 140 in town, Parisians have good reason to get pushy about their bread. And neighborhood residents buy stop here once, or even twice daily to get theirs. And like many of them, I'm happy to stand my ground for a crisp, golden baguette de campagne that feels crisp and warm when it's handed over the counter to me. Or for the buttery-mouthful of a flaky croissant that shatters into a gazillion crackly shards when you bite into it.

These are some of the daily rituals that go on around here, of which I'm frequently guilty of taking part.

(The pushing part I'm still getting used to.)

Although I don't live close enough to 140 to go two or three times a day, it's one of the handful of bakeries here that I'll happily scamper across the city to visit. Aside from their numeric name, which always gives me a chuckle, they bake some of the best breads in Paris. And recently, I was lucky enough to go behind the scenes of this top-notch boulangerie.

Last night, celebrating my good health, I took advantage of an invitation I received to meet the Paris Bloggers.

Unlike the Paris Food Bloggers, my friends who are a fine, upstanding bunch of citizens, the Paris Bloggers are a wanton, hedonistic tribe who didn't have a clue who I was. So they tried to ply me with Cosmopolitans anyways in hopes of getting a picture of the newbie in some sort of Cosmopolitany altered state.
Since they don't know me all that well, they thought they could tempt me with vodka and raw vegetables with dip. But they were wrong.

At least I hope so. I don't recall much near the end of the party...

And here's the bloggers who attended. Don't let any degenerate pictures on their sites fool you; many of their blogs have great inside tips on Paris, and make good reading.

Hillary Keegin & Aaron Ross of 13

Eric of Paris Daily Photo

Seth from The Paris Times

Pascal Fonquernie of ParisMarais.com

Polly of Polly Vous Français

Amy Alkon of Advice Goddess

Susie & Cesar of Ivy Paris

Richard of Eye Prefer Paris

Elliott Hester, guest blogger of Postcards from Paris/LA Times
(who they should keep, please!)

Heidi of The Paris Update

Catherine, the Petite Anglaise

Jennifer of No Place Like it

Le Meg of Leblageur

Laurie of The Paris Blog

I got a very cute message lately from a couple who had come to Paris and followed some of my restaurant suggestions. But it got to the point one evening here they were undecided where to go one night, and her husband said, "I don't care. Let's just go anywhere that chocolate-guy says to go!"

I was glad to be of service, but I like being known as 'that chocolate-guy' just as much.

But frankly, I don't go out as much as most folks imagine. I love going to my market, talking to the vendors, and coming home with something new that I've never tried before, like the chervil roots I bought the other day, which involved a rather detailed, lengthy conversation with the vendor.

I mostly cooking all the fine things I find here and learn about. So when I do go out, I want it to be good...no, I want it to be great...and I find the best food in Paris is classic French cuisine; confit de canard, steak frites, and coq au vin. When you find a good version, I don't think there's anything more satisfying. Especially if it's accompanied by good friends.

And, of course, a few obligatory glasses of vin rouge.

So here's a round-up of places I've eaten lately.
There's a few you might to want to bookmark for your next visit, as well as one or two you might want to avoid.

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 (and expensive) 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.

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 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.

There's lots of good food in Paris, but sometimes you have to travel to the outer neighborhoods to find the gems. And while the 14th arrondissement isn't all that far, it's worth the trek for the excellent meal at Le Severo with some other friends at a little petit coin of a restaurant, a schlep from wherever you are in Paris. There's only 10 or so simple tables and a lone cook in the open kitchen who presides over the dining room. An old zinc bar acts as a catch-all for bottles of water, wine carafes, and a big container of fleur de sel...which was a good omen.

One entire wall of Le Severo is a chalk-written wine list and menu. Notice I said 'wine list' first. That's because three-and-a half lengthy columns are up there, listing all sorts of wine, heavy on the reds. Somewhere in the midst of it all lurks a terse menu, and it's almost all about beef: steaks, Côte de Boeuf, Lyonnais Sausages, and Foie de Veau. First courses range from a salade Caprese, (a dish you shouldn't order outside of Italy) and a salad with goat cheese. But the real star here is le meat, so we started with a platter of glistening slices of cured jambon artisanal, which isn't really beef but I'm too revved up to go back and change that, and it came with a too-huge slab of yellow, ultra-buttery butter (which is the only way I could describe it...it was really, really buttery...I don't want to change that either) which we slathered on the bread, from the organic bakery, Moisan, then draped our slices with the ham. We then gobbled 'em down.
Delicious.

The other starter was a Terrine de pot au feu. Pot au feu is the French equivalent of a boiled-beef supper, complete with vegetables and broth. When done right, it's excellent, and at Le Severo, my hunch paid off. The terrine featured cubed, boiled beef parts, tender and neatly diced, loosely held in place with a light, jellied beef broth.

Since it's rather warm and humid here in Paris right now, I chose a bottle of Fleurie, which was an overwhelming task considering the size and scope of the wine list. But the prices were gentle enough to encourage experimentation and the list is full of curious wines, so I think whatever you chose would be the right choice. The Fleurie was light, upbeat, and fruity...yet sturdy enough to stand up to a slab of beef.

Anyhow, our steaks arrived flawlessly cooked.
The French love their beef bleu, practically raw. But I like mine rare to medium-rare, or saignant. The chef-jacketed owner William Bernet, who is the singular server, assured me I'd be happy with saignant, and when he brought my faux filet, the rosy, juicy slices were indeed cooked just to the lower edge of my desired point of tenderness. To the side, my steak was accompanied by very, very good house-made French Fries.

My only fault was that the fries could have spent an extra 48 seconds in the deep-fryer to get that deep-golden crust that everyone loves but cooks seem to have trouble attaining around here, a fault I find in too many restos in France. Does anyone really like undercooked French fries? But I didn't need to reach for that container of fleur de sel at all during dinner; everything was salted just-right. That to me, is the sign of a great cook, and a great restaurant. If you can't salt food properly, you should find another line of work.

I was able to talk my companions, who just moved here from Rome and were delighted to chow down on good, honest French cooking, into splitting a cushiony-round disk of St. Marcellin cheese, which was roll-you-eyes-back-in-your-head amazing. I had a simple Creme Caramel, which arrived properly ice-cold and floating in a slick of dreamy burnt sugar sauce.

And because they were eating cheese, I didn't have to share one bite of it (Ha! My strategy worked.) My friends then had a Mousse au Chocolat, which they liked, but they were not as conniving as me and shared a bit, but I felt it could've used a wallop of more chocolate flavor, but that's how I am about chocolate desserts. The espresso served after dinner was quite good, and living in France, I've gained a new appreciation for Illy café, which is all but impossible to ruin.

First courses at Le Severo are in the 10€ range, while main courses were priced 15 to 25€. The hefty Côte de Boeuf, which they'll prepare for 2 or 3 people, is 30€ per person and I'm going to have it on my next visit.

On the métro home after dinner, it suddenly dawned on my that my dining companions were macrobiotic. So if macrobiotic people can enjoy a beef restaurant like Le Severo, you can imagine how happy it makes us carnivores.

Le Severo
8, rue des Plantes
M: Mouton Duvernet
Tél: 01 45 40 40 91

Here's a listing of a few favorite hotels in Paris that you might want to investigate if you're planning to come for a visit. I've been traveling to Paris for many years before moving here, and some of the hotels listed I've stayed in, while others have been recommended by guests and friends. There's a pretty good selection, including one located on the top of the public hospital! Some are in the budget category, while a few are nicer, if you're looking for more comfort.

There's a few caveats to remember, which I've listed below, since everyone has different standards and concerns when staying in a hotel. Only you know if you'll be comfortable in a 'budget' hotel with few services, possible street noise, and standard bedding. Price makes a big difference and a hotel that's less than 100€ per night is likely to offer few amenities, while one in the higher range is, of course, going to be a nicer place to stay.

