Rose Bakery

'The last thing I expected,' said David, 'was to find British food fetishized in the middle of Paris.' As the American sidekick to his Scot, I am guilty of finding British sweets impossibly quaint (fools! syllabubs! sticky toffee pudding!) but even I have been surprised to see how many Parisian dessert menus sport crumble.

Sitting in the Rose Bakery I did feel I was in the UK, and tried to analyze why: the dented last-century dark metal pans and hands-in-pockets presentation of (yes) crumbles, brownies, and lemon-curd tarts were a part of it, as were the desktop-published menu and the virtuous moss-green cups and plates, but most of all it was the waiters: they rushed, they were frazzled and harried, they looked, eyes darting here and there, keeping track of the covers, speeding back and forth in their trainers, swiping their brows briskly, wearing effort on their sleeve. This, after a couple of days of Parisian waiters serenely circulating, surveying their domain (and, preceding that, long years of indifferent, unflappable, efficient Berlin servers) made me take note.

Maybe it was just the Sunday afternoon lunch rush, and normally things are more tranquil. I didn't mind. I liked watching them, watching everyone, marvelling at the coiffed foursome of French men, tanned dark to a one, forking up their crumble and telling stories in voluble French, backdropped by the Maldon sea salt and the triangular oatcakes (the same brand that David's father eats his Tesco cheddar on).

Rose Bakery, 46 rue des Martyrs, 75009 Paris 

Comments

[David]

I feel obliged to point out that the oatcakes in question are made by a firm with the pleasing name of Stockan and Gardens and are to be recommended, even if a glance at their website (http://www.stockan-and-gardens.co.uk) reveals that they are more savvy than I had hoped -- much talk of "pure Orkney water" and "sustainable sources" rather than ruddy-faced peasants toiling cheerfully and unselfconsciously away. And *cocktail* oatcakes? I ask you. My father certainly did *not* drink cocktails to accompany his oatcakes, thank you sir.

I did, however, enjoy this sentence: "This rough grain oatcake is sweeter than the Thin." I feel "sweeter than the Thin" should immediately be incorporated into the English language as an idiom -- with the capitalization of Thin retained to give pedants like me something to feel smug about when we see it written incorrectly.

[tommy]

I am dying to go to Rose Bakery in Paris.

As for the oatcakes I tried the thin ones but found them too salty. I'll get thick next time... sweeter than the Thin eh...

[Berlin Reified]

I prefer them sweet as well! And after a (hopefully brief) string of disappointing dining experiences, I'm hoping to return soon...