Berlin Reified: Food, design and life in Berlin

In the Orangerie

Finally in the Orangerie...

At the Jardin des Tuileries

I loved this woman with her lavender scarf.

Queuing at the Musée de l'Orangerie

E Dehillerin/Paris apricot tart

Of course the best part of coming home from holiday is tearing into all the packets you shored up against the anticlimax of being back. My tart pans from E. Dehillerin were quickly put into service to make Patricia Well's (or Verlet's) extraordinarily easy apricot tart, and that, with a cup of Chandernagor, was as soothing as I had hoped.

Note that my 23-cm/9-in tart pan took only about 90% of the pastry; dab hands at imperial to metric conversions will quickly note 4 oz of butter can't possibly be 12 g (I used 112 g, and 157 g for the flour); unsure of what Wondra is, I took a tablespoon of the potato flour brought back from Paris; and the Affenbrotbaum or baobob honey I bought from the ever-eloquent salesman at the Miriam Eva Kebe stand at Kollwitzplatz was perfect for the filling.

Crêperie de Josselin (Leaving Paris)

The Crêperie de Josselin was hot, crowded, and the perfect place for our final dinner in Paris. We traced our way carefully up the rue du Montparnasse, having been warned by Avital not to get confused by the competition. Our crisp galettes did not disappoint, and the waiter didn't blink when I sprinkled my second plain one with sugar to make a nonce dessert.

Crêperie de Josselin, 67 rue du Montparnasse, 75014 Paris
Open Tuesday-Sunday

Sacha Finkelsztajn, or Cheese blintzes in Paris

Amidst busy Marais shopping (tea, shirts, paper) a cheese blintz can revive a girl wonderfully - and all the better if it's only 3 EUR. Should I ever find myself back in that street, I'll try one of their fabulous-looking boreks.

The place made all the more special when Anne-Solène wrote to say it belonged to Benjamin's grandfather some twenty years ago...

Sacha Finkelsztajn, 27 rue des Rosiers, 75004 Paris
Open Wednesday to Sunday 10 am to 7 pm, Mondays 11 am to 7 pm

Proust's notebook (for James)

With thanks to James, for recommending I visit the Musée Carnavalet.

Rose Bakery Redux

For anyone planning to visit the Rose Bakery I can heartily recommend getting there early. You watch the place wake up, Rose instructs the servers to fill the capacious soup bowls a third of the way, a tall boy annoints a table of dough rounds with sauce and toppings, and the rooms are blissfully empty. You don't really notice the buzz building but suddenly the two seats beside you are the only ones unoccupied and you both rise to let the brunettes squeeze in with all their shopping. After a small salad plate ('small', but containing four generous helping of whatever you'd like to choose from the bowls up front) we decided to relinquish our choice windowside seat to two hovering Swedes and headed across the street for a half-dozen celebratory mini macarons at Arnaud Delmontel's.

Chez Gladine

Anne-Solène and Benjamin always know where to take us. Our meal at Chez Gladine was another hit, featuring delicious, affordable food from the southwest of France and Basque country, coupled with a sighting of Comédie-Française star Michel Vuillermoz, whose head you can see in profile above. I enjoyed my plate of Brebis with black cherry jam, and David wolfed down his Basque omelet, but if I were to return, I thought, I'd order what Anne-Solène had had: a generous dish of potatoes topped with gloriously bronzed Cantal. And indeed I did just that when we went back for my birthday dinner!

Chez Gladines, 30, rue des 5 Diamants, 75013 Paris
Open daily from 11.30

Villa Lys/Palais Royal

Naturally, I heeded my resolution to stick with recommended restaurants for, oh, about a day. On our way to a touted Japanese place in rue Sainte Anne we took a shortcut through an unassuming entryway and walked into the gardens of the Palais Royal, and went on to spend the most idyllic hour of our trip wandering around, watching boys play football in the arcades and admiring the tipped-back green metal lawn chairs (back legs shorter than front) that seemed an acme of a civilization.

My steps grew heavy as we made our way to the northwest corner and I examined with interest the tagines and generous bowls with ladles dotting the tables before the Villa Lys. Inevitably we gave up our plans of gyoza and noodles to linger in the hushed tranquil air of the garden. The vegetable couscous and chicken tangine were competently prepared if uninspired; we were there, of course, for the hush.

The waitress spoke to us in a sweet medley of French and English, and the woman behind us with the impossibly red lipstick interrupted us ("I think you look nice") to ask if she may borrow David's jacket, which he was not wearing, as she was cold. Das ist aber frech David stage-whispered to me after consenting. On the dot of ten o'clock, the fountains in the courtyard switched off and we rose to make our way to the Petit Palais.

Couple with child and yellow ball (Palais Royal)

Picnicking couple in the Palais Royal

The white tablecloth gratifies all my Ideas about The French.

Football in the Palais Royal

Off now for birthday festivities: Stay tuned!

A Saturday walk (Seine)

Blé Sucré (with thanks to David Lebovitz)

Food bloggers are guardian angels when an innocent abroad, no? Usually I like to put myself in the world's hands, but after two dismal meals yesterday (at 7ème Sud and Le Potager du Marais, if you must know, though I don't like negative reviews) I walked home vowing I would not veer from places I had on a respected someone's word, uncreative as that course may be.

The only problem there is feeling feeble echoing another's praise - but perhaps it is fair to amplify and add an observation or two. I rushed over to Blé Sucré on Wednesday after reading David Lebovitz's evocative post and bought a packet of madeleines to share with David and our French teacher that afternoon. They did me proud: Avital commented twice on how good they were: and I could hardly wait to return.