Finally, if you have any suggestions that you'd like to share, or tips, please leave them in the Comments area.

Hotel Le Sainte-Beuve
9, rue Sainte-Beuve
Tel: 01 45 48 20 07
Fax: 01 45 48 67 52

Charming hotel near Montparnasse with 22 rooms. Air-conditioning and close to Le Timbre restaurant. Rates start at 135€ for a standard room.

Oops! Budget Hotel
50, avenue de Gobelins
Tel: 01 47 07 47 00
Fax: 01 43 31 17 74

Contemporary, hip hostel, with shared or private rooms, with baths, WiFi, A/C. and very economical prices.

MamaShelter
109, rue Bagnolet
Tel: 01 43 48 48 48
Fax: 01 43 48 49 49

Philippe Starck-designed budget hotel (rooms start at €79/night) in off-beat neighborhood. Quirky and interesting, but beware that dining in the hotel isn't as affordable as the rooms.

Hôtel Saint Pierre
4, rue de a'Ecole de Médecine
Tel: 01 46 34 78 80
Fax: 01 40 51 05 17

Good budget option in the student-oriented Latin Quarter, free hi-speed internet in the rooms and television. Rates start at 63€ per night. Just down the street from my favorite hot chocolate place in Paris, Pâtisserie Viennoisserie, where you can take breakfast too (closed weekends.)

Hôtel Bourgogne-Montana
3, rue de Bourgogne
Tel: 01 45 51 20 22
Fax: 01 45 56 11 98

In the relaxed seventh, very popular, good quality for the price. Good breakfast buffet and excellent staff. Rooms start around 190€ with breakfast included.

Hôtel Hospitel
1, Place du Parvis Notre Dame
Tel: 01 44 32 01 00
Fax: 01 44 32 01 16

Located on the top floor of the historic Hôtel Dieu Hospital! It's just next Nôtre Dame in the center of Paris. AC and WiFi.

Hôtel Bourg Tibourg
19, rue Bourg Tibourg
Tel: 01 42 78 47 39
Fax: 01 40 29 07 00

In a lively area, the Marais, but on a quiet street. Chic rooms designed by Jacques Garcia. Rooms that start at 160€. Wi-Fi (pronounced wee-fee, in French), interior garden, and air-conditioning.

Grand Hôtel Jeanne d'Arc
3, rue de Jarente
Tel 01 48 87 62 11
Fax 01 48 87 37 31

In the Marais, close to Place des Vosges, this hotel is an outstanding value for its location (and it's just a short stumble from (Vert d'Absinthe) Consequently, this hotel books quickly. No air-conditioning or fancy services. Doubles are around 75€.

Hôtel Castex
5, rue Castex
Tel: 01 42 72 31 52

Air-conditioning and free Wi-Fi. Well-located on a quiet side street near the Bastille.

Hôtel Chopin
46, Passage Jouffroy
Tel: 01 47 70 58 10
Fax: 01 42 47 00 70

In a passage near Montmarte. Inexpensive, lively area near the major department stores. Upper rooms have more light; request the forth floor.

Hôtel de la Place des Vosges
12, rue Birague
Tel: 01 42 72 60 46
Fax: 01 42 72 02 64

Rooms 100-140€ per night, with Wi-Fi No air-conditioning, but perfect location on small street leading into place des Vosges.

Hotel des Chevaliers
30, rue de Turenne
Tel: 01 42 72 73 47
Fax: 01 42 72 54 10

Great location a stone's throw from the place des Vosges in the Marais. Air-conditioning, WiFi, and safes. Rooms begin at around €105/night.

Hotel Duo
11, rue du Temple
Tel: 01 42 72 72 22
Fax: 01 42 72 03 53

Very nice, modern hotel in the heart of the Marais, near lots of cafes and nightlife. Can be noisy during summer months if you leave windows open due to the neighborhood. Mid-priced.

Hôtel Britannique
20, avenue Victoria
Tel: 01 42 33 74 59
Fax: 01 42 33 82 65

Located near Chatelet. Clean and soundproofed rooms. The rooms are a tad on the small side but located overlooking a nice square in the center of Paris. Rooms start at 139€.

So far, this week...

...I ran over a not-quite-yet-dead pigeon by accident with my shopping cart.

...My mobile phone died.

...My ATM card expired.

The bank told me to wait for the replacement card.

Which was sent in May.

...My credit card was cancelled, which I learned while at the cashier with a overloaded cart at BHV.

There were thirty people behind me. And they were not happy.

...I'm almost completely out of money here.

...I got a letter from the IRS that said I underpaid my taxes, and owe more.

Plus interest.

...I got a letter from the State of California that said I underpaid my taxes, and owe more.

Plus interest.

...The cash wire transfer paperwork that I filled out when I was last in the US was incorrectly prepared by the person at the bank.

So they told me I have to go back to the branch, in California, and re-do it.

...A French friend explained that iced drinks make you very sick, since they cool down your stomach too much.

(Er, I suppose traveling a few minutes through my digestive tract won't have any effect on warming up the cold liquid.)

...I got falling down drunk at my friend Olivier's last night.

(He has air-conditioning and my original ruse to to pretend I was drunk and had to spend the night, but then I really did get drunk and was worried about making a fool of myself.)

...I was giving myself a haircut and my hair clippers inexplicably quit halfway through.

I would go to the BHV and get another pair, but my credit card was cancelled.

And my hair looks a little funny.

...There's a new movie with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock coming.

...My absolute favorite olive oil shop in Paris, which has the best selection of oils, is closing for good this Saturday.

(All oils are on sale, 30-50% off, at Allicante, 26 blvd Beamarchais.)

...When I went to pick up my sheets at the cleaners, I found out they're closed until the end of August.

All my sheets are there.

...World War III appears to have started.

...George W. Bush, the most powerful person in the world, has over two years left on his term.

...My manuscript for my book is due on Friday and my Mac feels like it's on fire.

...The temperature in my apartment hasn't dipped below 100 degrees in over a week.

The government says"...go into a store for 2-3 hours a day, to cool down."

( Gee, I wonder if Monoprix would mind if I set up my laptop there?)

...I have a canker sore.

...I feel another one coming.

...I made Peanut Brittle, and left it to cool by the open window...

...then I came home later and found a pigeon feather next to it.

When I told Luc-Santiago from Vert d'Absinthe here in Paris that I didn't like anise very much (or, stupid me, how long have I
lived in Paris? I should have said, "I don't appreciate anise very much."), I wished I had my camera cocked-and-ready, as the look on his face was priceless. While I appreciate the culture and mystique of Absinthe and its cousin pastis, I'm not a fan of anise-based drinks. Bleech!

But luckily I am a fan of anise-baked anything, and do like that flavor when baked in cakes and cookies, such as biscotti and the like. I had a suspicion that a buttery cake with a healthy shot of Absinthe in the batter, then more Absinthe added as a crunchy glaze would be a success...and it was! Happily, the flavor of anise goes amazingly well with chocolate too, so feel free to pair this with a favorite Chocolate Ice Cream or a dark, slick chocolate sauce.

But it's also lovely with a compote made of fresh or dried apricots, or a Nectarine and Cherry Compote. During the winter, I plan to make a colorful fruit salad of navel and blood oranges with a few rounds of tangy kumquats to serve alongside, since I'm suspicious of that green bottle on my shelf, with an alcohol content of 72%, may fall and explode. (Now that would have made a good opening for an episode of Six Feet Under.) But mostly I enjoy serving this Absinthe Cake all on its own and if you make it, I'm sure it won't fail to get your guests full attention no matter how you serve it.

