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.

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.

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.

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.

All I can say is—I hope they work...

Les Chocolats Bernard Dufoux
32, rue Centrale
La Clayette
Tél: 03 85 28 08 10

Also available at:

A l'Etoile d'Or
30, rue Fontaine (9th)
Paris
Tél: 01 48 74 59 55

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.

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'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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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

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?

Paris chocolatier...

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

Michel Chaudun (in Japan)

Pardon, Monsieur Linxe, but I disagree.

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

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

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

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.

Now that you've all seen everything I have in my kitchen, I thought I'd show you a place I just discovered this week not far from where all that pastry magic happens.

(And I'm sure a few of you remember where all the magic that doesn't happen around here ends up.)

Someone chided me for having French Wine For Dummies on my bookshelf, but gave me a pass for having Rocco's book. Hey, it was a gift from him.

What was I going to say?—No?

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.

I've been trying to convince my French friends that yes...marshmallows do go atop sweet potatoes.

But only once a year. And only on Thanksgiving.

Maybe more than Americans, French people do like marshmallows. A lot. You see them in many bakeries and pastry shops, often in long strands, on display either in lengths or tied into knots, in apothecary jars. It's a tradition that goes back, before the advent of gelatin, when marshmallows were made with mallow extract which was (and still may be) considered good for your respiratory system.

Nowadays the French eat lots of marshmallows, not necessarily on sweet potatoes, but as a candy or le snack. And my local pharmacy still carries them...although I don't think they're covered by my health insurance.

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

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

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

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

I'd like to introduce you to someone you may not have heard of: Véronique Mauclerc. But I hope on your next visit to Paris, or if you live here, you'll make the trip to see her gorgeous and very special bakery.

Early each morning at Véronique's boulangerie in the 19th arrondissement, the bleary bakers start mixing the organic flour at 2am after torching-up the wood-fired oven, only one of four in Paris (and there's only two people that know how to fix it in the city.) So if you're wondering what you're doing in the middle of nowhere, it's because an oven this special just can't be moved.

And what a magnificent oven it is! As the morning continues, and perhaps the coffee kicks in, the bakers start adding wood until the temperature of the oven's just right for baking bread, 275C (about 530F). Then each hand-shaped loaf is baked off to crackly-crusty perfection.

Her incredibly beautiful oven can hold up to 100 loaves at a time, but you'd never know she could reach such capacity when you see the small, carefully-crafted loaves of bread on display in the bakery, which is listed as a historic monument in Paris.

As you probably have guessed by now, I'm quite different from the other Parisians. Aside from my less-than-stellar command of the language and a rather bizarre desire not to walk right into others on the sidewalk, I don't buy that many baguettes.

It's not that I don't like them. (Baguettes, I mean—although I like Parisians too...except when they walk right into you.) It's just that we eat so much bread around here and I have a preference for heartier, more rustic breads, often loaves riddled with seeds, and heavy with les multigrains. And lately Apollonia Poilâne has been spearheading efforts to wean Parisians off baguettes too, although from the looks of things, she's not having much of an impact: Locals still line up before lunch and then return before dinner for their fresh, crackly baguette at their local boulangerie.

Did you know the word 'baguette' means 'stick' or 'wand' in French and if you want chopsticks in an Asian restaurant, you ask for "les baguettes, s'il vous plaît"? And I can't tell you how many dinners I've been to where the discussion about which bakery, and where, has a better baguette caused nearly violent disagreement. There's even a contest with a Grand Prix in Paris to come up with a winner every year.

There's a new face in the Marais: Gérard Mulot. Sure there's lot of shoe shops, sunglass boutiques, and questionable "art" galleries in the Marais. But there's a dearth of bakeries and pastry shops.

So imagine my surprise and delight when one not-particularly-good bakery near me closed (the surprise part), then re-opened the other day as...Gérard Mulot! (the delight)

For those of you who don't know who I'm talking about, Gérard Mulot is most famous for his Left Bank shop on the rue de Seine, where he turns out magnificent fruit tarts, from simple to architectural, buttery pastries which include a rich-rich-rich chocolate coconut fondant that's barely finish-able (if that's a word), and an impressive selection of hearth-baked breads for the appreciative crowds that are always oogling the pastries in the shop.

(A few months ago I was fortunate to visit his workshop and watch his chocolatier make all sorts of things, as well as the rest of the staff, who demonstrated how they make their rather colorful macarons.)

His new shop is just one block from the places des Vosges, so if you're exploring the Marais or the Bastille, you're not far from pastry paradise.

And even better...now I am too!

