Paris in Poladroid.

Paris, part five: the search for the perfect chocolat chaud.

Once upon a time, two very lucky young ladies took a trip to Prague. Along the way, they sampled many, many cups of hot chocolate. In the many days since, they've never found anything even close to the perfection that is Czech hot chocolate, particularly not in the surprisingly quality-hot-chocolate-free land of France.

Until now.

On the suggestion of a colleague, I decided to give French hot chocolate another go on this trip, and I was not disappointed. On Sunday afternoon, I paid a visit to Angelina, the legendary teahouse on rue de Rivoli, across from the Jardins des Tuileries. I waited in a long line of tourists and well-heeled locals for a table, and was seated on the second floor, overlooking the entrance.

I hunkered down with my book, ordered a chocolat chaud and a carafe d'eau, and awaited the arrival of the chocolate. It arrived in a little pitcher, whipped cream on the side, with a spoon for dolloping at will - or, in my case, for occasionally eating the thick concoction like a stew.

Like the mythical hot chocolates of Prague, this version was rich and deeply flavorful, not at all like the sugary water served in college cafeterias or at skating rinks here in the States. It's basically melted dark chocolate, lightly sweetened and lightened ever so slightly with a touch of milk. In short, it's pure indulgence. And I really liked being to add my cream a bit at a time, so that it didn't melt too much before I got to enjoy it.

So, does Angelina's version live up to that of Prague's Café Louvre or Café Carolina? Not quite. But after years of wandering in the chocolat chaud wilderness, I feel secure in the knowledge that the French have not lost their touch.

Paris, part four: Camille, la deuxième fois.

My second visit to Camille was a slightly more sedate affair - aside from a boisterous group of American women, the restaurant was relatively quiet when I tumbled in, fresh from Bar Hemingway, at about 10 o'clock. I was seated at a small table toward the back, and settled in with my book and a pichet (25, not 50 centilitres this time) of my beloved Bordeaux.

I'd filled up a bit on Bar Hemingway's most excellent potato chips, so I decided to forgo a starter and dive right into Camille's legendary (well, to me and Louisa, at the very least) steak tartare. I had to reassure the waiter that I knew the dish n'est pas cuit ("is not cooked"), and said yes to his offer of salad and frites on the side. This was gonna be good.

And it was. It was so good that I almost forgot to pause long enough to take a picture - but that would have been a crime, since you all deserve to bear witness to this most gorgeous dish. The steak tartare at Camille remains the best I have ever eaten - and I've eaten my fair share. The silky egg, the cornichons, capers and onions laced throughout the meat, the earthy mustard: all of these are to be expected, and are fantastically in play here.

But there's something else going on in Camille's tartare that I haven't quite been able to pin down - some elusive sweetness that balances out the tang of the traditional ingredients. This balance of sweet and savory is the same thing that makes their duck so delectable, and is, I think, is the thing that makes Camille so exceptional. You don't expect a neighborhood joint to produce something this subtly and intriguingly seasoned - it's a pretty impressive feat.

Oh, and the fries? Cooked in duck fat, and completely sublime. Ditto the simple salad, bibb lettuce tossed with a house-made vinaigrette.

Finally, to finish things off nice and proper, I ordered chocolate mousse for dessert. Camille's mousse is dense and rich, made with bittersweet chocolate and not a whole lot of sugar. Which is, for me, pretty close to perfection. I tried to solider through, but only managed to finish about half. My adorable waiter was a bit disappointed, I think. I promise to try harder next time!

Paris, part three: Camille - la première fois.

I don't really visit Paris often enough to have a legitimate favorite restaurant, but, if I did, I feel fairly certain that Bistro Camille would still make the cut. Nestled on a corner of the rue des Francs Bourgeois, impossibly difficult to find on my first two visits and remarkably easy to locate on this one, it's that perfect neighborhood spot: kindly lit, well-provisioned with wine, and full of delicious, simply and beautifully prepared food.

All of this is probably why I found myself there twice in two days on my trip to Paris. Louisa and I discovered Camille on this eGullet thread, and I think it's safe to say that (aside from a chance visit to the devestatingly wonderful Chez Yvonne in Strasbourg) neither of us has ever been happier with a find.