If you don't have a convenient source for finely-ground pistachio meal, you can use almond meal (sometimes called almond flour). I've tested this cake with stone-ground cornmeal too, which provided a nice crunch, but Parisian friends found it a tad unusual since they're not really used to desserts, or anything else, with cornmeal.
And I didn't have any candied angelica on hand (like, who does?), but next time I make this cake, I'm definitely going to add a handful of finely-chopped angelica to the batter. I think tiny flecks of green flitting around in this cake would be rather festive and certainly in the spirit of le fée verte, aka; The Green Fairy, oui?

If you live in a country where you don't have the freedom to get Absinthe, move. Aside from that, write a letter to your highest-ranking elected official whose job it is to protect the good of society from such ills, you can substitute an anise-scented apertif, such as Pernod, pastis, or ouzo, although they don't have that sublime, sneaky herbaceous flavor and aroma found in true Absinthe. The other downside is that you won't see any green fairies floating around your kitchen...which may, or may not, be a good thing...depending on which highest-ranking elected official you last voted for, I suppose.

Oops, and before I step down down from my high-horse, I do recommend that you use Rumford baking powder, or a similar brand, that doesn't contain any aluminum. Most natural-food stores and Trader Joe's carry aluminum-free baking powder and you'll notice a major difference in your baking once you go aluminum-free. You'll never miss that tinny aftertaste you get when using other brands.

Absinthe Cake

One 9-inch rectangular cake

From The Sweet Life in Paris (Broadway Books)

For the cake:

1 1/4 teaspoon anise seeds
1 1/4 cup (175g) cake flour
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons (65 gr) pistachio or almond meal or (1/2 cup (70g) stoneground yellow cornmeal)
2 teaspoons baking powder (preferably Rumford)
1/4 teaspoon salt
8 tablespoons (105 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (200g) granulated sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1/4 cup (60 ml) whole milk
1/4 cup (60 ml) Absinthe
1 orange, preferably unsprayed

For the Absinthe glaze:

1/4 cup (25 g) granulated sugar
1/4 cup (60 ml) Absinthe

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees (175 C). Butter a 9-inch loaf pan, then line the bottom with parchment paper.

2. In a mortar and pestle or spice mill, grind the anise seeds until relatively fine. Whisk together the cake flour, cornmeal, baking powder, salt, and anise seeds. Set aside.

3. In the bowl of a standing electric mixer, or by hand, beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, until they're completely incorporated.

4. Mix together the milk and Absinthe with a few swipes of grated orange zest.

5. Stir half of the dry ingredients into the beaten butter, then the milk and Absinthe mixture.

6. By hand, stir in the other half of the dry ingredients until just smooth (do not overmix). Smooth the batter into the prepared loaf pan and bake for about 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

7. Remove the cake from the oven and let cool 30 minutes.

8. To glaze the cake with Absinthe, use a toothpick and poke 50 holes in the cake. In a small bowl, gently stir together the 1/4 cup (25 g) sugar, and 1/4 cup (60 ml) of Absinthe until just mixed. (You can add a bit of orange zest here if you'd like too.)
Be sure not to let the sugar dissolve too much!

9. Remove the cake from the loaf pan, peel off the parchment paper, and set the cake on a cooling rack over a baking sheet.

10. Spoon some of the Absinthe glaze over the top and sides of the cake, allowing it to soak the top and spill down the sides a bit. Continue until all the glaze is used up.

(The photo at the top of this entry is the tiny cake that I made to bring to Luc-Santiago at Vert d'Absinthe. Which gives me an idea: Maybe I should open an Absinthe cupcake shop in Paris. Think they'll line up for hours for frosted blue-iced cupcakes here like they do in New York?...)

I recently attended a dinner here in Paris, at a well-known hotel, where the first course was Caesar Salad.

That was the Caesar Salad.

Yes, it has lettuce.

And anchovies (speared around skewers).

And cheese.

But, like, what is with those batter-fried Chinese shrimp?

Who gave the ok to put batter-fried shrimp on a Caesar Salad?

Mon Deui, what is so friggin' hard about making American food?

Take Caesar Salad, for example. It's simply torn leaves of Romain lettuce with a mustardy dressing seasoned with anchovies and a touch of worcestershire sauce. All balanced so no ingredient dominates the other. A handful of croûtons get tossed in, some Parmesan grated over the top, and voila!

That, ladies and gentleman, is a Caesar Salad.
Will someone please explain how hard that is to me?

Unlike French food, American food has few fancy sauces and is really pretty straightforward. While admittedly a lot of American food isn't spectacular, I fail to understand why it's so impossible to replicate. I've had the best cassoulet of my life in Berkeley, amazing Lebanese food in Mexico, marvelous French desserts in Tokyo, superb Moroccan food in France, and terrific Japanese food in Hawaii. So why is it so hard to make American food anywhere else but in America?

While I didn't move to Paris expecting hamburgers and pizza, I fail to understand what possesses any rational person to spoon canned corn over a pizza. (Why would a country that shuns corn on the cob embrace its frozen kernel-y counterpart?)

Who the heck gave anyone permission to top a hamburger (or pizza) with a runny fried egg?

And if I get one more Salade Niçoise with a big scoop of white rice on top, I'm going to drag the chef down to Nice, force him to stand in the center of town holding their Salade Niçoise avec du riz in hand, and invite the townsfolk for a look-see.

And stand back.

It's like those insane people, worldwide, that put cream in their pesto sauce.

For the love of humanity: Please stop!

Thanks. I feel better now.

Here are some of my favorite places to eat in Paris. This is not an exhaustive list, and I've mentioned many of my other top picks here on the site, so you can use the search engine to find them. And there's others on My Paris page here as well.

Several of these are also not fancy places. Sure, many people come to Paris for fine-dining, and you can find many of those addresses floating around guidebooks and online. But sometimes you just want a big plate of vegetable salads instead of half a carrot garnished by a shredded basil leaf with a dot of saffron sauce. I've included a few stand-by, reliably decent restaurants in case you happen to be in Paris on a Sunday, when many places are closed.

If you have some favorite places that you'd like to share, I'd love to hear about them since I'm always looking for new places to try and I'm sure others would too.
Feel free to leave your dining suggestions in the Comment area.

Before you start, here's a few tips when dining in Paris:

• It's always a good idea to reserve a table. Even if you arrive and the place is virtually empty, they like to know you're coming and you'll get a warmer welcome. Unlike the US, often you can call most restaurants that afternoon and get in easily. Hot restaurants, or ones that are fancier, you should call about a week in advance, or longer. Don't bother using email links on most restaurant's websites here since you're unlikely to get a response.

• Don't be embarrased to order wine or water by the carafe. You probably think you'll feel like a cheapskate...but get over it. If you look around, most of the Parisians are doing the same thing. And yes, the water is safe to drink in Paris. Why do people keep asking that?

• Adding a tip is not required, but in spite of what you hear, most people leave a little extra for good service. If the check is 28€, you could leave 30€ if you were pleased. Or if your meal is 95€, you could leave 100€. But remember that it's not required and if they don't bring you back your change, request it. I've had a few places pull that one (in Paris and in the US.) It's rude and presumptuous.

• LIke anywhere in France, always say Bonjour or Bonsoir when entering a restaurant, and when you leave, say Merci. Preferably add a Monseiur or Madame along with it.

• Many restaurants have 'deals' at lunch, or fix-price menus that are often a bargain. Some have them at dinner as well, and they're generally a good value.

• Please, do not bring out your hand sanitizer at the table. Do your grooming in the bathroom.

• No one has doggie bags, so don't even ask. (Although a friend of mine showed some cleavage and got one. Once.)

• No one has ice, so don't even ask. (Ok, well, you might get one or two. Wear something low-cut if you plan to ask.)

Rôtisserie Beaujolais 19 quai des Tournelles, tel 01 43 54 17 47. Grilled and spit roasted meats, and typical French fare. In the 5th. Avoid seats just next to the opening to the oven...it's très hot and they like to stick out-of-towners there, who they think won't complain. But I do since they invariably lead me to it. Open Sunday night.

