Day Seventeen: Mille-Feuille, Le Moulin de la Vierge

The weather in Paris these days is incredibly mercurial. In the fifties one day, the thirties the next. Rain, flurries, sunshine. The only solution when Mother Nature is this temperamental is layers...a term that in this city of incredible patisserie applies as easily to pastry as clothing.

The word mille-feuille means "a thousand leaves," doubtless referring to the many layers of pastry interspersed with crème pâtissière (custard) that compose this delicious dessert. The mille-feuille is also called a "Napoleon" -- not, it is believed, for the incomparable emperor, but as a derivation of the word "Napolitain," and the pastries originating from Naples, Italy, where layering was always in fashion (remember the ice cream?).

True confession: Napoleon is my least favorite Emperor (I prefer Constantine, with Peter the Great running a close second) and mille-feuilles are usually my least favorite dessert. I was first disappointed by the whole concept at the now-shuttered C.P. One, the restaurant that used to sit on the west side of the Plaza complex. I still remember how the whole structure crumpled when I stabbed its gummy pastry with my fork. Still, I find myself on this chilly, intermittently drizzly Sunday drawn into Le Moulin de la Vierge on Rue St. Dominique and the immediately attracted to its mille-feuille. Hubby is thrilled as Napoleons are his favorite.

Confession number two: I was so wrong! That, or Le Moulin has managed to accomplish something entirely unique in the Napoleon category. I have a feeling the former is closer to the truth. As you can see, the pastry is incredibly flaky. When I cut into it the layers hold up beautifully. The pastry is light, with a toasty, buttery flavor. The pastry cream is rich, just a bit sweet. Napoleons are often layered or served with fruit but this specimen proves that if the pastry and cream are as exquisite as they should be, no accessorization is necessary.

Most emperors, as history has shown, fall. This one stands tall, proud, delicious - and has officially conquered my heart once and for all.

Day Sixteen: Paris-Brest, Joël Robuchon

Silence in the Peanut Gallery.

I know -- hee hee, ho ho, "Paris Bre(a)st." My husband could not stop giggling like a ten-year-old at a Michelin-starred restaurant. We decided this week to finally celebrate Jeff's new job in the UK with a special dinner at Atelier Joël Robuchon, the no-reservations, bar-seating-only gastronomic destination in the Seventh. This was the one restuarant I refused to leave Paris without experiencing. And boy, was I right to stick to my guns! The service was incredible, every waiter cuter than the last, and the food inspired.

Here's the skinny -- whenever Jeff and I go to a chef's-menu type of place, Jeff, with the more discriminating palate, refuses to go with the tide and selects his own menu. I, on the other hand, can consistently be counted on to go whole-hog. And, irony of ironies, after seven courses that included chestnut soup, soft-shell crab, sauteed foie gras, eggs poached in truffle oil, caviar, sole, and foie-gras-stuffed quail, my two desserts did NOT include a pastry!

I therefore had no choice but to beg said discriminating husband to order the Paris Brest. I did feel fairly confident he would enjoy the dessert - not just because he's a brest man, but because he loves choux pastry and nutella, and because he's the guy who ran, breakneck-speed, to catch the end of the Tour de France and this pastry was inspired by (and named after) a famous bicycle race between Paris and the town of Brest.

I offered Jeff bites of my Parfum des Iles (cream of passionfruit and banana, with rum granité and coconut milk ice cream) and my "Pomme," a carmelized apple with a breton biscuit and a green apple sorbet. But he passed, waiting for his brest - which he then did kindly let me sample. Perfectly flaky choux pastry - in a ring shape said to be fashioned after a bicycle tire - filled with praline (hazelnut-flavored) creme. What made this particular Paris-brest memorable was the cube of lemon curd-gelatin in the center. Lemon and hazelnut don't necessarily make sense together on paper, but when tasted together they are as natural a pair as George and Gracie. The tartness of the lemon perfectly sets off the rich creaminess of the praline cream, each flavor intensifying the other.

