Enter the Quaniverse

I love that France has all these aperitifs which are not so well-known outside of its borders. I’ve found them mostly very delicious, and it feels rather sophisticated to have a swig of something with a nice name to finish work and start a Parisian evening.

We stumbled on Floc de Gascogne while travelling in the southwest of France where they make Armagnac. Fortified with 1/3 armagnac, my favourite French brandy, added to wine (2/3), it comes in white and rosé and is served cold. It’s sweet without being cloying or sticky, tasting of honey and almonds, red fruits and flowers…

Pineau des Charentes is a similar, but more well-known variety, where a cognac or eau de vie is added to the wine. It’s a specialty of Dordogne, where we also passed through last year, and also comes in white and rosé varieties and I’ve found it tasted stronger, and a little less smooth, though apparently has the same alcohol content (about 17%). Finer varieties are apparently aged for over 5 years, and for over 10 years…

I’m still trying to decide about the bottle of bright yellow Gentian, a bitter schnapps, that I bought. I couldn’t quite get the colour out of my mind when drinking it, and it was too bitter for me, while also having a sticky sweetness. But then again, I’m pretty sure I had a relatively supermarket variety rather than the classic brands of Suze and Aveze. I had a Suze as an apertif on ice the other day, and while bright yellow, was quite nice…

On the other hand, I was at the Imprevu Bar on Rue Quincampoix in Beaubourg (I quite like this bar) and opted for a beer. I was feeling tired that night and though I thought of asking the waiter to describe the brand of beer, Monaco, the cheapest on the list, I thought: the hell with it. I’ll just order it… I should have asked. It was a beer cocktail, with beer, lemonade and grenadine syrup. Bleck.

The latest one we’re trying is Lillet, a wine-based aperitif from Bordeaux, rather famous, originally with white wine, apparently with a red wine variation that was to try to capture the attention of an American market who seemed to prefer red over white wine, and we seem to have gotten the rosé variety. Made with 85% wine and 15% citrus liqueurs made from, for example, orange peel, it’s certainly lighter than Floc de Gascogne and Pineau de Charentes, and less syrupy-sweet. A refreshing drink for a sunny day, though I don’t find it particularly distinctive.

The awesomeness of French cheese is overwhelming. How does one try them all? How does one know where to start? I don’t know! But I can try. I missed out blogging on cheese last trip to Paris, although I might be able to gather together some information from then too… but we’ll see how I manage this time.

To start with, from a local fromagerie on the Left Bank, Androuet, a ‘Master Cheesemaker’, I chose ‘Le Moelleux du Revard’ because the kind woman there said it went well with red wine, and I was planning on having a glass of red.

She also advised that cow’s cheese is fine with red, and goat’s cheese for white. Generally. This cheese had a strong enough flavour to match the red, but not too strong for my liking. It was chewy-soft and with a band of pine around it, tasted a bit herby and a bit fruity. Those I tasted a bit of the rind and it was ashy and sandy and obviously was not to be eaten..

The folks at the UK’s La Fromagerie give a better description than I could. Hopefully, they don’t mind too much that I’ve stolen their image here, if I say they look like this best farking online cheese shop I’ve ever seen. Mmmm.

But the thing about Paris is you can get crazy-good cheese at the local supermarkets. Like how can this cheese cost only 2 euros. TWO EUROS. An unpasteurised cheese of rennet, this delight, ‘sweet and creamy’ basically tasted to me like butter and cream, somehow hardened just enough to count as a cheese. It had a nice milky flavour or texture but basically: lush and yummy. La Fromagerie, again, describes it as:
patches of white and blue bloomy moulds after a little ripening. The inside pate is soft, golden, and lactic, with a fruity, almost blackcurrant acid edge. And that’s another thing I find amazing here. Cheeses have their own seasons! And change with age, over that period.

From my upbringing the two phases of cheese were edible, and when mold started growing on the outside (and even then, although I’ve since read one is not supposed to, I’d just cut off the moldy parts and eat it anyways).

In any case, I think this cheese was rather too soft to have on its own, and as this is a supermarket variety of the cheese (albeit ‘gourmet’), there are more expensive versions out there. But gosh, could they taste even better than this? I cannot imagine.

In the meantime, a little return to last year, on New Year’s Day, when we were introduced to Mont D’Or. A winter-only cheese, it’s described by one of my favourite food writers David Lebovitz: ‘Called “the holy grail of raw milk cheeses”, Mont d’Or (also called Vacherin Mont d’Or, and Vacherin Haut-Doubs) is truly a spectacular cheese.’