Chez René 14, blvd St. Germain. Tel 01 43 54 30 23. Great French classics. The best Coq au Vin in town, with a sauce as smooth as velvet. If you don't order the fix-priced menu, be prepared for a lot of food. It's quite an experience and the cheese plate(s) is/are insane. Dinner menu, approximately 40€. In the 5th. You didn't hear it from me, but there's a clear brandy digestive hidden behind the bar...with a snake in it! I haven't been since there was a recent change of ownership, but I hear the food is still very good.

Cuisine de Bar 8, rue Cherche-Midi (M: Sevres-Babylon), tel 01 45 48 45 69, in the 6th. Open-faced tartines, or sandwiches, served on pain Poilâne, the famed bakery next door. Order the 12€ formule with a salad, tartine (I like the one with sardines and flakes of sea salt, or poulet with anchovies), a glass of wine or bottle of water, café and a spiced cookie. Very casual yet chic. And friendly. No reservations...lunch only. If the wait it long, they'll often pour you a welcome glass of wine.

L'As du Falafel On 34, rue des Rosiers in the Marais (M: St. Paul), closed Friday night and Saturday for the Jewish holidays. The best falafel anywhere! Join the crowd clamoring at the window. A dive & definitely a must...decent frites as well. One dining room is non-smoking. No reservations.

For something vegetable-oriented, Chez Marianne in the Marais at 2, rue des Hospitalieres St. Gervais, tel 01 42 72 18 86. Come here for decent Mediterranean salads. You choose a combination plate of 4, 5, or 6 salads. This is a good address to know about if you're craving something without a lot of meat. Perfect with a bottle of house rosé. Approximately 20€. Reserve, or wait for eternity. Open every day and night, but be aware of the often abrupt servers.

Chez Omar is one of my favorite restaurants in town. Specialties are couscous and they have excellent steak and French fries as well, but I always have the roasted lamb, or méchoui d'agneau. Very lively, no reservations. Open daily for lunch and dinner, as well as Sundays. If you go for dinner, be prepared for a wait after 8:30pm. Don't let any Parisians cut in front of you! A simple shove with your shoulder, followed by a very apologetic "Oops! Pardon" is usually all it take to get them to recede. Do it firm enough and you'll only need to do it once. Trust me. Moderate prices, which do seem to keep climbing each time I go. In the 3rd, at 47 rue de Bretagne. (M: Temple or Arts and Metiers)

Another couscous place that's less-hectic is L'Atlas, with fine Moroccan food. Feathery light couscous and savory tagines. Skip the first courses. Not fancy nor too pricey considering the fine food and gracious service. Dine in the lovely tiled dining room, or outside in fine weather. Located at 12, St. Germaine des Pres. Vegetarians will appreciate the large selection of seafood tagines. Tel 01 44 07 23 66 (M: Maubert-Mutualité), in the 5th.

Bistrot Paul Bert 18, rue Paul Bert, tel 01 43 72 24 01 (M: Faidherbe-Chaligny) Out of the way, but definitely worth going to. I love this restaurant. Some of the best desserts in Paris too. Offers a 3-course fixed menu for 32€. In the 12th.

Les Papilles 30 rue Gay-Lussac, tel 01 43 25 20 79. Wine bar and light, 'market-fresh' food. Menu approximately 30€. In the 5th. Nice portions, and cheerful staff.

UPDATE: Please note that this post was written in 2006 and not updated regularly. You can follow along at my Paris Restaurant Archives for more suggestions, as well on the My Paris page.

Although we can't expect things to be like 'back home', many of us do miss certain things and for us bakers, it's often a challenge to adapt to new ingredients or ones that behave differently than what we're used to. Here's a list of commonly-used baking ingredients and where you can find them, or what you can use in their place.

Buttermilk and Sour Cream

Many grocery stores and cheese shops sell lait ribot, fermented milk from Brittany. Arabic markets also sell fermented milk as well. In many recipes you can substitute plain whole milk yogurt or you can milk 1 tablespoon of white or cider vinegar, or lemon juice, with 1 cup (250 ml) of whole milk and let it stand ten minutes.

For sour cream, full-fat (20%) fromage blanc is the closest substitute for baking. Crème fraîche, which is usually at least 30% fat, can be used as well, but is richer. I also use Bridélice, a low-fat dairy product (called crème légère, or "light cream"), whose 15% fat content is similar to American-style sour cream.

Brown Sugar

To replace the sticky brown sugar used in American recipes, there are two options. One is sucre vergeoise, which is beet sugar sprayed with caramel-coating (to resemble brown sugar) and sucre cassonade, which is unrefined cane sugar. Both are available in dark and light variations: light (cuivrée) or dark (ambrée), for cassonade.

Sucre vergeoise is more available, found in supermarkets, although I prefer cassonade, which can be found in supermarkets (most often under the Daddy brand, which they sell online at La Boutique Daddy and you can find other brands at natural food stores, like Naturalia and Biocoop.

Coarse crystal, free-flowing cassonade is available in most grocery stores as the French use it for coffee and baking, and can be substituted in some recipes, although I prefer the sticky varieties when a recipe calls for light or dark brown sugar.

You can read more detailed information in my post: French sugars.

Flour

Flour varies from country-to-country. French 'all-purpose' flour (type 45 and type 55) is closer to American cake flour: it's milled very finely and has less-protein and gluten (strength). In most cases, you can't just substitute French all-purpose flour in American recipes like cookies and cakes. I know too many Americans who opened the oven door and found all their carefully rolled-out chocolate chip cookies, melded into one, giant blob.

If you're interested in the precise composition of both flours, you can read about them American vs French flours and French flours. Chow published a French & American flour equivalent chart.

In spite of the listing, I found that organic type 65 flour is the closest, which you can find in natural food stores like Naturalia. You can also buy type 65 organic flour at Monoprix and other supermarkets. It will say on the side of the package.

Molasses

You can buy mélasse at natural food stores, but it's sulphured, unrefined, and very strongly-flavored. When using it in recipes, I cut it with some mild-flavored honey. Otherwise it can overwhelm all other flavors in whatever you're baking. Unless you like that strong, molasses flavor...then go for it. American-brands of mild, unsulphured molasses, as we know it, is available in stores that cater to the expat community.

Treacle, available in British stores and markets that carry British foods, is a close substitute, but is similar to blackstrap molasses and quite strong. In a pinch, cut it 50:50 with mild honey, unless you like the strong molasses taste.

Yeast

You can ask your local boulanger if they'll sell you some yeast, or it's available in supermarkets (not in the refrigerated section, like in America) in packets like the one shown above. You can also buy it in small tins in Arab markets, under the SAF brand.

Since yeast is a living organism, the yeast in Europe behaves a bit different than American yeast, but I've had few problems. You can test yeast by adding a teaspoon to half a cup slightly-warm water; it should start bubbling within a few minutes if it's still good. You can find a yeast substitution guide at the Red Star yeast website for swapping fresh yeast for dry yeast. I've not seen fast-acting yeast in France, although it may be available.

Chocolate Chips

Finding chocolate chips is regular supermarkets is nearly impossible. In Paris, G. Detou carries them at a reasonable price (although they contain the sugar substitute, maltitol) and expat stores carry them, as well as Le Grand Epicerie. You can simply chop up a bar of chocolate, or buy Callebaut pistoles (as shown in the photo) available at professional baking supply shops, such as G. Detou and Metro.

Butterscotch, and similar-flavored chips, may be available in shops that cater to the expat community.

Corn Syrup

American corn syrup is expensive, and sold at stores that cater to the expat community. But Asian markets often carry corn syrup cheaply, as it's used in Korean cooking. Two stores in Paris are Ace Mart (rue St. Anne) and Tang Frères (in the 13th.)