My hotel was just a few blocks south of Camille, and the walk through the Marais was lovely both nights. I took slightly different routes to be sure to catch all the shop windows and street life I could. I ate late (by American standards), not until 10:00, since I was jet-lagged and in need of naps. On Saturday, there was still a twenty minute wait for a table, so I sat outside.

I started with the escargots de Bourgogne, a traditional preparation. The snails are cleaned, the shells are stuffed with a mixture of butter, parsley and garlic, and the whole thing is run under the broiler for a few minutes. Good escargots are tender and light, not tough and spongy, and eating them is like eating delicate balls of buttery, garlicky goodness. Their shells seem so fine that you expect them to shatter when you pick them up with the special tongs (don't worry; they won't). You spend more time than you care to admit sopping up the butter with your bread.

These were good escargots.

The waitress talked me into a full demi (half-bottle, 50 centilitres) of Bordeaux, so I was in it for the long haul. I took my time enjoying the brisk fall weather, eavesdropping on the folks to my right (a British woman and two French men, speaking their own private Franglais), and savoring my escargots. Once I'd been able to stop myself from wiping up every last bit of butter from the plate, out came my main.

I'd ordered the duck breast, which was seared and served with the most delicious sauce made with pan drippings, honey and black pepper, all piled atop some seriously buttery pureed potatoes. This duck dish is a great example of how true French cooking defies its old American stereotypes - the flavors are extremely well-balanced, with the piquant pepper playing against the round, sweet honey, and the buttery potatoes contrasting with the seared crust on the duck. This is not over-sauced, over-treated food; this is gorgeous ingredients being coaxed into an even more perfect state.

Dessert was similarly delicious. Two years ago, Camille's creme brulée restored our faith in the French, after it had been destroyed by lackluster specimens in Strasbourg and Champagne. Camille still has the touch - the custard is particularly thick and creamy, heavy with vanilla and a touch of citrus. Most importantly, they've mastered the sugar-to-custard ratio: their shallow, wide dish provides lots of surface area for the crackly, caramelized sugar. Smokey, creamy goodness.

Finally, coffee. Camille makes an exceptionally delicious cup. Strong, rich, piping hot and just the right size - helps you settle down post-meal, but doesn't fill you up.

Ah, Camille, je t'aime.

Walking around Paris.

By day.

And by night.

Paris, part two: marché de plein air.

I landed in Paris at 8:30 on Saturday morning. They'd fed and watered me on the plane, and I'd managed to wash up in the tiny little bathroom (Where, it should be noted, Clarins products were on offer. Love Air France.). These were both good things, since my room was not ready when I turned up at the hotel about an hour later.

I dropped my luggage off at the hotel, grabbed my book and a Plan de Paris, and headed toward the Louvre. It was a brisk, slightly drizzly day, and I was bundled in my jacket, scarf and gloves (All black; after all, this is Paris, darling.). I passed the mairie (town hall) for the 4th arrondissement, and right there in its courtyard was an open-air market (en français: un marché de plein air).*

I'd avoided fresh fruit and vegetables in India (there's nothing worse than sitting through five days of meetings while simultaneously battling Delhi Belly), and so was immediately lured to the fruit stand. I bought three clementines and ate them, standing in the square, in quick succession. Once the fruit was safely in my tummy, I had time to explore.

There were vegetables of every variety, oysters, gorgeous fresh fish, cooked meats, wines, and even a boulanger. I spent twenty minutes wandering around, devising menus in my mind and fantasizing about having such a well-provisioned market as close to my apartment as this was to my hotel. And, of course, I snapped some photos for your enjoyment...here are a select few. The full set can be found over on Flickr!



*Obsessive internet research has revealed that the market I visited is the Marché Baudoyer, in Place Baudoyer, and is the rare Paris market open on Wednesdays as well as Saturdays.

Paris, an aside: L'Hôtel Caron de Beaumarchais.

A quick note about L'Hôtel Caron de Beaumarchais, where I stayed for two nights during my visit to Paris. It's adorable, affordable, and in a perfect location. Just off the Rue de Rivoli, within walking distance of Île Saint-Louis, Île de la Cité, the Louvre, and the Bastille, and about two blocks from two different stops on the 1 line (Château de Vincennes-La Défense) of the Métro, it was an excellent jumping-off point for all my weekend activities.