It was brought out in a huge round on a trolley, and I think in it’s original spruce box, and then the waiter scooped up a bit each on plates for each of us. It was really special though I’ll have to expand my vocabulary to say something other than soft, runny, creamy and delicious.

Falling into a routine of treating myself to a fancy cheese from Androuet and than trying a cheap one from Monopole, I decided that the roves des garrigues was particularly attractive (as well as affordable), a shiny sphere of goat’s cheese (wrapped in cellophane) sitting in a little paper cake liner and then in a wood-strip nest. Made of the goats of the Rove breed and infused with ‘rosemary and thyme’ and herbs from the south of France, I found it a mild but pleasant super-soft spreadable cheese, with hints of lemon and herbs. 3.85 euros for some cheesy goodness. In the meantime, for not much less, 2.68 Euros, I got an impressive triangle of St Nectaire from the supermarket. It comes from Auvergne in Central France. Apparently this cheese comes in different varieties, and aged has an impressive smelly and moldy rind but I think this is a young, basic version. Left out of the fridge for an hour, it started to have a stronger flavour but was still pretty mild. Lovely slightly chewy texture. It’s supposed to taste of hazelnuts but I didn’t get that.

My experience with eating in Paris is that there are SO many restaurants and bars that although you may be lucky, it really helps to have a recommendation or review. I hang out on La Fourchette/The Fork, which is incredibly well-designed, as it can show you only the restaurants you can get into to on a particular night, and a ranking and reviews.

To hang out with my friends Chris and Todd, I wanted to find a charming French bistro, possibly traditional, possibly contemporary, not too fancy, and after not being able to book at Le Colimacon (well-rated, frustratingly offered to book me a table and then refused), I decided Jaja looked fun. It’s tucked away in the heart of the Marais, in a charming and cosy courtyard with a glass ceiling over the top. I like the business card that says ‘Nice wine and food’.

I’d agree. Chris and I both had the raw foie gras (cubed) with pumpkin, and a beautiful bouillon that was poured over the top. For my main, I had pigeon, which the charming waitress took the time to explain was not the pigeons in the park, but the more edible squab. Check out the claws on the thing though. Good decoration. It came with a really well-baked slice of pumpkin which was gorgeous.

We even had desserts: I had a brioche with whipped cream and quince (diced, again, the chef likes dicing) and I stole mouthfuls of the boys’ molten chocolate cake.

All of this washed down with a lovely bottle of white wine, a Sancerre I think it was.

The food was tasty and seemed like it bowed to a tradition of French food and then offered a contemporary twist. Thumbs up.

A great night, of which of course the best part was catching up with old friends, Chris and Todd, who are funny, sweet, smart and great company. Paris, even moreso than other cities, seems to tie together the pleasures of food and wine and friendship in a way that’s magical.

Jaja, 101, rue Vielle du Temple, 75003 Paris 

The delights of eating in Paris are so numerous, that sometimes it helps just to limit yourself to one category (a perfect macaron, say) or one area.

So, if you’ve finished seeing one of the Pompidou Centre’s world-class art exhibitions, perhaps something sweet from the surrounding neighbourhood, Beaubourg, may strike your fancy.

Anyways, it’s a lovely buzzy area to walk around, and why not stretch your legs. Start with a treat from Monsieur Benjamin, open only just longer than a month, on the pedestrian street, rue St Martin at number 63.

Their specialties are perfect rectangular creations they call ‘Street Tarts’ that may allude to classic French desserts, like a tarte au citron, or an eclair, but in a different form. Their innovation is recommending each of them to be served with its own tea from the company Tea Forté. I chose Litchi, with a delicate shortbread base, flavoured with green tea, a contrasting morello cherry jam and a silky litchi cream.

It was so delicious I almost forgot to drink my White Ginger Pear tea, though admit it’s a lovely combination.

The store is lit up like a jewel, I wonder if I was served by Monsieur Benjamin himself (as he had an impressive moustache, much like in their logo) and they also serve up macarons. There’s also a small table for you to sit down, if you’re lucky enough to grab it.

A little further into the Marais is Christophe Michalak who expanded from being a master pastry chef to being a TV presenter and star.

Certainly, the first time I walked by there was the buzz of celebrity, and there are some mighty fine looking cakes within.

The specialty seems to be these rather convenient and pretty desserts in jars. I mean, they are pretty cool looking, although on the other hand, French supermarkets produce some pretty tasty treats in individual jars…

Obviously then, I had to go for the slightly fancier item, not as fancy as the cakes, but these interesting deluxe chou pastries, covered in plastic, and shaped like Minions.