Professional baking supply shops, such as G. Detou in Paris, also sell glucose, which is essentially the same thing. If you need dark corn syrup, add a generous spoonful of molasses to the corn syrup. For more information about corn syrup: When To Use (and Not Use) Corn Syrup, which lists other substitutions.

Cornmeal

Various grades of cornmeal can be found in ethnic markets, mostly catering to the Arabic community. Polenta and cornmeal, such as those that are used for cornbread, can be found there, as well as in natural foods stores, labeled farine de maïs. In Paris, many of those are clustered around Belleville and near the marche d'Aligre.

Fine-grained instant polenta sold in supermarkets can be used in certain applications but I don't like it.

Peanut Butter

Peanut butter is available in France and now many supermarkets carry it. American brands, like Skippy, can be expensive. But "natural-style" peanut butter can be found in ethnic stores, especially those that cater to the Indian community. (In Paris, many of those are clustered around La Chapelle, behind the gare du Nord.)

The peanut butter you find is generally 98% peanuts, with a small amount of vegetable fat added. You can also make your own by roasting raw peanuts in the oven and whizzing them in a food processor, while warm, until smooth.

Cocoa Powder

Virtually all the cocoa powder in France is Dutch-processed, which means the cocoa powder has been acid-neutralized and is generally darker. It often will not say so on the front label, but may list the alkalizing agent (often potassium carbonate or bromate) as an ingredient.

Although one should, theoretically, used what the recipe calls for, you can usually do just find swapping out one for the other.

More information can be found at my post; Cocoa Powder FAQs.

Chocolate

When a recipe calls for bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, you can use any of the dark chocolate baking bars found in supermarkets. If you live in Paris, G. Detou sells chocolate in bulk, in bars and pistoles. The membership only Metro stores also carry chocolate (and other supplies) in bulk.

G. Detou also carries unsweetened (sometimes called 'bitter') chocolate in bulk, which in France is called 100% cacao, or 100% pâte de cacao. Some gourmet stores carry it but in general, you won't find it in supermarkets as the French don't bake with it like Americans do.

You can learn more about chocolate varieties and uses at Chocolate FAQs.

Cream Cheese

Cream cheese can be found in supermarkets under the St. Môret label, or store-brands, labeled pâte à tartiner, in the familiar rectangle shape. Ed discount markets has the best prices if you need a lot. Also cream cheese is available in Jewish grocers in the Marais, and some French people use Kiri squares as cream cheese for making le cheesecake.

Shops Specializing in Anglo Products in Paris & France:

Here's a listing of the stores mentioned above, or shops that specialize in products for expats. I've noticed that the everyday supermarkets in Paris, such as Franprix and G20 often have sections that sell anglo products at decent prices, and those are worth checking out, too.

For cake pans, muffin tins, bakeware, and paper cupcake liners (and more), I prowl around ethnic neighborhoods. A favorite is the rue de Belleville in Paris; there are lots of stores scattered along that street, that carry baking items at very low prices.

There are a couple of places that do mail-order and although I haven't ordered anything from them, if you really need something, they might be worth the extra expense:

Thanksgiving

G. Detou

Naturalia

My American Market (France & Europe)

Yummy's Fine Food From Britain

The English Shop

Biocoop

Izraël

American Market (Switzerland)

English Shop (Germany)

British Superstore (England)

The Real McCoy

Monoprix

Ed

La Grand Epicerie

Auchan

E. Leclerc

Carrefour

American's often wonder how French people know they're American before they even say one word. It used to be the sneakers; they were the dead giveaway. Nowadays, wearing sneakers, or les baskets, in Paris is as carrying a baguette.

The other way they can tell us-from-them, is that Americans tend to smile. A lot. We are a rather happy tribe. And Americans tend to eat and drink while walking (or while driving, which I've explained to some of my French friends, but they look at me in disbelief). Although in Paris it's becoming a bit more common, it's still unusual to see someone chowing down while walking on the street or in the métro. It's just not done and people will definitely give you funny looks if you're, say, cramming a Pierre Hermé pastry into your face while sitting on a sidewalk bench. Or shoving a sublime, cream-filled éclair au chocolat from La Maison du Chocolat into your mouth, trying to make sure not one precious drop of bittersweet chocolate pastry cream lands anywhere but in your tummy.

But one little nugget of Parisian tradition still amuses me every time I see it.
It's the yank, twist, and pull of le quignon.

You'll see it 99% of the time someone leaves a bakery with a freshly-baked baguette. The moment they exit, they grab the crackly knob at the end of the loaf, le quignon. Parisians will absent-mindedly twist and snap it off and pop it into their mouth as they hurry on their way. I think of it as an instant, on-the-spot, quality-control check.

I usually end up with a mess of flour on my dark overcoat, since one of my favorite breads in Paris, le Bazinette, has a fine dusting of flour on it's crackly crust and permeating all the little brittle crevasses. If you're lucky enough to get to Bazin early in the day, a favorite baguette of mine is available with a hearty mixture of grains; flax, sesame, and poppy seeds.

The one shown above is their baguette de tradition, a hand-shaped baguette, slightly sour from the addition of un peu de levain, natural sourdough starter, which gives the bread a hearty, earthy character and allows it to remain fresher longer than the usual 4-hour lifespan of a good Parisian baguette.

Bazin is one of the prettiest bakeries in Paris too, overlooking what I am sure is the smallest (and most unnecessary) traffic rotary in the city. In order to get a Bazinette with grains, you need to get to the bakery early in the day, since they always seem to sell them out quickly.

Bazin
85, bis rue de Charenton
Métro: Ledru-Rollin
Tel: 01 43 07 75 21
(Closed Wednesday and Thursday)

It's perhaps not much of a secret anymore that some of the best places to eat in Paris are the wine bars. Unlike some of the 'wine bars' in the US (where that glass of icky-oaky California Chardonnay will run you $14...not including tax and tip), Paris' wine bars are gathering places, where people might stop in the morning after the market for a friendly chat with the counterperson or in the afternoon for quick glass of red to get you through the rest of your day...not that I ever do that...

After work, the wines bars in Paris hum as people leave their jobs, and you'll see businessmen in dapper suits (and the aformentioned cartoon-emblazoned socks) as well as salesclerks from the local shops propped up against le bar zinc, cigarette in hand, sipping a glass of red wine while thinking whatever it is they're thinking as they focus their gazes somewhere off into space.
It's a skill I've yet to master.

One of my favorite wine bars in Paris is Le Rubis. Located just off the fancy-schmancy rue Saint-Honoré, Le Rubis occupies a little corner of this quartier, better known for handbags, jewelery shops, and all the other necessities of life for les bourgeoisie.

I like to go at lunchtime, especially in the cold winter months, where the friendly owners will squeeze you into a seat at one of the tiny tables covered with crisp white paper, a folded napkin, some utilitarian silverware, and an overturned wine glass, ready to be filled. After lunch of later in the afternoon, Parisians gather outside by the wine barrels covered with red-checkered cloth, drinking, smoking, and talking on their mobile phones, while absentmindedly polishing off a couple of glasses of Brouilly or Beaujolais.

Most of the wine bars in Paris that serve food keep it authentic and simple: peek into the kitchen at any of them and you'll find most are the size of a phone booth. It's all charming and convivial, reminding me of the old diners that have mostly disappeared in America (except the bottomless cup of bad coffee's been replaced by red wine...and people still ask me why I live in France!)

Lunch can be anything from petit salé, braised salt pork on a bed of nutty green French lentils, or a rich wedge of tarte au legumes, a quiche-like slab of eggy-custard, baked with vegetables and diced smoked bacon, served with a mustardy green salad. (And no, all you wine folks, they don't care that the salad has vinegar and mustard in it.)