Gérard Mulot
6, rue du Pas de la Mule (3rd), at rue des Tournelles (Map)
Tél: 01 42 78 52 17
Closed Monday

76 rue de Seine (6th)
Tél: 01 45 26 85 77
Closed Wednesday

93 rue de la Glacière (13th)
Tél: 01 45 81 39 09
Closed Monday

A ficelle is a small baguette, whose name actually means 'string'. But in French bakery lingo it means a thin little crusty baguette. A ficelle makes a perfect petit snack, especially one like this that's crusted with lots of poppy and sesame seeds.

One of my all-time, tip-top favorite breads in Paris is the ficelle apéritif baked at Moisan bakery. Although primarily known for their large rustic pains biologiques, breads made with organic flour, these slender little loaves boast a prime ratio of crust-to-crumb, with a golden, crackly crust enclosing an earthy, slightly-tangy mie within.

But what makes this little devil so appealing to me is the heavy-hand the baker lavishes it with sea salt.

Each little bit I rip off has a generous amount of seeds. Not just a measly few, but just the right amount of coarse sea salt—enough to taste each grain but not enough to be overwhelming or salty.

(Which is a good thing, since salt can lead to thirst and thirst leads to water and...well...we all remember where that leads in Paris.)

The best Madeleines in the world are right here in Paris.

Well...duh. You don't need to visit my blog to know that, do you? I've never been one of those people who waxed poetically about Madeleines, invoking Proust's name whenever I can.
(As if I've even read Proust.)

So although I don't have nostalgic ties to Madeleines, I do like the idea of something a bit buttery, with a gilded crust, relatively portable, and not too-sweet for my afternoon gouter, or le snack, as it's often referred to around town.

But most of the time I'm disappointed. The Madeleine I buy is either too dry, too floury, or worse, has the acrid taste of baking powder. But then the skies parted one day when I was at a new bakery in Paris, blé sucré, in the vastly pleasant, but out-of-the-way Square Trousseau. This new boulangerie and pastry shop is owned by Fabrice Le Bourdat, who worked with Gilles Marchal, the pastry chef at the esteemed Bristol.

Madeleines are the proverbial 'little something' that goes well with tea. But to be honest, there's nothing that makes me cringe more than when I read in the headnote of a recipe in a cookbook, "This goes well with tea in the afternoon."

I mean, what little sweet thing doesn't?
And if that's the most exciting thing you can say about your recipe, then what the hell's it doing in your cookbook?

Here's my address book for the most popular, and my favorite places for ice cream in Paris.

In addition to these glaciers, some of the pâtisseries make their own exceptionally-good ice cream which they'll scoop up from freezers parked on the sidewalks outside during the summer. Some of the best include Kayser, La Maison du Chocolat, and A La Mère de Famille.

Many of the places keep curious hours, some of which I've noted. Most don't open until mid-morning, and one, Deliziefollie, simply closed for the winter while Berthillon closes mid-July for the summer. I've listed phone numbers so you can call in advance.

Berthillon

Little needs to be said about Berthillion that hasn't already been said. This most-famous of all Parisian glaciers makes what many consider the best ice cream in the world. Go see for yourself! I was a fan of their glace chocolat until I saw the light and switched to the chocolat amer sorbet, which has the deep intensity of chocolate but without the distraction of cream. Their Caramel Ice Cream is excellent, but I think the Caramel-Buerre-Salé doesn't measure up to it. The fruit sorbets are excellent and the one made with tiny wild strawberries, fraises des bois, is worth the supplement.

Berthillon is served at many cafés in Paris, and other locations near the original also scoop it up, which is helpful when they're closed. Beware of other storefronts nearby which some people confusing think serve glace Berthillon as well. (They'll always display a Berthillon logo if they do.)

Berthillon
31, rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile (4th)
Tél: 01 43 54 31 61
Métro: Pont Marie or Sully-Morland
(Closed Mondays and Tuesdays, the second half of July and all of August.)

Amorino

Popular with tourists and locals, Amorino does quite the business, making delicate 'flowers' of gelato on cones. I'm not a huge fan (one of my Italian readers called it "...an insult to Italians everywhere."), but that doesn't stop folks from lining up day and night. Interesting flavors include Bacio, the Italian-style 'kiss' of hazelnuts and chocolate and Amarena, candied sour cherries embedded in vanilla custard. Those of you who are lactose-intolerant can find digestive comfort in Amoriso which they say is made with rice and rice milk. Twelve boutiques in Paris.

Amorino
31, rue Vieille du Temple (4th)
Tél: 01 42 78 07 75
Métro: St. Paul or Hôtel de Ville

Pozzetto

More often than not, you'll find me at Pozzetto, waiting from my scoop of sticky gelato in a cone being handed through the window to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't hate me when I tell you this:

Last week I was invited to La Maison du Chocolat.

