This post—and the travel herein—was created in partnership with Bonne Maman. All opinions are my own, including my obsession with Bonne Maman’s beautiful, traditionally made preserves.
In Paris, sugar is art. The streets are art, the buildings are art, and even, at times, the people seem like art. But nowhere is the reification of beauty in unsuspecting inanimate object so complete as it is in Parisian patisserie. In the US, sugar is a god, both worshipped and feared. But in Paris, it is, quite simply, both the medium and the masterpiece. Two weeks ago, I had the tremendous fortune to spend three days touring some of the finest patisseries, chocolatiers, boucheries, and fromageries with the team at Bonne Maman — discovering for myself the magic of sugar in Paris.
It all began on the Bonne Maman house boat docked on the Rîve Seine. For four days, the boat welcomed visitors to its floating gardens and sitting rooms, replete with tea-making, flower arranging, cocktail mixologizing, orange blossom candle pouring, and preserve tasting.
Photo by Kelsi Smith
Photo by Kelsi Smith
I hadn’t been to Paris for thirteen years. I was twenty-one my last visit, studying Surrealist French literature, obsessed with the poetry of André Breton and the photography of Man Ray. Before that, I lived in the South of France for a summer, immersing myself in the heat, lavender, and theatre of Avignon. This time, I kept thinking I should re-up my conversational French on my Duolingo app or pull out my copy of André Breton’s novel Nadja, but I didn’t have time. I dove headfirst into French the moment I got into the car from Charles De Gaulle airport. And boy did those rich, textural sounds feel good on the palate. A linguistic home-away-from-homecoming.
After meeting up with dear friends Molly Yeh and Sarah Fennel, and new friends Christine Tizzard, Kelsi Smith, and the rest of the Bonne Maman team at the adorable Hotel Saint Germain, we made our way to the floating La Maison Bonne Maman. The evening was spent with cocktails, gorgeous amuses bouches filled with the flavors of spring captured in preserves, and trips to the photo booth. We flitted from one delicious moment to the next, particularly delighting in the chance to meet culinary giant David Leibovitz, who’s taught the world about cooking and living as an ex-pat in Paris for the past two decades. Needless to say, we were giddy to be in the presence of Queen Paris.
DAY 1
The next morning, after an epic breakfast at the famed Ladurée (that forever changed my understanding of how an omelette should be and taste), we returned to the river for smoothie bowl-mixing, tea-making, and preserve tasting. After a blissful day of sunshine, carbs (that’s patisserie in French, thank you very much), and the discovery of Bonne Maman’s exquisite new line of Intense preserves, which contain thirty percent less sugar than the standard and are every bit as full of fleshy fruit flavor as you’d imagine, we marched once again through the streets of Paris’s left bank en route to dinner.
Dinner was raucous and absolutely perfect at L’Ami Jean, where dishes of meat were served up with burning sage, and I ate perhaps the most perfectly prepared fish of my life. We finished it all with rice pudding, dolloped on top of a burnt caramel ice cream that towed the line of savory and sweet. The servers yelled at us when we didn’t pay attention to their every word. It was heavenly.
Still woozy from jet lag, we walked to the foot of the Eiffel Tower and watched for a few moments as its golden light emanated beauty over the city. I went to bed late and got up even later.
DAY 2
Another glittering, mild spring morning awaited us as we descended onto the streets in search of croissants. Today was our culinary journey across Paris, and we’d increased in number as Pia Finkell, VP of R/West and fluent French speaker extraordinaire, joined us. Here are the highlights of our journey, spanning left and right banks:
Flaky, delicious croissants from Des Gateaux et du Pain, enjoyed in dappled morning light beneath plane trees on a classic deep green Parisian park bench.
A trip to the astounding chic-ness of Le Bon Marché’s Grand Épicerie, the most beautiful grocery store I’ve ever seen in my life—with an entire section devoted to Bonne Maman.
The Timur pepper and strawberry caramels from Henri Le Roux Chocolatier, eaten the moment we left the shop. A burst of fresh fruit and spice unlike anything I’ve tasted before in caramel form.
Patrick Roger’s lemongrass and peppermint ganache chocolate: surprising, delicate, and, yes, a testament to sugar as art on the palate.
Aux Merveilleux de Fred cloud cakes! I’d never heard of a cloud cake before, but these exquisite delicacies blew away all the doubts I’d harbored about meringue. Previously, I never liked meringue — too much sugar, too little payoff in the way of flavor. Frédéric’s cloud cakes, though, were something entirely different. Layers of flavored whipped cream and not-too-sweet meringue are shaped into domes, then rolled in shattered meringue. Eaten in the shadows of Notre Dame cathedral, the coffee cloud cake was truly extraordinary.
Baguette jambon beurre from Caractère de Cochon. Fresh, toothy baguettes are slathered with butter and layered with thinly sliced ham. Pia grabbed a bottle of rosé and Kelsi found us a public garden to eat in. I took my first tenuous bites, unsure of what the ham would taste like (really, it was my first!). Surprise: It was delicious. I may or may not have replaced a good chunk of the meat with Bonne Maman’s fig preserves — and highly recommend you try the combo when next you’re in Paris.