This is what makes chef Joël Robuchon a genius. Not the foie gras, not the caviar, not the perfectly cooked lamb (though they were all sublime). It's lemon and crème praliné. The best of the Brest.

Day Fifteen: Victor chocolat, Hugo & Victor

About two months ago, this dusty, expensive flower and plant shop directly across the street from our apartment closed. We were not surprised; after an entire year we had not once shopped there. The window displays were consistently unappealing, the arrangements overblown and overpriced. We would miss the cute dog that barked at my daughter through the window, but otherwise this closure did not affect our lives one bit.

Or so we thought. After six weeks of complete inactivity, this corner shop suddenly brimmed and bustled with architects, designers, carpenters, electricians, painters. And during the last few days, the doors were thrown open, curtains around the window gradually coming down. The eagerly awaited sign-painter meticulously announcing in the windows the identity of our new neighbor: Hugo and Victor.

Our British New Mum Friend's husband had postulated the new shop would be fancy sandwiches and upscale deli food. Given the name and the display counters being set up I thought perhaps pricey ties. Thankfully, we were both wrong. Hugo and Victor is a new chocolate and patisserie shop. So new that its website isn't up and running; the domain name is merely parked.

What I can tell you is that they sell a number of breakfast pastries; chouquettes, pains au chocolat, etc., very fancy and delicious looking chocolates, and other patisserie organized by flavor (praline, litchi, vanille, chocolat, to name just a few) and category (these are still a bit of a mystery). Several of them looked extremely appealing, but I had to choose one - I went for the Victor (which seems to be the tarte category) in chocolat. I won't go into the boring details of my day, except to say that it a) began with me locking daughter and myself out of our apartment and b) could only be rescued with a rapid infusion of chocolate.

The extremely helpful and lovely salesclerk took my order and rang me up (a quite reasonable, I thought, 5E); I happily welcomed her to the neighborhood, took a card, and bolted across the street (let's pause to marvel - just across the street! My last several weeks in Paris will be spent with a new patisserie across the street!).

Hugo, Victor, whomever you are, bienvenue! The chocolate tarte is a subtle yet still decadent-tasting wonder. The crunchy chocolate cookie crust, the bittersweet chocolate ganache, the thin, crisp layer of dark chocolate on top - all fab. Paris is filled with numerous desserts, many with layers, different flavors, meringues, fillings, garnishes... but sometimes you just want chocolate. The Victor chocolat is tailor-made for those times. Victor Victorious. Welcome to the 'hood.

Day Fourteen: Tartelette à la banane et crème brûlée, Bread and Roses

My child-free afternoon was planned to the nanosecond: first, Doisneau exhibit (you know, the guy who took the famous shot of the couple snogging in front of the Hotel De Ville) at the Fondation Cartier-Bresson, then a quick workout, then perhaps coffee with today's pastry and my new New York Magazine. But, yeah, best-laid-plans, yada yada. I got to the HCB Fondation and the line was around the block. I thought about waiting, but about 10 seconds later the heavens opened. I quickly ran in the other direction; after a block I turned around to see if the crowd had scattered, but those wacky, now soaked, photography fans were hanging in there, god bless 'em. Zut, alors!

Started heading toward the gym but my route led me past the Montparnasse shopping center. Somehow though - or perhaps because - I had nothing I needed to buy and saw nothing I wanted to buy, I managed to waste over an hour. By the time I'd finished my workout there was only time to run to a nearby pâtisserie before nursery pickup. I remembered that before we hit Christian Constant last week my friend Mei had also pointed out Bread and Roses, an adorable little place a block from the Jardin du Luxembourg. While we had only quickly peered in the window that morning, I distinctly remembered seeing something about banana and creme brulee - the former of which is my favorite and the latter is my husband's.

