The first time I ate at Brasserie Lipp, one of Paris’ most famous brasseries, it was on a Sunday, and I was there to meet X’s parents. A flute of champagne and a couple of glasses of wine later, the meal ended with me expressing my excitement over the incredible profiteroles a la Lucy Ricardo: I shoved X so hard that he nearly fell out of the booth.
It’s not the sort of place that you just come across; unless, that is, you’re ambling down Old Las Vegas Highway east of Santa Fe, and happen to look over and see the cars, and the crowd of people standing around in the parking lot here, waiting patiently for their names to be called.
Here I am, washing vegetables on Day 1 of culinary school in Mexico City.
This was before things got weird. When I tried to take a photograph of the place from the outside, I was scolded by a “security guard,” and told that photos were not allowed. I won’t even try to describe it, either, because I don’t want to get into trouble.
Seriously, how many sausage stands does one town need?
Last weekend, since it was within walking distance from my apartment, I went to the big food show in Paris, Le Salon Saveurs des Plaisirs Gourmands over at Espace Champerret, a large underground exhibit hall.
It was absolutely freezing outside, and I’d just gone to the bank, and was walking along rue Cler (the pedestrian street that has a food market on Sundays) on the way to the metro, when I remembered a little boulangerie on the corner of rue Cler and Champ de Mars, called Denis Auvray.
One bite and I was addicted. Who knew the best English muffins would be in Paris?
Even stranger, these muffins aren’t really English, but American-made, by the guy who invented the Maglight, the cool flashlight that twists to turn it on and off. (Didn’t we all get those in our stockings for Christmas years ago?)
See this little cutie? It’s aptly called Puit d’Amour, or “well of love.” One bite into its crunchy caramel shell and into the soft vanilla pastry cream and you’ll get it. As far as sweets go around town, this is one of my favorites, and you can only get it at Stohrer, one of Paris’ oldest patissieries, in Les Halles.