The bonus: it's in le Marais, an adorable neighborhood untouched by the Hausmann renovations of the 19th century. It's full of adorable shops, galleries, and fantastic bistros and bars. Most importantly: it's a real neighborhood, accessible and far less touristy than Montmartre, Place Vendôme, or St. Germain. In short, I've found my new Parisian base, and I highly recommend you check it out, too.

Paris, part one: Dehillerin.

On my first day in Paris, I spent the morning walking all over the place, ending up at the Louvre for a couple of hours. Once I felt like I'd paid enough cultural homage, I headed north towards the Bourse du Commerce to pay a visit to my own personal Mecca, otherwise known as E. Dehillerin. I'd visited once before, back on my 2006 Europe trip (details here), so I knew what my targets were.

Ready to spring into action, I opened the door and was confronted by a teeming sea of Parisians (and a few American tourists). When Louisa and I stopped by in 2006, it was a Monday or Tuesday afternoon; this was Saturday afternoon at 1:00, and all bets were off. Nothing, though, could really bust through the very Zen I'm-in-Paris-so-everything-is-OK-by-me attitude I'd adopted since landing at Charles de Gaulle, so I just sat back, snapped a few pictures, then set about finding the salad servers, charlotte molds and top-secret holiday-related purchases from my list.

In what was to be the first of a couple of deja-vu moments, the first salesman to come up to me was the same one who waited on us two years ago; this time, instead of adorably belligerent, he was belligerently flirtatious, and seemed frustrated that I wasn't really in the mood to banter. He disappeared into the office a few minutes later, and didn't reemerge.

Dehillerin is a wonderland for people who like to cook or bake. Tart pans, springforms, copper cookware, crepe pans and whisks are stacked three and five deep on rickety shelves that stretch all the way up to the 15-foot ceilings. The glare cast by the bare bulbs overhead grows dim as you enter the rabbits' warren of the store's outer aisles, and the overall atmosphere is that of your crazy aunt's attic.

But the passion and enthusiasm of the staff for their products, and of the clientele for their chosen hobby (and, in many cases, profession), is palpable. This is no Williams-Sonoma, with gorgeous displays created to lure in unsuspecting customers who can't tell a saucier from a skillet. This is a store for serious cooks, where you have to know what you need to find what you want.

And what did I want? Well, I'd been entrusted with a mission to replace Louisa's gorgeous salad fork, which broke earlier this year. Check! And me? Well, I've been wanting small charlotte molds for my collection - I will use them to make individual cakes, sticky toffee puddings, and cups of chocolate mousse. Check!

Coming up...Paris, part two

Je reviens!

I'm sitting in the Air France lounge at Charles de Gaulle, quietly weeping into my coffee. In just a few minutes, I'll board a plane (KLM through Amsterdam; merci beaucoup, les pilotes qui font la grève) and be on my way back to the states.

I can't wait to share my Parisian adventures with all of you; sadly, pictures will be limited, as my camera chose Saturday as its day to stage its own petite grève, and only behaved intermittently thereafter.

Regardless - we'll have glimpses of Île Saint-Louis, the Marais, the Louvre, and, best of all: Camille!

They're calling my flight now...a bientôt!

J'arrive!

That's right, ladies and gents...in just eleven short days (made even shorter by the election and a business trip to India), I'll be back where I belong: France (and, more precisely, Paris). I am stopping over for just two days, staying in a cute little hotel in the Marais, and planning to have a wonderful, relaxing, romantically solitary time of it.

Dehillerin is already on the list, as is a stop into Pierre Hermé for some macarons (I'll be flying business class back to the States, so I figure they actually have a chance of surviving the flight intact.). I'll be dining at my favorite Paris bistro, Camille, both nights. But, other than that, my schedule is pretty open.

Since I'll only be in town for a couple of days, I want to stay in town (so day trips to Versailles or Giverny are out, as are the flea markets, since those require at least a half-day to do them justice).

I'm pondering a walking tour of the Marais, am thinking longingly of an afternoon drinking coffee and wine and reading a novel in a café somewhere in St. Germain, and a colleague has recommended the hot chocolate at Angelina's (just down the Rue de Rivoli from Pierre Hermé's new Rue Cambon boutique, so very convenient). I've never been to the Bar Hemingway, but am also drawn to this little wine bar near the hotel.

Any other suggestions?

Merci bien!

Photos above from the Paris visit during my 2006 trip to Prague, Strasbourg, Champagne and Paris. You can read all about the trip here (Prague only) and here (all of the France leg).