Ispahan jam makes it all taste so good

Greek yogurt topped with Ispahan Jam and smothered in fruit

Cindy's recent ode to her Christine Ferber jam reminded me that I had promised to tell you about the Ispahan jam I bought on my last trip to Paris in July. If you had read about the first time I tried the famous Ispahan dessert, you would know that I was more than a bit disappointed. Despite that, something about the combination of rose, raspberry and lychee fruit stuck with me. So not long after that I decided to try Pierre Hermé's version.
And oh. It was good.
Since then I get a little excited when faced with any dish containing rosewater. (Moro's rosewater and cardamom ice cream is the stuff of my dreams).

A close friend of mine and I agree on most things when it comes to food, but my love for rosewater is the one thing where our palates seem to differ. In fact, just the mere mention of it and she breaks out into some rather amusing facial contortions. I'm starting to think it's like cilantro, you either love it or you hate it. And have you ever noticed that those who don't like cilantro seem really passionate about hating it? Is there no one who is just kind of on the fence about it?

So anyway, in July when I was in Paris I decided to buy a jar of Christine Ferber's (made for Hermé) ispahan jam to take back home with me. People, I could kick myself for never having tried it before. The jam has a rich, vibrant colour, and its 3 main flavours meld perfectly, none of them overpowering the other. You rosewater haters are probably scrunching up your noses right now, but you are just going to have to pipe down for a minute.

It has a somewhat runny (as far as jam goes) consistency which makes it perfect for adding to yogurt which is how I've been indulging in it lately. And now that it's berry season I can't resist smothering the whole thing with strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and yes, even bananas.

You might think I was a bit heavy handed with the fruit but it just tastes so darn good. Thank goodness Paris is only a short train ride away because I'm getting awfully close to the bottom of that jar.


****
You can get this jam at the Pierre Hermé shops in Paris.

Paris in August

My Frankenstein tomato: Expertly stitched by Mother Nature herself.

Sunday mornings are my favourite day of the week, and I like to move slowly. I usually get up early but there's something I like about puttering around the house without an agenda on Sundays while G sleeps in. If it's raining, so much the better. For whatever reason, this Sunday, I left G dozing in bed and headed to the Raspail market in the 6th. It's organic on Sundays and because it was after 9am, I was expecting it to be bustling. But then I remembered: it's August, and nothing is bustling in Paris right now. The city is, comparatively at least, a ghost town.

My concierge informed me that every apartment in my building but 2 is currently empty. It seems everyone in France has a summer house and they high tail it out of here as soon as they can.

Needless to say, it has been very, very quiet.

It is a great time to be in the city-- to watch it sleep, so to speak, and to experience it in this rare sense of calm. There are tourists, but not many. Many of the shops are closed and you may have to find a new bakery to keep you stocked with baguettes until yours reopens at the end of the month. Sometimes you find yourself cursing at the inconvenience, but then you quickly realize that this temporary silence is well worth it.

I took a long walk after I'd filled my bags with strange tomatoes at the market. I stopped at a health food store to replenish my bulghur supply, headed for the best baguette in Paris only to find that the bakery was closed, and then headed to Alléosse to gaze at their world of cheeses and marvel still at how at this time of year I can walk in there and find the store empty of customers. I said hello and took my sweet, sweet time.


Cheese from Alléosse
front: Cabris Gors (goat cheese)
middle: Manchego
back: Cheddar fermier

I finally had to call it quits when I could feel a blister forming on the bottom of my foot and my watch told me that I had been walking for over 2 hours. I came home, kicked off my shoes and promptly took a nap. It was not even 11:30am, and I still had the whole quiet day to kill.
Without a doubt, Paris in August is so much better than Paris in July..


Raspail Market
Boulevard Raspail between rue du Cherche-Midi and rue de Rennes
Metro: Rennes
Tuesday and Friday, 7 am to 2.30 pm
Sunday mornings--organic.

Glamour shot

Arabesque macaron, apricoty and good

Hermé macaron hand-modelling at its finest. The 007-style leather gloves are a nice touch. Good wrist and palm angles, and an impressive 3 finger grasp of the upper macaron.
The grasp, in particular, demonstrates a steadfast commitment to ensuring the macaron does not end up on the sidewalk during the photo shoot.
Excellent work.
David, forget chocolate, I see a new career in your future.