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

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

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

Yesterday, I decided that since I was the last person in the world to be using Safari as a web browser, I should switch to Firefox. Everyone says it's better and since I use Movable Type for the blog, Firefox has little buttons to make things bold or to italicize, so I don't need to type in a bazillion symbols everytime I do that.

About twenty years ago, which I hope means the statutes of limitations has run out, when working in that vegetarian restaurant I mentioned, someone brought in something for us to, er...well...let's just say, it was something that was designed to change your perception of reality if you took it.
So of course, we did.

When you work in a restaurant, you develop a rhythm, especially when it comes to setting up your statio in preparation for the rush of customers. If you have a fixed menu and you've been working in the same place for a while, when you arrive, you can almost work on auto-pilot to make sure everything's in place (called mis-en-place), so when the rush comes, you're full-organized and never get buried under orders (or as they say, 'in the weeds'). If you've done it right, the evening runs like a finely-tuned Swiss watch. If not, you've got no business in a restaurant kitchen.
And your night will be a catastrophe (not to mention the customer's as well).

So one evening, someone brought in something which we ingested that was terribly strong and radically alerted our 'perception of reality' (yes, even vegetarians have their vices). As we started our work, though, the owner arrived and surprised us with a brand-new menu, full of items we'd never seen before. So we had to completely change our set-ups and prepare all new dishes.
It was a massive bummer, to put it mildly.

It's like your computer crashing, taking everything with it, and you need to re set-up everything again. To make a long (long) story short, once the customers arrived, it was like your worst dream coming true, the kind where you're running towards something, but the faster you run, the farther away it gets. So as the order tickets started coming in, we all panicked and found ourselves seriously in the weeds (in more ways than one), and the evening was a catastrophe.

When I installed my new browser yesterday, everything changed on my little Mac.

My beloved bookmarks, which I've spent years collecting, I cherished as your grandmother cherishes her Hümmel figurines, were gone. And the look of my blog platform changed: Yes there were those terrific little buttons that add links, italics, and what-not, but each time I used one, it jumped up to the top of the document, meaning I had to re-scroll back to where I was typing, prompting a mad dash to find where I left off. So like coming down from a bad high, back to my familiar reality, I've returned to Safari.

I guess old habits die hard. Like my love for rustically grainy breads, and had a chance to return to one of my favorite bakeries in Paris yesterday when I had a doctor's appointment on the other side of the city.

Truth is, I don't eat croissants very often for the simple reason that I don't like to get dressed until I've had my morning coffee & toast. So having one is a relatively big deal for me, since croissants are only good early in the day: I refuse to eat one after 11am if I can help it. Like anything made with copious amounts of butter, they don't get better the longer they've been out of a hot oven.

Although stories abound, no one quite knows who invented le croissant. It's believe to be in an invention of the Austrians, who created a crescent-shaped pastry to oppose the Ottomans, who had invaded their country. They symbol of Turkey is a crescent, and granted, who doesn't like to eat Turkey?

Except maybe vegetarians. So maybe croissants were invented by and/or for vegetarians?

Aha...a new theory emerges...this is how rumors get started on the internet, folks, and perhaps people will be quoting me decades later: "David Lebovitz says croissants were invented for Austrian vegetarians!"

But today, I think few would argue that the croissant is most closely associated with France and in fact, one rarely comes across a bakery in Paris that doesn't offer their own version. If you need further proof of their proprietary alliance with French gastronomy, ask yourself when was the last time you heard the words das croissant?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

So I took a bite out of one.

Then I took another bite.

And then, I stopped shooting...

...and ate the whole pack.

Sorry.

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

Wandering the streets of Paris, I feel fortunate when I stumble across a great boulangerie. In a city with 1263 bakeries (at last count) many of them are good, a few great, and some are disappointingly ordinary.
So when I come one that looks, and smells, like it's gonna be a great one, I hurry inside.

Located on a plain, fairly-deserted side street in the vast 15th arrondissement, my nose filled with the unmistakable scent of yeast and wheat mingling in the air, tinged with an obligatory bit of butter, which I could smell from the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.Traversing the street (which is always a dangerous proposition, since no one seems to have told Parisian drivers that when you see a pedestrian, you're supposed to slow down, not speed up) I joined the line of hungry Parisians queuing up for their daily bread.