The city’s best macarons (Pierre Hermé), cream puffs (Popelini), and eclairs (L’Éclair de Genie). With flavors like asparagus and toasted hazelnut, black currant and violet, rose and lychee, jasmine, chocolate and passion fruit, and citron, orange blossom and honey, these patisseries completely shattered any idea I had of a world of French pastry stuck in the past. They came to play, and the flavors were other worldly.
Cheese from Fromagerie Beillevaire in the Marais for final supplies for a picnic at the Place des Vosges, the city’s most historic planned square — once home to Parisian nobility of the 17th and 18th centuries. Euphoric on sugar, cream, and wine, our buzzy clan settled in to a moment of relaxation on the grass. We marveled at the spoils of the day, evidence of the city’s history in sweets.
After a day of walking — and eating — we decided a long amble home was in order before indulging at Chez Georges for dinner. This classic Parisian spot was once Julia Child’s favorite restaurant, and tradition spills from the spread on every table. I had one singular dish in mind: Paris’s famed salade au chèvre chaud. This was our family staple when we traveled to France in my teens, and I’d been itching to get my hands on the frisée and greens dressed perfectly in mustard vinaigrette, finished with a breaded and baked or fried round of fresh goat cheese. Their version was perfection, as was the lentil salad.
And just when we didn’t think the day could go on any longer, we insisted on our final stop: A nightcap at the historic Bar Hemingway in the Ritz Paris. The luxury is palpable the moment you enter the hotel’s doors, poppy red carpet piled plush beneath your feet. A bounty of flowers everywhere you look. The air smells different, laced with amber and gold. We were late, and the small, leather-lined bar was packed, so we settled across the hall at the restaurant’s satellite bastion of cocktails. I recommend a trip here just to imbibe the gilded air and see the jewel-encrusted swan water fixture in every bathroom.
DAY 3
Our final day was filled with every delight I could manage to loop into one last ten-mile trek around the city. After grabbing a kombucha at Naturalia — France’s answer to health food stores — we started with a long meander through the Jardin du Luxembourg, replete with bridal and petite bateau sitings. Approaching the Seine, we discovered Herboristerie d’Hippocrate in the 6th arrondissement, a temple of all things natural medicine — from herbs and medicinal blends to essential oils. I cannot wait to spend a good hour here on a future visit.
From there, we passed through the eastern end of the Louvre. There wasn’t time to do the museum justice, so we decided to save it for a longer trip, appreciating its grandeur from the outside. Sarah and Molly made a pit stop at legendary kitchen supply store E. Dehillerin while I continued on to nearby Église Saint-Eustache in the 1st arrondissement. Built in 1532, the church is a marvel of gothic architecture that houses the largest pipe organ in France as well as the tombs of such luminaries as Mozart’s mother. Saint-Eustache offers free concerts every Sunday afternoon — something else to note for the next trip.
From there, we made our way back the the Marais in the 4th arrondissement, in search of a small Levantine bakery called Maison Aleph. Aleph plied us with tiny gorgeous nests made from kadaïf pastry and infused creams, filled with Damask rose, orange blossom, citrus, strawberry, and cardamom. Unlike anything I’ve ever had before, and delicious.
After a failed attempt to secure falafel from the falafel palace of my dreams (heads up: L’As du Fallafel is closed on Saturdays), we grabbed savory crepes and a bottle of rosé and wound our way back to the Place des Vosges. The afternoon was sublime, warm and soft and gentle. The square was packed, but made room for our small clan, which quickly multiplied as we rendezvoused with friends from the States who happened to be in Paris, too.
Having rested our fill, we summoned the energy to stop by a shop every trusted friend recommended I visit should I desire any Parisian souvenir of fashion or home: Merci. We didn’t have enough time to mine its depths before it closed, but this multi-level, expertly curated shopping destination was lovely. From there, we began the long walk home to Hotel Saint Germain in the 7th.
It’s almost embarrassing to reiterate, but the weather was truly a spring reverie. Never too hot or too cold, Paris welcomed us fully. Far too aware this was our last day to meander on the Seine at sunset, we took our time. The wide paved walkways on either side of the river took us in, inviting us to stop and revel. The light was golden. Men took off their shirts and drank beer, legs dangling toward the water. Women ate frites and sunned themselves in the last warmth. Tourists marveled from the bateaux mouches crossing the river. Paris was alive, and we were lucky to live for a moment inside its foment.
A late dinner at Les Antiquaires plied Molly, Sarah, and I with more salade au chèvre chaud, and the truly French frites we’d been coveting all day. I sipped my favorite French aperitif, pastis — an anise liqueur over ice, tamed with cold water. The evening chilled and the moon rose.
Finally, the next morning, before I boarded the Eurostar train for London, I stopped at Atelier des Lumières for an immersive exhibition of Gustav Klimt’s artwork, created by Gianfranco Iannuzzi. The experience immediately brought me to tears and arrested my breath — over two hundred projectors brought the paintings to life over a space of thousands of square feet, set to extraordinary music. I spent over an hour inside, merely trying to steady my heart and take in the immensity of beauty all around.
Never have I felt so alive within a work of art, so aware of how we might use our current technologies to enhance, rather than dull, the experience of aesthetic pleasure. Once again, Paris was reinventing the definition of art, of beauty, of sensorial perception.
This, then, was the perfect end note to a few days of immense culinary and aesthetic indulgence. A reminder of all the sweetness and beauty our human vessels can hold. Thank you, Paris.
And thank you to the extraordinary team at Bonne Maman — a recipe to come soon.