I ate this cookie..

almond & pistachio cookie from a random bakery in Paris


.. and then I found out that pretty doesn't always mean good.

Nice work on the checkerboard pattern though.
And extra points for the big old chocolate nubbin in the middle.
Next time, I think I'll just ask for the nubbin.

Dear Ladurée

Dear Ladurée,

It hurts me to write you this letter. Things started out so well between us. It was a gorgeous morning; the sun was shining and I was walking leisurely down the Champs Elysées with you as my destination. You looked so handsome from the outside, and you teased me with those little macaron trees and those pretty boxes in the window.


Ladurée on the Champs Elysées

You wowed me even more once I stepped inside, you looked rich and elegant, but there was something so warm and cozy about you. I wanted to snuggle right up and nuzzle your neck Ladurée, you were that irresistible. Your hostess led us up the stairs to a non-smoking room and it was filled with well-dressed Frenchmen. Ladurée, I thought, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Sure, they all left shortly after we arrived, but we didn't take it personally.


Just us in the empty room, after all the men left

Your menu arrived and my eyes grew wide at the temptations you were offering. But the truth was that we were there to eat the macarons, and not one was listed on the breakfast menu.
But don't fret! Our tall and lovely server accomodated our early morning whim and gave us an assortment of 4 to share between us, just as I'm sure you would have wanted her to do. And because we knew we would love it so, we ordered an Ispahan, a decadent dessert layered with raspberries and litchees and infused with the flavour of rose petals.

My thé à la vanille arrived and it tasted so nice. Though I will admit Ladurée that I was a little hurt by your decision to charge me €6.20 for the tea. But what is a few euros between friends, right?

And then Ladurée, something went wrong and I started to feel the heartwrenching sting of betrayal.

We tried your macarons. First lemon, then violet, then chocolate, and finally pistachio. I was confused. Where were the oohs, and why was there not one single aah? Where was that desire to eat in slow motion to savour every crumb? My heart sank. Something wasn't right, and I was sure it must have been me. Because you are you, and I, well I am just me. Never mind that my breakfast companion was feeling the same heartbreak as I was.


mini macarons

Our server then brought out your lovely Ispahan and it was as pretty as pretty could be. I knew everything would be right between us again. And I'm sorry if for a brief second I thought that the shade of pink you chose reminded me of that Barbie corvette I used to have when I was young. Because truly, it did look perfect, and the real rose petal was such a lovely and delicate touch.


Ispahan

And I'm sorry that I had to take my knife and cut through it's beauty, but we were sharing, it had to be done. But I don't know if you will be proud or ashamed that your beloved Ispahan fought me with every crumb of its being. It resisted, crumbling dry and lifeless into pieces, as though it was telling us that it had reached its prime of life a day, maybe two, before.
I hate to say it Ladurée, but we left most of that Ispahan in a crumbled heap on the plate.

So Ladurée, my darling, you can see why I am confused. It was our first date and I was sure that by the end of it I would declare my undying love for you. But instead, I returned home from our rendez-vous with nothing but a broken heart and a belly full of disappointment.

But I promise you, I will give you another chance. Because you make for some great eye candy and the handsome ones always get a second chance, right?

Ladurée
75 avenue des Champs Elysées
75008, Paris
(see website for other Paris locations)

Maison du Chocolat.. because I haven't had any chocolate in a whole week.

Brésilien from Maison du Chocolat, with my fingerprint
on the side because I am clumsy.

Is it a good thing or a bad thing when you discover that there is a Maison du Chocolat within a 15 minute walk from your apartment? Does it mean anything when you find yourself trudging through the pouring rain, your hair all a-frizz, your pants soaking wet and dragging on the pavement, just to get yourself to said chocolate mecca? It can only be assumed that it means you are there to get your chocolate on, as they say. And so I did.


A girl's best friend. A box wrapped with a bow, and filled with chocolate.