There is no higher troika of traits in my world than warmth, excellence and lack of pretence: Blé Sucré scored full marks on all three. Back this afternoon, David and I ordered their great midday offer of a baguette, a tart and a drink for 5.50 and took our booty to the adjoining square. While David sketched, I returned for a sack of salted butter caramels (barely solid and so chewy); with the smile the woman flashed me as she handed me my change, I felt like returning every day.

I've been very grateful for everything David Lebovitz, Clothide/Chocolate & Zucchini and Molly/Orangette have had to say about Paris; I would love  recommendations of further Paris food blogs to check out.

Below, our tarte citron & apple rhubarb crumble...

Blé Sucré, Square Trousseau, 75012 Paris
Open 7 am - 19.30 Tuesday-Saturday, 7 am - 13.30 Sunday

Amorino/Paris gelato (with thanks to Chocolate & Zucchini)

Meringa and coffee gelato from the Vieille du Temple branch of Amorino.

Nefles (with thanks to Orangette)

How fortunate to have read Molly's post on Paris while I still had time to rethink the bruised fruit that I, too, had been turning my nose up at: Now nefles have been breakfast since Tuesday, and I impressed my French teacher immensely by knowing the word.

But now...

I must be good and go on studying!

Murciano

I got powdered sugar all over my coat and syrup all over my fingers, but I couldn't resist the trays of sweets in Murciano's cool interior. The cigar-shaped pastry with its perfumed ground almond filling was the perfect balance of crisp and yielding.

Murciano, 16, rue des Rosiers, 75003 Paris

Restaurant Astier/Lunch in Paris

What's a girl in Paris to do when on Sunday night she realizes she needs lunch plans for the next day? (And this is a serious question too.) David had a last-minute work appointment on Monday afternoon and I was loathe to let a baguette suffice me. After careful contemplation I settled on the Restaurant Astier around the corner, which I'd noticed during a baguette run the day before.

Arriving at 12.30, I watched the place fill up: two groups of middle-aged businessmen, a table of two retired couples, a man and a woman in their thirties on a shopping break. I have overcome shyness about dining alone, and shyness about ordering in French, but the two combined made me stiff for some initial minutes before the faultlessly kind waiters relaxed me to leisurely enjoyment of the place and my meal (an entrecôte charolaise poêlée followed by a moelleux caramel, both perfect).

Restaurant Astier, 44, rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud, 75011 Paris
 

Belleville Portes Ouvertes / Open ateliers

Easily the most marvellous art event I've attended in ages (not least because I bought my first painting there!) and a great opportunity to explore Belleville. Watch the website for next year's installment.

Arnaud Delmontel/Caramel macaron (2)

Within, our second caramel macaron; I refrained from photographing it because it was such a lurid shade of orange. (Which could bring me onto the theme of why French products seem not to have caught on to the obsession with Natural and Organic: the packaging of the cleaning products in our flat is similarly straight out of the 80s...) Such observations notwithstanding, the boulangerie/pâtisserie is well worth a visit: Arnaud Delmontel's baguettes were declared the best in Paris for 2007.

Arnaud Delmontel, 39 rue des Martyrs, 75009 Paris
Open 7 - 20.30

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 

Richard Lenoir Market

I took the usual market photos but I think David's sketches capture the place better than mine do. I looked at everything Very Carefully while he drew, then settled down beside him with a punnet of strawberries and watched the people pass.

Pause Cafe

As we walked down the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine on Saturday night, Anne-Solene commented that she had chosen the place because she remembered me asking for typical French food when I had last come to visit. Walking in, Benjamin smiled and said that it was rather like Berlin. It was indeed a bit of both, though I say so with the full knowledge of risking a hopeless provinciality with this inexorable mapping of everything onto my known coordinates. What I mean to say is that we quickly felt at home, settling down with our Belgian beers (whose ubiquity is such a delight for otherwise German-bound me!) and then our goat cheese pastries and brandade de morue.

Pause Cafe, 41 Rue De Charonne, 75011 Paris

Paris walks 1: 17th, 8th, 1st

For me the keenest pleasure is not the food nor the art but the countless prospects for a good walk; what one passes forms an architecture of sensual complexity. Leaving the Salon Saveurs we walked through the flea market along the Rue de Courcelles before forking back to pass the Arc de Triomphe  with its newsstands and trace a route down the Champs Elysées through the Jardin des Tuileries, none of which David had seen before.

Marie Galante Coconut Sorbet

The coconut-sorbet churners at the Marie Galante stand attracted what were easily the longest queues at the fair while I was there.

Macaron Caramel au Beurre Sale (Salon saveurs)

After trying and failing to be taken by a green tea macaron, I stuck to chocolate for a long while, but the tan rows of caramel au beurre sale macarons at the Salon Saveurs drew us in, and after a bite we were sold, sold, sold. The dense creamy interior reminded me of nothing more than the thoop sacer poli my mother would make for us: brown sugar mixed with thoop (or ghee) scooped up with bits of poli (or chapatis, round Indian flatbreads). I needn't describe a macaron, I'm sure - that crisp collapsing outer shell yielding to sticky interior, the luxuriousness of too much filling. These, promptly, became the grail of this trip, to be sought in all bakeries.

Our macaron was bought at the Artisan Fabien Foenix stand at the Salon Saveurs, which also featured delightful sorbets.

Outside the Salon, Fabien Foenix can be found at Mister Ice (!), 6 rue Descombes, 75017 Paris
Tel. 01 42 67 76 24
Open Tuesday-Friday 14-19, Saturday 11-13, 14-19.30