While I waited, I craned my neck to look at their beautiful breads on display. In Paris, once it's you're turn in line, if you haven't figured out what you want, you're messing up the whole system, since indecision is not a Parisian trait. But I honed in immediately on this pain Auvergnate, a dense, dark loaf dusted heavily with flour. Sliced open, the dense mie, or crumb, smelled rich, sour and medieval. I would imagine it going well with a full-flavored mountain cheese, like Comté or Cantal, or a tangy, fresh goat cheese with a dribble of dark chestnut honey.

I also bought several palets Breton, crumbly butter cookies, a specialty of Brittany where butter rules...especially butter flecked with fleur de sel. Unfortunately I made a stop to visit a local chocolatier, who helped himself to my stash. And before I knew it, they were gone and I had nothing but a bag of crumbs (which, by the way, were rather good.)

Luckily, he made up for it in spades, which I'll write about soon.

Le Quartier du Pain
Boulangerie Artisanale
74, rue St. Charles
Tel: 01 45 78 87 23

(other location)
270, rue Vaugirard
Tel: 01 48 28 78 42

Financiers from Kayser bakery: Green Tea and Black Sesame, Chocolate, and Nature (Almond).

Eric Kayser
85 Boulevard Malesherbes
Tel: 01 45 27 70 30
(Other locations throughout Paris)

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)

140
140, rue de Belleville
M: Jourdain

One of the great things to do in Paris is to wander. I'll often catch a film, search for a monument, of just mètro to a far-off neighborhood...then walk.

The 13th arrondissement of Paris is a real cross-cultural quartier.
Part of it is the quartier Chinois, where there's huge and small shops selling exotic Asian fruits and vegetables, as well as unidentifiable cuts of meat (that are perhaps best left unidentifiable...)

Many Asians set up shops and restaurants in the area during the 1970's, when the neighborhood was neglected and rather dingy. But now there's much to be said for this area: there's the little village of Butte aux Cailles, a tiny village with convivial restaurants, and cafés and there's a fabulous natural-source piscine (swimming pool) where I've cooled off on more than one swelteringly hot summer afternoon in Paris. (Bathing caps are mandatory in public pools in Paris...even for men...even if you're bald!)

On a recent stroll through the neighborhood, I stopped by one of my favorite out-of-the-way boulangeries, Le Grenier à Pain and found these whimsical chocolate-covered Pain d'Epices...

Almost before I could get out of the shop, I ripped into the sack, plucked one out, and took a bite. And boy, were they superb! Chewy and spicy-brown cake, fragrant with cinnamon, cloves, and ginger, all enrobed in a thin layer of bittersweet dark chocolate.

I turned around, considered getting another bag but instead spotted a beautiful loaf, le pain aux ceriales, on the wooden rack behind the counter.

Of course, when I got it home I immediately sliced into the irregularly-shaped loaf. It was excellent and just like I imagined it would be. Rich with whole-grains, deeply-flavored with sour levain, and a firm crust, and wonderful paired with an assortment of cheese I had just selected from the fromager. I smeared the slices with a luscious and dangerously unctuous Délice de Saint-Cyr, a triple-cream raw milk cheese from the region of Brie I'd just selected on the excellent recommendation of my favorite fromager.

Le Grenier à Pain
52, avenue d'Italie
M: Place d'Italie or Tolbiac
Tel: 01 45 80 16 36

(Other locations throughout Paris.)

The worst thing about the pâtisserie of Arnaud Larher is that it's too damn far away from where I live.
Located on the northern fringes of Montmarte, it takes me 3 different métros to get there, and even then, it's a hike from the métro station (which is buried very, very deep underground, since that quartier of Paris is mostly soft limestone, aka plaster of Paris, and building the métro stations at Montmarte required extremely deep digging into the earth to reach solid ground.)

The best thing, though, is once I arrive, I forget the arduous journey when I see all the terrific cakes and candies and treats waiting for me...

I made my first trip 'up the mountain' a few years back to check out his Croq-Télé, round buttery cookies with roasted hazelnuts and a nice amount of salt, meant to be consumed while watching television. His macarons are a tad dense for my taste, but the chocolate-covered guimauve, or French marshmallows, are yummy. And although they're hard to spot tucked in between the riot of chocolates and bonbons tied in neat little bags on the shelves, the Pavés de Montmarte, golden squares of almond cake wrapped in a sheath of almond paste then briefly cooked, augmenting the almondy richness, are one of the most singularly (and simply) stunning cakes in Paris.
No small feat, in a city with no lack of stunning desserts.

Arnaud Larher
53, rue Caulaincourt
Paris
Mètro: Lamark Caulaincourt

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

Perhaps my favorite pastry shop in Paris is Sadaharu Aoki.