The chocolate at Maison du Chocolat is, to state the obvious, lovely. But what I found rather distracting upon first entering the shop were the saleswomen. Firstly because there was at least 5 of them bustling about this tiny store, and secondly, because they were all identically dressed in brown tailored suits with fine orange piping along the lapels. Think Charlie's Angels meets Brownies. (You know, before you're old enough to be a Girl Scout they stick you in brown and orange and call you a Brownie?). At first it caught me off guard. My brain was distracted from the chocolate with the following series of thoughts:

"Ew. Brownie flashback." Followed by:
"Wait, that's kind of cool." And then:
"Hmm. Now I'm not sure. Is it retro-chic or is it just plain ugly?" Head tilted to help me think.
"Whoever designed those is either crazy or a genius. " Momentary pause, with furrowed brow.
"I'm stumped... Oh, are those truffles?" Chocolate wins again.


Marroni from Maison du Chocolat

It need not be said that the chocolate here is expensive, although the single serving cakes are a reasonable indulgence. You can buy yourself a little slice of magic for under 5 euros, depending on what you select. I choose the Brésilien- chocolate and coffee, and the Marroni- chocolate and chestnut at €4.60 each.
To share with my boyfriend, of course.
You do believe me, don't you?

The Optional Reading (Or me trying to describe how it tasted)

The Brésilien had a nice coffee flavour, not overwhelming, just perfect for me. The texture of the cake was dense and moist, luscious even. The cake itself struck me as being much less sweet than I expected. And then I realized how this works. The cake is a little light on the sweetness, while the ganache borders on too sweet. If each bite you take includes both, then Houston, we have harmony. I did like this one, and would buy it again. But of course I intend to make the rounds through a few more in their line before I start repeating. It's hard work, I know.

The Marroni did not excite me. The chestnut filling tasted as though it was doused in rum, and it became the dominant flavour. Unfortunately the ingredients are not listed on their website, so I can't confirm the inclusion of rum. (Nor could I confirm the spelling of the names) The chestnut layer was also a bit airier than the rest, which seemed not to work as nicely as the Brésilien did, which was fairly consistent in density throughout. I realize some people may like the inclusion of a fluffier layer, but I generally do not. The chocolate part of it was good, and the ganache as well, but I would not buy this one again.

These cakes are not nearly as big as they may appear in the pictures. Seen in person some might actually consider them small but in fact they are perfectly sized considering how rich and decadent they are.

Even the ducks like Eric Kayser breads..

Eric Kayser Bakery

I recently made my way to the Eric Kayser Bakery on Rue Monge. It was weeks ago that Aude left a comment for me and suggested I try Kayser's Pain aux Figues. It had been on my mind ever since, so this visit was long overdue. It was a gorgeous walk from my apartment, but then again, anytime I have to cross the river I always feel an extra bit of a spring in my step. The things I pass by just to get to my intended destination are hugely distracting, and it often leaves me wondering how I will ever get to explore this whole city. If, in fact, that is even remotely possible.


Pain aux Figues

So I happily ordered my Pain aux Figues, and with my bag in hand, wondered where I should wander next. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, it was a perfect fall morning, and all I wanted was to be outside. I decided to head towards the Luxembourg Gardens, a perfect spot for a stroll. I sat myself down at one of my favourite places, the Medicis fountain, which was built in the 1630's.



There was one lone duck swimming around in the water and there I was with a bag full of some fine, fine bread. How could I resist? She came right over and stared up at me and then opened her beak as if to say "Come on, just one little taste?".
It had been a very long time since I had fed a duck. Or any bird for that matter. I'm usually highly against it for some self-righteous reason that I seemed to have forgotten on this particular day. But the air was quiet and peaceful and it just seemed like the right thing to do.



As soon as she heard the crinkling of the bag, I swear her neck extended, like a dog who stands up on his hind legs and leans on you to get closer to what is in your hands. She's clearly done this before. But it was still awfully cute. And I will say, that that little duck of mine was truly spoiled. This was no wonderbread lunch she was having, she was dining on some fine, fig filled bread.
As you can see by the picture above of the bread, it was somewhat ravaged by the time I got it home. My duck friend and I showed no mercy. The bread was delicious, with moist figs scattered throughout and a nice crunchy outer crust.

Well the little gal and I had to part ways at some point so I wandered through the treed area of the gardens and was astounded at how beautiful it looked at this time of year. Leaves scattered about, people sitting quietly, reading, drawing or gazing out at the view around them, it was absolutely picture perfect.






Leaves piling up at the Luxembourg Gardens

And yes, there was even some Tai Chi..



And a big thanks to Aude for suggesting the bread!

Eric Kayser
8, rue Monge
75005