Again escaping the rain I ducked into the cozy little shop, which is also a restaurant/cafe - one that clearly does a brisk business all day because there are fewer than a dozen pastries left. Thankfully, one of those is the Tartelette à la banane et crème brûlée (phew!). I place my order and while I wait to pay, I overhear several Americans delivering a business pitch behind me. I had been curious about the name - yet another in English, attributed by Wikipedia to a Massachusetts textile strike - quoi? - but am reminded Americans flock to this area, rich with upscale hotels and shops, not to mention the Gardens.

Hubby is psyched to hear the words Crème and Brûlée (I confess I quickly mumble through the rest) and after the first bite it's an out-and-out war for the remains. The three or four forkfuls I manage to grab are absolutely divine. The crust is crunchy, grahamy, delicious. The custard is rich, creamy, an incredibly authentic vanilla flavor. Given how refined French custards usually are I'm surprised - and pleasantly so - to find chunks of fresh banana. My one criticism would be that the top is not at all crunchy - as the word brûlée implies.

As it turns out, Bread and Roses is a "bio" bakery - and I am forced to once again retract my sweeping condemnation of organic pâtisserie. I think the flavors and the pastry at B/R are terrific. Despite its soggy beginning, this day got its photo finish!

Day Thirteen: Cupcake "Black and White", Synie's Cupcakes

As I walking to visit my friend Mei this morning, a pastel sign with a flirty font just across the narrow Rue Abbe Gregoire caught my eye. Could it be... cupcakes?

That's right, the cupcake craze has made its way to the highly discriminating, proudly snobbish - when it comes to pastry, among other things - sixième. Synie's Cupcakes, open since September 2009 (which information I gleaned after asking in such horrible French she initially thought I was asking what time they closed) is doing gangbuster business here - I am guessing largely from tourists and American ex-pats given the cupcake names (Mister Black, White on White, Sunny, etc) and Synie's English-language blog.

I confess, given the plethora of terrific baked goods in New York, I have always found the Cupcake Craze mystifying, little more than a convenient collision of overblown - and forgive the pun, but half-baked - publicity schemes (see New York Magazine's 2005 expo of the Buttercup/Little Cupcake showdown), and frankly, I would have thought the French would be immune to Frosting Fever. But from my research, the first cupcake business, Cupcakes and Co. opened here - in the ultrahip 11th arrondissement - in 2008, followed by several others. I give in, both to curiosity and an incredibly powerful sweet tooth - besides, I'm off to see my friend E's new baby this afternoon, and cupcakes seem like the perfect offering.

The shop is just as cute as can be - beautifully and tastefully styled with every shade of pink. Big heart-shaped cakes. Bouquets of cupcake "roses." Cupcake candles, earrings, notecards. This woman knows her merchandising!

I select six: Valentin Rose, Black and White, White on White, Mr. Black (do I see a pattern?) Vanille Vanille with a Fleur, and Citron. Slung over the handlebars of a stroller they again do not travel perfectly, with Valentin Rose leapfrogging Mr. Black, but really, is a famished and sleep-deprived new mom going to notice? (spoiler alert: the answer is no). My daughter is obsessed these days with all things New York, so I mention to her that these are cupcakes, just like those we can get in New York. I draw a snort from a patron seated behind me, so I assure the owner that hers are clearly superior to American cupcakes.

As I suspected, cupcakes are just what le médecin ordered for new mama, who dives into Vanille Vanille. I carve my daughter half her chosen citron cupcake, suspecting (correctly) that she won't finish it. I then choose the Black and White. What I like right away is that the icing isn't a three-inch pile of supersweet swirl. It's minimal, nicely flavored (vanilla) and doesn't leave a layer of sugar on my teeth. The chocolate cake underneath is rich and chocolatey, not dry as many French chocolate cakes tend to be. After DD deposits the remaining quarter of the citron cupcake into my palm I give it a try as well - it's delicious, actually - the cake is nice and moist, pleasantly lemony - and the icing again is nicely flavored and complementary rather than overpowering.