And I know I'm not alone. I ran into a famous chocolatier from the neighborhood during my last visit, who was picking up his goûter, or afternoon snack, as they call it in Paris. We recognized each other and he smiled at me while choosing a Thé Vert Napolean; layers of vivid green tea pastry cream stacked between dark-golden puff pastry. A wise choice since Sadaharu Aoki is widely-regarded as the master of puff pastry.

After one buttery, crackly bite...you'd agree.

It was a long and difficult decision, but I chose this perfect Chocolate and Salted Butter-Caramel Tart for my goûter.

It was extraordinarily good.
Buttery-crisp pâte sucée filled with rich and salty caramel that oozed out when I attacked it with my fork. On top sat a spiral of milk chocolate mousse, so soft and so creamy.

Pâtisserie Sadaharu Aoki
35, rue de Vaugirard
and
56, Boulevard Port Royal
Paris

Since we're on the subject of chocolate macarons, I stopped today at Ladurée, after the end of a long week: I renewed my Carte de Sejour, braved the hectic but incredibleMarché St. Pierre at the foot of Montmarte...and tried to get an answer about why after 10 days, I still don't have internet access or cable tv.

With all that stress, I felt it was an absolute necessity to visit Ladurée twice this week, especially since all my homemade chocolate macarons got wolfed down at a friend's birthday party and I forgot to stash away a few for myself. I needed to get my fix...and I needed it fast.

But sometimes life tosses the weak a life preserver...

Chocolate-covered macarons...

...and where have they been all my life?

Ladurée
16, rue Royale
75, avenue des Champs Elysées
21, rue Bonaparte

Check out my recipe to make your own French chocolate macarons at home. Dipping in chocolate is optional...

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!

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

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.

Forget Catherine Deneuve and Carole Bouquet.

The most photographed and revered woman in Paris is Denise Acabo. With her braided pig-tails, necktie, and crisply-pleated kilt, Denise is the sweetest woman in Paris.

Her shop, A l'Etoile d'Or, has an ethereal selection of artisan confections and chocolates from France and whenever I go, I invariably find something new to try, something tasty, something that is so amazing, that I'm compelled to go back for more. What's a guy to do?

I give myself at least one hour to shop. Minimum. Words fly out of her mouth in rapid-fire French. She'll often use the tu word, instead of the formal vous, which suggests immediately comradery.

Don't understand a word of French?
That's ok, Just nod. She'll keep going.

I've been meaning to cross Paris to make the trip to Vendermeersch for months. Actually, make that years. Really. For some reason, I never made it. Maybe it's because they're closed at the wrong time. Maybe it's the idea of taking the Métro to a firmly, fairly distant residential arrondisement of Paris. I don't know. But lots of Parisians have made the trip to Vandermeersch. According to Dorie Greenspan in her superb book Paris Sweets, the year Le Figaro newspaper declared their Galette des Rois (a marzipan-filled puff pastry dessert, created to celebrate Epiphany) as the best in Paris, they sold 1600 that weekend alone!

When I first walked in, I was assaulted by the "wall of Kouglofs". There were tons of them, in every size, in every price. (Although I don't understand why places price things like 3.86€ or 7.51€... I know they're sold by weight, but can't they just add or subtract a couple of centimes? Like pennies, who wants centimes?)

Since it was just me (where is Pim when I need her?), I conservatively choose the smallest.

Although I previously declared the Kouglof at Ladurée the Best of Show, this was surely the late-breaking winner. The Kouglof at Vandermeersch is bready but rich, not-too-sweet, made in a cake mold which is called, appropriately, a Kouglof. Stéphane Vandermeersch studs each Kouglof with plumped raisins, the cakes are baked, then soaked in a flavorful orange flower-scented syrup. Afterwards each gets a generous tumble in coarse sugar giving each a crunchy coating. Although I had meant to take the little sucker home, the liquid seeping through the thin waxed paper wrapping made me quickly, and deliciously, alter my plans. I stood in front of the bakery wolfing down my little treasure. It was incredibly moist and delicious. Sorry, it defies fancy superlatives. You'll just have to trust me.

Although equally famous is their Millefeuille, layers of buttery, crispy pastry sandwiched with vanilla-enriched cream, I had my eye on the Tarte Griotte; squares of Vandermeersch's famous puff pastry smeared with soft pistachio paste, topped with a haphazard mosaic of whole, vividly-green pistachios and tart sour cherries. Each was topped with a cherry on a stem so large that it would dwarf many a lesser-fruit.

And did I mention the compact loaf of grainy bread I discovered nestled in their wooden baking molds?

Vandermeersch
278, avenue Daumesnil, 12th
M: Porte Doree
tel: 01 43 47 21 66
Closed; Monday and Tuesday

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.

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.

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!