Of course, though, the wine is important here. But not so important that it draws wine snobs. Thankfully all he pretention from the neighborhood is left outside the door. I like to come in the afternoon when the place is empty. I sit with friends, or by myself, sipping a glass of fruity Chinon accompanied by a plate of their outstanding charcuterie, served on dark-crusted slices of pain Poilâne, from the nearby bakery of Max Poilâne. Country hams, fat-rich rillettes, and slices of dry sausage are always a treat, and a welcome accompaniment to the wine.
By the time I'm ready to leave, the table's covered with bread crumbs, the paper table covering is stained with red rings from the bottom of the wine glass, and I'm feeling much better, no matter where I'm going afterwards.

Usually it's straight home for une sieste, another jour perdu...

Le Rubis
10, rue Marché St. Honoré
Tel: 01 42 61 03 34
(Full-meals served only at lunch)

Le macaron truffle blanche; The White truffle Macaron from Pierre Hermé, part of his fall collection of désires.

The first bite of this little cookie of almond-enriched meringue reveals sweet and reassuring buttercream...then the disconcerting jolt of musky, earthy white truffles. Nestled inside is a dry-roasted nugget of crunchy Piedmontese hazelnut, whose flavor provokes you into realizing that this combination of sweet and savory is surely the work of brilliance.

Available seasonally at Pierre Hermé.
72, rue Bonaparte
and
185, rue de Vaugirard

Did you know?...

...if you buy a wine from Burgundy, 97% of the red wines are made from Pinot Noir grapes and most of the white wines are made from Chardonnay?

...that many of the French winemakers use American oak since it leaves a less-oaky flavor in the wine, but American winemakers usually import French oak, which imparts that heavy woody taste common in American wines?

...that only about 50% of French wines contain sulfides, yet almost all American wines do? (The French don't list it, but the Americans wines are required to.)

...aside from the hangover, there's a major difference between Beaujolais and Beaujolais Nouveau?

...that Petit Chablis isn't the wine that comes in big glass jug from the supermarket and cost $2.99?

...wine can reveal it's age by its meniscus, apparent from just from a simple glance in the glass?

Olivier Magny, the sommelier of O-Château, speaks perfect English (better than me) and is a gracious host to wine enthusiasts from around the world.

For the next few hours, Olivier is your expert guide to the world of French wines answering all your questions with approachable style, wit, and knowledge. His family owns the Domaine du Crêt Gonin, a beautiful, approachable red wine, which if you're lucky, you'll get to taste as well.

I attended The Tour de France of Wine, which he generously pours six different styles of wine over a leisurely two hours to an enthusiastic group of Parisians, visitors, and residents like me. The tasting's are designed to represent a cross-section of French winemaking styles and Olivier discusses the differences and uniqueness of all seven, including descriptions of the French winemaking regions, how grapes are grown, common terminology (bringing 'wine-talk' down to earth for you and me), climates and terroirs which affect the grape harvest and wine production, and (at last!) how to properly taste wine and evaluate it with an attack on la bouche...the tasting!

Olivier also does shorter, three-wine evaluations, (Wine, Two, Three!) and afternoon Wine & Cheese-Tasting Lunches where you're welcomed into his wine cave with a nice, chilled glass of Champagne, followed by white and red wines for tasting, discussion, and evaluation.

O-Château
52, rue l'Arbre Sec (1st)
(Reserve in advance)
Tel: 01 44 73 97 80

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 whose window delights the tourists, but belies the more serious chocolates inside.

(I'm also only two blocks from A la Petite Fabrique, but the saleswoman is so rude that I refuse to shop there. And 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, glossy half-dome. These are some of Monsieur Roger's creations that continue to seduce me. 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.

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-savvy 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

And you can read about my experiences ultimately working at Patrick Roger's shop in my book, The Sweet Life in Paris!

Other Café Malongo bars at:
-53, rue Passy
-Lafayette Gourmet 46-48, Boulevard Haussmann
-Monprix, 14 rue du Départ

Read more at my post: Where to find a good cup of coffee in Paris.

Ladurée makes what I consider the best macarons anywhere. And apparently so do many others: the four shops of Ladurée in Paris sell 12,000 macarons each day, over four million per year.

Many Americans raise an eyebrow when confronted with their first French macaron, since macaroons in the US are normally chewy, egg white-based cookies heaped with shredded coconut. But both the French macaron and the American macaroon are based on the crisp Italian meringue cookies made of whipped egg whites, sugar, and ground almonds or bitter apricot kernels, called amaretti. However Ladurée gives credit to Pierre Desfontaines, a distant cousin of founder Louis Ernest Ladurée, who they claim first joined two disks of crisp macarons together with buttercream and ganache fillings in mini-sandwiches to create the now-classic Ladurée . But prior to Ladurée's creation, the original French macaron had no filling; while still warm from the oven, macarons were joined together at their bases, fusing together as they cooled.

Aside from taking credit for providing Paris with their now-legendary macarons and other sweet treats, the wife of Monsieur Ladurée decided soon after the original bakery opened in 1862 that she would open a the first salon de thé in Paris, where a woman could sit unescorted and not be considered 'loose'. (My French dictionary doesn't have a definition for 'loose woman'...but if you come to Paris and want to see zaftig dames offering their services, take a stroll down the rue Blondel.)

Recently, the macaron wars have been raging in Paris, as pâtissieres try to outdo each other by introducing wild and over-the-top flavors and outrageous packaging. Ladurée has of course entered the fray but with dignity and class, avoiding some of the silliness I've seen.

Recently Ladurée macaron flavors include jet-black reglisse (licorice), herbaceous anis vert (anise), and the au courant flavor-combination-of-the-moment in Paris, citron vert-basilic (lime-basil).

But to me, the there's nothing better than the Ladurée classics: chocolat amer (bittersweet chocolate), dark café, and my absolute favorite, caramel-beurre-salé, a duo of almond-rich macaron cookies oozing smooth caramel...enriched with salted butter.

Ladurée
16, rue Royale
Tel: 01 42 60 21 79
Mètro: Madeleine or Concorde

Related Links and Recipes

Making French Macarons

Sweet and Stinky

My Paris

The Best Candy Shop in Paris

10 Insanely Delicious Things You Shouldn't Miss in Paris

I Love Macarons (Amazon)

Ketchup Macaron Recipe

French Chocolate Macaron Recipe

Raimo...Glaciers depuis 1947

Raimo
59-61 Boulevard de Reuilly
Tel: 01 43 43 70 17
Mètro: Daumesnil

Because of the congés d'été, almost every boulangerie in Paris shuts down for one month of vacation. Luckily it's carefully coordinated with the other bakeries in each neighborhood so that Parisians never have to go too far to find fresh bread daily, one of life's necessities in France.

I see it as an excuse to leave the confines of my quartier and try other bakeries. Now that the weather in Paris has cooled down enough so that taking a stroll is possible without ending up feeling like you just crossed the desert, ending up drenched in sweat, I mètroed across Paris to a bakery on the rue des Martyrs which Clotilde confided had the best baguette aux cereales in Paris.

But as I arrived (after having to exit the first mètro due to a breakdown, then taking one bus and two mètros, which took about an hour including the time it took me persuading each driver and station agent to let me through using the canceled ticket I'd validated at the first mètro), the window shades were drawn and on the door was the all-too-familiar sign "Fermature pour les Congés".

"Zut!"

Make that..."Merde!"

So yesterday, I hiked up towards the Pantheon to the rue Mouffetard, a rather well-known market street that I generally avoid since it's rather pricey. Nevertheless, there's some great places on that street including Octave ice cream from Toulouse, and a new pastry shop that's really spectacular, Xavier Le Quéré which Louisa sleuthed out. And I wanted to return to le Boulanger de Monge.

(Update 10/08: Both Octave and Xavier Quere are now closed.)