At the end of the day, even a hardened cupcake skeptic like me has to admit nothing says "Let's celebrate," "cheer up," or "Je t'aime" like a cupcake. So don't overanalyze it. The French have so much over us when it comes to cuisine. Let them eat (cup) cake.

Day 12: Cheesecake Ispahan, Pierre Hermé

Truth be told, I had never heard of Pierre Hermé until Catherine, Katherine and I went to see the talk on pâtisserie (see my first posting) at the American Library and Dorrie Greenspan waxed poetic about his Ispahan. According to Dorrie's blog, the Ispahan - an exotic combo of rose, raspberry and litchi - is an Hermes invention. For my money, the mayor of Paris should replace the statue of Benjamin Franklin - "Inventor" - in the 16eme with one of Pierre Hermé. I mean, bifocals are nifty, but compared with a rose-raspberry-litchi ménage à trois? S'il vous plait.

Dorrie writes that every few weeks Hermé works his selection around a particular "fetish." His current fetish is clearly the Ispahan flavor trio itself. There's a basic Ispahan (a large rose macaron sandwiching litchi, raspberries and raspberry cream), an Ispahan Tart, an "ultimate Ispahan" in a glass, and my choice -- adopted New Yorker that I am -- the Ispahan cheesecake.

I trot home, place the bag on the kitchen table, rush over to my daughter's school to pick her up, rush back to photograph, and... the whole thing has melted into a soggy mess. I don't want to denigrate Mr. Hermé or his staff on my first trip, but they might have warned me the cheesecake should go RIGHT into the refrigerator. Forgive today's photograph... I was afraid that if I "undressed" the cake it would just run all over the plate.

One bite and all is forgiven. The layers (rasberry topping, vanilla "cheesecake", rose-litchi gelee, a rose-raspberry creme, and unusual-for-Paris graham cracker crust), topped with a triangle of white chocolate and a rose petal, comprise what Barbra Streisand calls in The Mirror Has Two Faces the "perfect bite." The combo is a bit too "flowery" for Jeff, who instead happily munches the fallback macarons I got him (he pronounces them "nice and thick... like little burgers"). So lucky me, I get the whole cheesecake to myself. Actually, I must stop typing now and completely focus on my "fetish." Oh Pierre, I do care!

Day Eleven: Tartelette Caramel, Le Pain Quotidien

After a leisurely meal of raclette, Jeff and I are settling comfortably into our ex-pat bubble, preparing to watch our DVR-ed Meet the Press and This Week, and tuck into today's pastry.

Why, what's raclette, you ask? I'm happy to tell you, as it's one of the most fantastic winter meals a dairy-lover can ask for. Actually invented by the Swiss (sacre bleu!), what most Parisians refer to casually as "raclette" is actually an assortment of charcuterie (meats) and vegetables with a thin layer of melted raclette cheese dripped over it. Raclette restaurants, similar to fondue restuarants (and often one and the same) are popular here, but all the key ingredients are readily available at the neighborhood supermarket. All you need to make this delectable meal at home (and yes, I mean Port Huron, Chicago, Washington, Seattle, and Bath as well as Paris) is a raclette maker. Tefal makes an inexpensive model you can purchase in the U.S. for this fun cold-weather treat. Each person gets his or her own tray (or trays) on which they can arrange a selection of meats and veggies topped by a piece of raclette cheese and then slide under a heat element to melt and meld. I like to serve a salad alongside (mostly to assauge the guilt that follows eating so much melted cheese) as well as champagne or a crisp white wine to balance the richness of the cheese.

Now that we've discussed raclette, we'll move along to our pastry of the day. But before we get to that, I must reveal the most dreaded, the most reviled, the most feared word to any Parisian gastronome. That word is....

Sunday.