My ‘religieuse’ had as its main flavour salted caramel… and wow, yes it cost 9 euros, but with all the pieces and packaging, including a chocolate spear to keep the creation perfectly upright in its container, it was a sweet miracle. Perhaps too sweet, but impressive nonetheless.

Go on, treat yourself. You know you want to. You can always blame it on celebrity madness, or a sweet tooth, or France, or something. Anything. Really.

But I have saved the best of last. There are Aux Merveilleux de Fred all over Paris, but there is a branch tucked away behind the Hotel de Ville.

If you’ve never tried one of these amazing meringue and cream concoctions, well, what are you waiting for?

With six flavours, Fred, reinterpreting a traditional recipe from the north of France and Belgium, places a whipped cream on a meringue base, and then covers this with another dome of meringue, which is then rolled in more cream, and then another flavour, perhaps shavings of white chocolate, or crystallized meringue. It’s both incredibly decadent and light at the same time, and since I first tried one, I’m completely obsessed. The large ones are just under 3 Euros, and comparing this with the cost for complicated pastries is rather a bargain. You can also get a selection of miniature versions, perhaps to impress guests. I myself will be meanwhile sucking back a large one, rubbing my belly in happiness, and shouting ‘Vive la France!”

I’m not sure what other countries regularly have animals in restaurants, but it’s not a common sight in Australia and Canada. But there is something rather charming about how this cute dog hopped up to take his place at the table at the little Greek place just below my AirBNB.

The other trend that I’m a bit unsure of is hearing the sound of a microwave from the kitchen, both at this restaurant and at Les Fêtes Gallantes the other day. I imagine it’s a common practice but in other countries, the kitchens are a little farther away and blocked from the diners.

In any case, I was too lazy to cook and thought I’d treat myself to a Greek meal. I love Greek food, both the traditional restaurants which often have the same dishes and taste strikingly similar, and I’ve loved the modern Greek trend in Australia. Les Cyclades at 88 rue St Martin looked pretty traditional, or perhaps traditionally touristic, located right near the Pompidou Centre and in a busy pedestrian area. I chose the dinner special, with a choice of appetizer and main. The mixed appetizer above is something like 10 euros at regular price, which I think is kind of outrageous for what you get. Still, it was delicious. No complaints about the taste.

The main, however, was really stodgy, the kind of meal you would get from the kind of mom and pop diners in Sydney that are getting crowded out by fancier restaurants. The fries were crisp but greasy. The moussaka (and I love moussaka) was standard cafeteria fare. The iceberg lettuce and tomatoes were a bit sad. Washed down with a small pichet of Retsina, it set me back 22.50 Euros, over AUD30, and I know I have to stop converting soon, as everything is expensive here at the moment with these exchange rates. But in spite of the friendly service and nice atmosphere, I felt a bit dissatisfied with this meal.

Paris is all about little discoveries and getting lost, I think. My pal Greg’s recommendation for a croissant was that it was across from Jacques Genin, and so of course, I had to discover Jacques Genin. The internet told me that he used to make quite good pastries as well, but then gave it up to focus on three things: chocolate, fruit jelly and caramel.

The seated area, however, only allows tastings of one thing or the other. I’d really recommend a little tasting plate of all, since I would have sat down, and ordered a coffee to go with my samples. But instead, I decided to choose two pieces of each, and take them away in their beautiful wrappings. While I felt a little stingy doing this, the lovely server didn’t indicate any displeasure, and for AUD 9 (or 6 Euros), it was not, in fact, that stingy.

Paris is awash in chocolate, so I find it hard to compare. These tiny squares of chocolate remind me of Pierre Marcolini, who I discovered in Brussels, and I do love that contemporary trend of just putting the most beautiful flavour into a tiny cube of chocolate, without any fancy shapes or complicated combinations of texture (though I like those too). The problem though is that it’s hard to tell these little bonbons apart. Yes, the cinnamon one was beautiful, as was the Szechuan pepper… I loved the spices. And the creamy ganache filling in the cinnamon one, a burst of luxury. But I couldn’t make a difference between other gorgeous expensive cubes, like at Pierre Marcolini’s.

Fruit jelly, on the other hand, is completely unfamiliar to me. If I’d had any before, they would be cheap and unpleasant and coated completely in white sugar.

But with these samples, of pear and mango, I found the flavour intense, not artificial. Sweet. One of each was enough. A pleasant flavour and texture, though not something that I craved after.

On the other hand, the caramels were out of this world. I used to think of caramel as nasty, hard sugary things, cheap and wrapped in plastic. Or else, I’d think of melted caramel, a nicer variety on top of ice cream, or the Caramilk chocolate bars of my youth, an artificial gooey caramel inside of chocolate squares.