On page #1 of Le Guide des Boulangeries de Paris, there are only three bakeries in Paris given the lofty 3-star status, and le Boulanger de Monge is one of the lucky few. It's located at a busy intersection and there's generally a queue of locals waiting for their daily bread. My first visit was a few months back with my friend Frank, and to be quite honest, I wasn't won over.

In the window was a multi-layer cake, similar to a Napolean, with alternating layers of puff pastry and cream. Draped across the top were the broken end-shards of the cakes, which I suppose were meant to be decorative, but was suprisingly clunky and amateurish. The tarte aux pommes looked better, but tasted somewhat sec and not-really-all-that-interesting (especially in a city full of very interesting tartes aux pommes.) Perhaps it serves me right for ordering apple tart when apples aren't in season. But since Frank wrote the book on apples, it just seemed like the right alignment of elements.

But what I came for was the bread.

Le Boulanger de Monge is an open bakery. The bakers are right there beside the patrons making the bread, everything in plain view; the organic flour, the bakers (dusted with organic flour), and the wood-fired ovens with crackly, fresh-baked bread emerging every so often. I loved the look of the levain bread, which is slashed prior to baking so comes out with a crusty sunburst baked into the surface. It's perhaps the most beautiful bread I've seen in Paris. But when I got home and tasted it, I missed the sourdough-tang characteristic of my favorite levain bread from Poilâne (which deserves the 3-stars it got from the same guide), as well as the Bay Area's Acme bakery. The bread also had a cake-like texture that crumbled when you cut it, rather than gluten-y nooks and crannies and holes, the appeal of well-crafted bread.

Yesterday I thought I would try their pain aux cereales, since as many of you know I am smitten with hearty breads chock-full grains and seeds. It cost a whopping 2.60€ for the small loaf they bundled up for me. From the looks of the exterior, I didn't have high hopes for the loaf but ordered it anyways. When I hurried home and sliced it open, there were so few grains that I wondered where they got off calling it aux ceriales?

I suppose that I should have simply ordered a baguette, since that's how these bread guides judge bakeries in Paris, so perhaps I need to go back since the third-time may be the proverbial charm. They did have beautiful looking little round cakes, which I will try next time; the chocolate ones in particular look rich and tasty.

Le Boulanger de Monge
123, rue Monge, 5th
M: Les Gobelins or Censier-Daubenton
tel: 01 43 37 54 20
Closed Monday.

If you plan on eating at Le Verre Volé (The Stolen Glass) be sure to call first and reserve a spot. It's located just next to the Canal St. Martin, a trendy quarter of Paris, and there's only seats for about 18 people or so. But unlike New York or San Francisco or Los Angeles, you could call that afternoon and likely get a spot. During dinner I told my dining companion that if this was in New York, there would be a line out the door...and around the corner.

I began the complex task of choosing from one of the wines from the shelves. Each has the price written across the neck of the bottle since Le Verre Volé doubles as a retail establishment. To drink it there, they add a modest 7€. I scanned the shelves and chose a red Mazel from the Ardeches (18€) that was very light and fruity. A bit 'fresh' when first opened—once it sat, it gained complexity. I was happy that it was the perfect choice for the warm evening and hearty food. During the evening, practically every three minutes, someone would roar up on their scooter, disembark, and rush in to buy a bottle of wine for dinner.

We shared a jellied terrine of oxtails (5€). The finely shredded meat was gently molded with some spring asparagus and peas, all barely held together with jellied beef stock that was light. It was served with pickled, vinegary capers on their stems and dressed salad greens.

All the main courses were meaty: blood sausage with roasted apples and potatoes, andouillettes de Troyes, and veal Marengo. Not being much of a fan of 'variety meats' (as they're politely called in America), I chose the caillettes ardechoise (10€), a patty of well-seasoned pork ground-up with tasty and still-chewy beet greens and spinach. It was roasted until searingly-crisp on the outside, and when I split it open, a moist cloud of steam erupted revealing fork-tender meat within.

One could also make up a meal composed of lots of the appetizers, like the roasted eggplant caviar, salt cod-stuffed peppers, or platters of various meats and cheeses.

The genial young men who run the place managed to keep the small crowd happy. One took orders and opened wine, while the other stood behind the tiny bar and dished up salads and roasted meats and sausages in the small ovens. Behind the bar is a glass door leading to an air-conditioned room, a jumble of boxes and bottles of wine.

I'll see you there.

Le Verre Volé
67, rue de Lancry
tel: 01 48 03 17 34
Métro: Jacques Bonsergent

I've dedicated a healthy portion of my life walking the streets and boulevards of Paris to find grainy bread here. I know I shouldn't complain. There's a boulangerie on every corner. You can get excellent baguettes or a nice loaf of pain au levain just about anywhere. But it's hard to find a loaf of bread with lots of seeds and stuff in it.
Maybe it's because the breads here, like Parisians, are so refined. I don't know.

Stübli makes dense, authentic German breads, but on my last visits the breads I lugged home were mushy and uninteresting, and no longer worth the schlep across Paris...even though it's a good excuse to make the voyage to Alléosse, the mind-blowing cheese shop on the rue Poncelet. There's a dinky, uninspired-looking joint on the rue Faubourg-Poissonière that makes sensational baguettes totally covered with golden sesame seeds that is wonderful toasted for breakfast. I crave this bread and make the voyage there often. But it's out of the way, and somewhat depressing, so no one goes there and I'm afraid they'll be closing soon.

Here are some of my favorite breads from various bakeries across Paris. Although I do love a traditional, crackly baguette paired with cheese, or toasted slices of hearty boule rustique slathered with homemade confiture for breakfast, these are the sturdy, hearty breads that I enjoy most here in Paris.

Norlander Bread
Christian Voiron
61, rue de la Glaçiere

I learned about this bread from Clotilde's explorations and it's a favorite. Tight and compact, Norlander bread is the heaviest bread I've found in Paris. And it's also small, making it the perfect bread for a little afternoon snack with some contraband peanut butter, which a friend smuggled out of an American army base in Switzerland.

Pain Nordique
Le Grande Epicerie
22, rue de Sèvres

I've been told the Grand Epicerie makes over 80 different kinds of bread underground, beneath this enormous food emporium. This is a lighter, airy bread, yet full of lots of sunflower seeds and a good amount of oat flakes. It's excellent sliced-thin and toasted. But get there early: for some reason, by mid-afternoon they start feeding all the Pain Nordique loaves into the slicing machine and bagging them up.
Last time I was there, I was in the slowest line in the world, and as the lone saleswoman waited patiently on some madame that was bickering over the prices or freshness of a single roll or something. Meanwhile the other salesperson was tossing the brown loaves into a slicing machine as fast as he could. All I could do was stand there helplessly, hoping that my turn would come soon, before he could finish slicing all the loaves.
I ended up getting the last two. Whew!

Pain aux Cereales
Eric Kayser
8, rue Monge

This is perhaps the best bread in the world.
I don't know how Eric Kayser does it, but each loaf comes out encrusted with golden sesame seeds. Slice it open, and you'll find a delicate but full-flavored bread studded with crunchy grains of millet, sesame and sunflower seeds, with a naturally sweet taste. I used to walk across Paris to his shop on the rue Monge for a loaf (actually, I always get two and freeze the other.) Now Kayser has opened bakeries across Paris and my local market at the Bastille has a vendor who sells the same bread, inexplicably, without identifying the baker or bakery of origin. Once I noticed an errant Kayser bag off to one side, which gave away their ruse.