That's right, Sunday. Why dimanche? For starters, scarcely anything is open: no grocery stores, few wine stores, few restaurants in which any self-respecting Parisien would want to dine (MAJOR EXCEPTION: Cafe Parisien, in which we had an amazing "American Brunch" today - with a line of about 20 Parisiens going out the door). The single bright spot in this bleak 24 hours is the Raspail Marche Biologique (organic farmer's market) just a block from our doorstep. There we can procure fresh potato pancakes, "English muffins" made by an American-sur-Loire and his wife, gorgeous produce, fair trade coffee, amazing meats and fish.

For the large part, patisserie are also closed. There are a few, like Laduree, that are open, but the majority of your neighborhood places are shuttered for the day. Another exception convenient to our end of the Septieme? Le Pain Quotidien. Je sais, you've been to Le Pain Quotidien in Manhattan, Belgium, St. Louis, etc. Parisians probably consider it "chain food." Still, it's a decent bakery and great brunch place also - which also usually has a line throughout Sunday. The highlight at LPQ, as those of us in the know call it, is their line of amazing butters: praline, hazelnut, "blondie"... but I digress. I'm there for two things: a baguette to go with my raclette, and today's pastry. I briefly survey the options and decide on a tartelette caramel (still craving that beurre-sale combo since last night's Riz au Lait).

The word tartlette of course never fails to remind me of the "Friends" episode in which Monica is visited by restauranteur Jon Lovitz. Not knowing he has smoked marijuana before her audition dinner, she prepares a seven-course meal beginning with an amuse bouche, an onion tartelette - and finding the word tartelette hysterical, as any stoned person would, he keeps repeating it over and over.... before diving into a box of Golden Grahams.

I wouldn't let Jon Lovitz near this tartelette - it's light and delicate, perfectly balanced layers of crunchy, buttery pâte brisée, vanilla custard, and salty caramel. Accompanied by a kir (white wine and creme de cassis), it's the perfect end to a lazy, Sunday night dinner.

Bon dimanche, tout le monde!

Day Ten: Riz au Lait, Chez L'Ami Jean

Wow - getting this just under the wire, and also a bit of a cheat because today's entry isn't a pastry, it's a Riz au Lait, or Rice Pudding. Went to dinner with friends Catherine and Jo at Chez L'Ami Jean, a fantastic Basque restaurant a stone's throw from the Eiffel Tower on Rue Malar. Feeling brave, we agreed to the "tasting menu" of two entrees (what we would call an appetizer in the States) a main dish, and three desserts.

The meal kept making me think back to what Chef Aoki said in yesterday's entry about simple, delicious food, and how difficult it can be, but when you really hit the mark, how wonderful. Everything we ate - from soupe des poissons to a grilled seabass, tangy vegetable purees, succulent free-range chicken - was simply prepared but flavored beautifully.

The holy grail of the evening was the promised "three desserts." We were sure we had heard wrong when the waiter described the tasting menu, but sure enough we were served - without much ado - a foamy mint concoction with a pool of hot fudge - for lack of a better description - at the bottom, a pear custard, and the piece de resistance: Riz au Lait, or rice pudding. Had I not scarfed down the first two desserts before remembering to photograph (oops!) you would have seen those as well, both lovely.

So no, Riz au Lait is not a patisserie per se, but chef Stéphane Jego (ably assisted for part of the evening by his two year-old daughter, sitting on the counter beside him!) brought what I had previously thought of as diner fare to the level of haute French cuisine. A huge, communal bowl (as shown in the photo!) of creamy rice deliciousness, with several accompaniments: a chopped nut-toffee mixture and a melted beurre-salé or salty butterscotch cream. The story behind the dish - the recipe is the chef's grandmother's - again plays on the idea of simple and delicious flavors. You bite through the crunchy, toffee-nut topping, let the salty butterscotch linger in your mouth, and finish with the rich pudding. Incroyable!

I would love to recommend L'Ami Jean as an off-the-beaten-path, really authentic Parisian place. Especially if you don't love really precious, very traditional French food - Basque presentations tend to be more rustic and the flavors more intense. Just be sure to book - it took me 6 months of trying with various guests to actually get a Saturday night reservation. Worth the wait, absolument.