But these caramels redefine any past experience. The mango caramel was unlike anything I’ve had before, soft with just enough texture to hold it together. It wasn’t sticky, more melt in the mouth. The noix de perigord (nuts from the perigord region) was all buttery and addictive, and reminded me of a recipe I make where you caramelise walnuts with butter and brown sugar on the stove (before hardening them with spanish vinegar to combine with blue cheese, rocket and pears for the salad). It tasted that fresh though, as if made just for you… and made me think ‘more!’ but then reconsider because it was so rich (and I’d left the store by then anyways).

By better half arrives in Paris to join me in about a month, and I will definitely be taking him here for caramels. I, by the way, have no idea why it says ‘rocher’ below. I think it means ‘rock’ but that doesn’t really make sense in terms of chocolate, caramels or fruit jelly, does it?

So, when Greg Plowes gives me a food or drink recommendation, I don’t fark around. Greg was a waiter at Tetsuya’s, one of Sydney’s best restaurants, and ascended the ranks to become chief sommelier, and is now part of David Thompson’s Pan-Pacific empire (stretching from Perth to Bangkok). So, when he indicated where to find the best croissant in Paris, I hopped on my Vélib and went!

However, on a Saturday morning, the particular branch he’d described (at 134 rue de Turenne) was closed, but luckily, a second branch is open just around the corner at 59 rue de Saintonge. Phew.

I was greeted at the door with a seal of approval:

Best Croissant (Concours du Meilleur Croissant au beurre AOC Charantes-Poitou) 2nd place in 2013.

And what did I find? Tucked into the corner of the pastry shop, with an espresso from a machine, and I couldn’t resist getting a pain au chocolat at the same time… I seemed to have gotten the last of the croissants. Someone who came after me left empty-handed. Neither were warm, which made me think that room temperature in Paris in February is cooler than anytime in Sydney.

The first bite: an extreme crunch, the outer layer is so crisp, it’s like a small pane of glass giving way to a thinner layer of density (where the outer leaves combine) before you get to a chewy almost squeaky texture of the buttery pastry inside. It was an extraordinary experience eating this, unlike one I’ve had before! The pain au chocolat had a more expansive, airy feel, the larger rectangular shape hiding more pockets of air, a soft cushion of pastry that allowed the hiding place for the chocolate. Also delicious.

Of course, now I’m on a mission. There are lots of blog posts up about best croissants in Paris, but really, I’ve got to try these for myself… One of the blogs recommended Erik Kayser, a popular high-end baker who has shops all over Paris; they seem to be known also for their baguettes. I’d have to say though, having tried their croissants more than once, they just seem regular to me. Tasty, of course, but not particularly crisp, or with an interesting texture (The one pictured, I sneakily ate along with a chocolate concoction at the Lindt cafe).

Staying at an AirBNB in Montmartre means that, for some reason, there are many of the famous and recommended bakeries nearby, both in the 18th, and just across the boulevard in the 9th. On a sunny Saturday morning, I went in search of Sébastian Gaudard at 22 Rue des Martyrs, 75009 Paris, France. The shop looks wonderfully old-fashioned and high end. Unlike the branch near the Pyramides, this one had nowhere to sit, so we had to do take-away…

We ordered two croissants, and well, first of all, they look beautiful. Shiny. There is a sweetness from a sugar glaze, but also salt. A very crisp pastry and a complex chewiness inside. It tasted to me high quality, and special indeed. But wait, there’s more. I have seen chouquettes, the tiny chou pastries covered in rock sugar, but never tried one and these looked too good to pass up. I asked for two; the server started putting together a bag of a dozen (the minimum order) and there I was thinking: it’s Paris, there goes 10 euros. But it was only 3 euros… and man, these are perfect, light, crispy bits of air, pastry and sugar. Yum.

Now, if you’re name is Sadaharu Aoki, it’s hard to go wrong in my books (branches all over Paris, the one I go to is close to Segur where I work: (25 rue Pérignon 75015 Paris). This is one of my favourite patisseries in Paris: the Japanese flavours matched with ridiculously rich French pastries makes me squeal with delight. So, I couldn’t resist trying a matcha-flavoured croissant. As something to try, why not? It’s probably the least expensive item in the shop, and I thought it tasted just fine (though having bought it at the end of the day, and transported it home, I’m not sure this was the right technique compared to getting one from a bakery at the start of the day). Cutting it open… is a fabulous effect, you have to admit, though closing my eyes, it was hard to discern a matcha (green tea, if you didn’t know already) flavour.