Tradigrains
Au Pain de Saint-Gilles
1 bis, rue Saint-Gilles

When the quality of the baguettes of my local boulanger, Au Levain du Marais, slid downhill after their month-long summer vacation a few years ago, I agonized over the loss for weeks and weeks. I was torn. In France, your live your life according to your local bakery. You know when the loaves go in and come out of the oven, when the baker is off, and how to get the baguette cooked just the way you like it (bien cuite, svp!) You adjust your life, since most bakeries are closed two days of the week, so you need to plan your schedule and meals around those two days. My supreme disappointment lasted for months until I discovered this grainy Tradigrain loaf at Au Pain de Saint-Gilles in the Marais, just a few blocks from chez David. Now this is proudly my baguette of choice. Do you see why?
Millet, poppy seeds and flax seeds ripple through the interior of each loaf. I can barely get out the door of the bakery without ripping off the end and devouring it (a French tradition, after any baguette purchase...I think of it as an immediate quality-control check.)

Paris has some of the most amazing pastry and chocolate shops in the world!

I've written up many of them and you can browse through my archives to find out more about them: Paris Pastry Shops.

A recommended book for visitors is The Pâtisseries of Paris: A Paris Pastry Guide, which lists many favorites, along with addresses and specialties.

A favorite quick-bite on the streets of Paris, at L'As du Fallafel.

L'As du Fallafel is one of the few places where Parisians chow down on the street. Beginning with a fork, dig into warm pita bread stuffed with marinated crunchy cabbage, silky eggplant, sesame hoummous, and boules of chick-pea paste, crisp-fried falafel. Spice it up with a dab of searingly-hot sauce piquante.

L'As du Fallafel: 34, rue de Rosiers, in the Marais. Open every day, except closed friday beginning at sundown, reopening for lunch sunday.

One of the great places for lunch in Paris is Cuisine au Bar (8, Rue du Cherche-Midi), which has been touted as the French version of the sushi bar. The servers are welcoming and generous, and the tartines (open-faced sandwiches) are the most inventive and marvelous in all of Paris. A dedicated friend of mine lunches there every day.

I met Pim for lunch, of Chez Pim, and we both ordered the same thing: the chicken sandwich, a toasted slice of Poilâne levain bread (the bakery's just next door) moistened with homemade mayonnaise, slices of plump chicken, filets of anchovies and a scattering of capers, which kept rolling off. We both systematically added flecks of coarse sea salt, then consumed. Delicious. Pim, being far more polite than I am, ate her sandwich perfectly reasonably with a knife and fork. I wolfed my down, polishing it off in record time, licking my fingers afterwards.

After braving La Poste together afterwards, we parted, making plans for eating Thai food with other Paris bloggers in June. However after we parted, I noticed she made a beeline to Pierre Hermé's astonishing pastry shop on the Rue Bonaparte. So a few days later, I returned as well, and tasted one of the most stunning pastries of my life, his Arabesque macaron, which Pim had rhapsodized over earlier in the week.

Normally a classicist, I prefer my macarons with chocolate, coffee, or pistachio. But this was an amazing creation. Delicate, crackly pistachio-dusted meringue cookies flavored with apricot. The filling was a melange of apricot cream and caramelized nut praline. Each season, M. Hermé introduces new flavors of macarons, some successful (olive oil-vanilla, rose-lychee, and caramel-beurre-salé) and some less so (his white truffle and catsup come to mind.) However Arabesque was perfection and I was sorry that I only bought one.
I will be going back tomorrow for another.

A friend of mine, another David L (who also worked at Chez Panisse with me and is now a chef in Switzerland) comes to visit me often, and it's one of the few times I let someone else into my tiny kitchen. He's a terrific cook, and perhaps the only person who is more picky about the way things should be in a kitchen than I am.
David and I like to roam about town looking for things to eat but we always we have a falafel at L'As du Falafel on the rue des Rosiers, in the Marais when he arrives. I usually insist visitors to Paris go there during their trip, since I would rank their 3.5 euro falafel as good as many 3-star dining experiences (and better, and cheaper, than one I recently had.)

Recently we were at the Richard Lenoir market, off the Bastille, and on sunday (the market is thursday and sunday) there are two of the nicest young women from the Savoie selling products from their region. They've got everything from buckwheat squares of pasta, rugged mountain cheeses, and cured meats. David (the other one) was excited to see this sausage which is studded with nuts!

It seemed pretty wacky to me to put nuts in sausage, isn't it? But the nutty, crunchy almonds are terrific and I can't wait until next sunday since, as you can see, I'm almost at the end of my, er, sausage.

Apologies to all for not updating the site, but I've been working on the overhaul and can't wait to get it up... which will be shortly. There will be lots of new content, a new look, as well as very frequent updates and lots of recipes. I've also been very busy planning and leading chocolate tours and working on some new recipes for chocolate classes in December of 2005 at Sur La Table stores. I just finished a major article about Paris chocolates for the October issue of Hemispheres, the magazine of United Airlines. So plan a trip on United in October if you want to read it!

So it's springtime here in Paris.

At my outdoor market, I've been buying colorful blood oranges from Tunisia and Spain and making refreshing sorbets, then candying the peel to serve alongside. (My grandmother never let me throw anything away...) As the weather gets warmer, dinner's often a simple salad of peppery arugola and watercress sprinkled with a drizzle of argan oil, my favorite oil, made from argan nuts that have been munched by tree-climbing goats in Morocco, after which they're "expelled", then laboriously pressed.

I've also been baking tagines (Moroccan casseroles) using spring lamb and plump, sweet prunes from Agen. And sometimes dinner will just be a slice of Terrine Gascon which I get from my local butcher, made from shredded duck confit and I suspect an overdose of duck fat. (I figure if I down enough rosé with it, that will dilute the richness in my system.) There's also many new cheeses that I'm trying at my fromagerie, such as an earthy, crumbly, and pungent bleu cheese from Savoie, ripe and gooey brie de meaux, and a new favorite, Langres, a copper-colored knob that when sliced, reveals a soft, creamy interior with the lovely sweet-pungent smell of fresh cream, grass, and barnyard.

One Of My Favorite Bakeries in Paris, L'Autre Boulange

And I've been trying as many new chocolates I can get. I've had some lovely bars from Green & Black's organic chocolate from Great Britain, as well as handcrafted Tuscan chocolates from Slitti and Amedei that I'll be visiting with guests in May during my upcoming Italian Chocolate Tour.

For those of you unfamiliar with Tuscan chocolates, they are some of the finest chocolates you'll ever sample. Wish you were coming along?

If you've missed the opportunity to come to Tuscany with me, I've just announced a week of chocolate and cooking classes with cookbook author Susan Loomis in September, at her lovely home located in Normandy, one-hour from Paris. See below for details.

Each winter, the International Salon d'Agriculture occurs in Paris at the enormous Porte de Versailles exhibition center. The French are in love with anything agricultural. I recently saw a huge, room-sized map of France artfully composed of vegetables and fruits from the various regions.

And they love cows. (Well, living in a country with the most exceptional cheeses in the world, I am beginning to worship them as well.) When I last went to the post office, I was offered their newest stamps, which featured a cow. When I showed them off to some French friends that came for dinner that night, there was much ooh-ing and ahh-ing.

Although I do like cows as much as, um, the next person...I was more intrigued by the food representing all the regions of France and several other European communities and Africa. I bought a hunk of nutty Gruyere from the Swiss pavilion that was really, really good and sweet-scented, slender vanilla beans from the Antilles.

There was lots of unusual seafood to gasp at, delicious Basque foie gras conserved with pimente d'espelette (smoked pepper powder), and much wine to sample, as well as Pommeau, an aperitif of Calvados brandy blended with apple cider.

I'm Thinking of Giving Up Fish

I meet some lively Africans from the Ivory Coast, who split open a cocoa bean and fed me the slippery seeds within. If you've never seen a cocoa bean, they're beautiful pods filled with slippery, almond-sized beans imbedded in a creamy liquid.

African Cocoa Beans

Although the Salon is great fun, it's always mobbed and this year was no exception. The one thing you never want to do is get between a French person and food. Otherwise, look out!