Day Nine: La Forêt noire, Sadaharu AOKI

Gaston Lenotre. Jacques Torres. Pierre Hermes. Sadaharu Aoki. Wait -- who?

I know - Tokyo probably isn't the first place you think of when it comes to pâtisserie talent, but my guess is Sadaharu Aoki has caused the culinary world to give the Land of the Rising Sun a second look.

On his website Aoki writes, "I like to create simple things, but it is the most difficult thing to do, since simple things cannot be manipulated." A perhaps obvious but important truth, illuminating what must be the biggest challenge to any chef who lands in France - with its famed regional produce and its inhabitants who love simple, delicious food.

Aoki's flagship store in the Sixieme, just a block from the Luxembourg gardens, is a tiny, minimalist place. The store is buzzing when I arrive - with both Parisians and Aoki's fellow countrymen, whose combined purchasing power and enthusiasm for amazing pastry clearly make the shop a success.

The pastries are exactly what you might expect of a Japanese chef interpreting French classics - modern, clean lines and curves, vibrant colors, blends of French (chantilly) and Asian (green tea) flavors. I'm drawn to the wavy ribbon of chocolate curving across the Forêt noire. Of course, Black Forest Cake, or Schwarzwälder-Kirsch-Torte originates in Germany. In the United States the delicacy is usually made without liquor and frosted with white buttercream frosting.

Thankfully, teetotalers have not prevailed in Paris or at Aoki - but chocolate has; nestled between the delicate layers of chocolate cake and chocolate creme are kirsch-soaked cherries that burst in the mouth. The chocolate flavors in both the cake and creme are subtle so as not to overpower the cherries - clearly pre-eminent in the dish. The chocolate ribbon is also tame and that would be my one criticism - the eater will obviously consume the treat separately from the cake, so why not flavor it with cherry or make it extra-rich and dark?

Aside from this tiny issue, my general impression of Aoki is somewhere between awe and mmm. Germans, Americans, and French bakers could all learn a thing or two from this guy, as this Forêt Noire is, in a word, oishii.

Day Eight: La Praline, Christian Constant

Definitely feeling the effects of eight days of intense pastry consumption, I set out this morning for a power walk with my friend Mei. Now, let me preface this posting by saying the SOLE reason I am able to even contemplate eating 28 of anything is Mei. When I put out a desperate call last spring for a walking buddy she answered, and we've been pushing our poussettes (strollers) around the Luxembourg Garden (or the Champs de Mars), comparing recipes, gossiping (who, us?) and trying to support each other through this Great Parisian Adventure. At times our walks/therapy sessions have been the glue holding seemingly endless weeks together.

Indeed, I credit Mei with one of my best pastry finds, as last summer we discovered what I still believe to be the best Pain au Chocolat in Paris, at a tiny boulangerie on Rue Vavin. And today, glutes burning as I shove my stroller through six inches of post-rain sludge, I am motivated only by her promise to introduce me to another "gem of the sixieme": Christian Constant's tiny bakery on Rue d'Assas. If you have already read this posting, please not this CORRECTION that Chocolatier Christian Constant is not this Christian Constant of, well, just about every terrific restaurant in Paris. Name confusion aside, this is a lovely addition to my repertoire.

But back to pastry - as Mei, our daughters and I arrive at the window of Constant's café and chocolate shop and press our noses to the glass, the clerks are just beginning to put out the day's delights. We decide on what looks like a snickerdoodle-cream sandwich when in the trays begin to appear glistening tartes aux pommes, towering milles-feuilles, cheeky chocolat-marrons... I scamper inside to demand a full description of each patisserial triumph from the exceedingly patient shopkeeper. After about ten minutes of intense scrutiny, I emerge with... the Snickerdoodle-wich, which is actually called a "Praliné."

We both try to appear casual strolling to Mei's apartment, but once inside it's a flurry of jacket-shedding, tea-making, child-busying, so that we can sink into the chairs in her cheery salon and contemplate this upscale, poufy little sandwich cookie. I cut it in half, and we simultaneously have visions of George Costanza eating a Milky Way with a knife and fork and decide it's best eaten, quite delicately, with our fingers. WOW. One really can't call this a cookie. Please don't excommunicate me, Mister Christian. And if my mislabeling weren't sinful enough, get a load of the creme filling - sweet, balanced between intense vanille and nutty (almonds? hazelnuts?). The pastry (see, I've stopped calling it a cookie) does taste like snickerdoodle, but chewier, and somehow when I bite down the cream doesn't squirt out all over the place - the disparate layers hold together quite well.

When I initially chose this pastry for today's post I was a bit disappointed by its size. That too is clearly by Constant's design -- any larger and it would render the customer slightly nauseous. Hopefully Mei will motivate me around the track enough times to earn one of those big shiny tarte tatins...

Day Seven: St. Honore, La Patisserie des Reves

For today's posting I trot just a few blocks away from our apartment to La Pâtisserie des Rêves , the celebrated nouveau bakery run by Phillippe Conticini. The pâtisserie is in itself a work of art - pastries, cakes, tarts all suspended in glass domes. I've attempted to visit Conticini's shop several times since it opened last year but every time was met with a line running out the door. Today - thanks to the dreary, drizzly weather perhaps - I am second in line. I circle the day's offerings several times before choosing the St. Honore - mostly due to its quirky shape and creme on top. The clerk calls back to some hidden pastry magic chamber and about 180 seconds later a man emerges with a lovely rose-colored box, which he then wraps with ribbon. The price is less than I would have thought - 6.20E.

And now, while Jeff and I watch Lost (which I won't even pretend I am really able to follow this season) I remove the lovingly-boxed pastry from its innovative packaging - including plastic, twirled pitchforks holding the pastry upright (remember my complaint about the collided pastries from TheVenin? Bingo!). It's definitely the most unusually beautiful of the pastries I have sampled thus far - reconstructed from a traditional round St. Honore to a double-rectangle topped with three globes of choux pastry.

I plunge my fork into the Chantilly-cream topped side and I need to buy a vowel because O, MG. Yes, I am prone to hyperbole when it comes to most of my Parisian dining experiences but to me, this is French pâtisserie at its best. It's eclair-like, but with that firmer choux pastry outside, filled with vanilla cream. The left side is also filled with cream, and tastes slightly sweeter but maybe that's just the effect of the carmelized-sugar topped, cream-filled "donut holes" on top.

Sadly, I only get three or four bites because Jeff commandiers the rest. He knows I don't want gain too much weight during this project. What a thoughtful man.

Who is St. Honore? He or she was beatified for all the right reasons, let me tell you. I'm predicting now that you will see at least one or two more entries from Pâtisserie des Reves - Conticini has already broadened my experience of pâtisserie. In other words, I see what all the fuss is about!

Day Six: Tarte au Chocolat et Marron, Le Boulanger des Invalides

Today, I'm craving chocolat - for many reasons, including the weather, the day of the week, and the cranky toddler I'm pushing along the narrow streets between the 15eme and the 7eme - and lucky me, our walk home takes us right by Le Boulanger des Invalides.

My first meal as a Parisian-to-be was actually here at Le Boulanger - Jeff and I stopped here with our realtor during our whirlwind one-day apartment search 16 months ago - and I was delighted to re-discover this gem with my friend Catherine as we wheeled our filles through the rain one day in search of sustenance. It's perched right on one of the grand boulevards stretching out from Les Invalides, the military-memorial complex that includes the Army Museum, Napoleon's tomb, and a grand hospital and chapel completed in 1708 for France's veterans. The chapel's dazzling golden dome (one of Josie's favorite sights in Paris) is a lovely view, particularly when enjoying a delicious baguette sandwich and coffee - or, yes, a pastry - at Le Boulanger des Invalides. It's really just a lovely and friendly place that I suggest to anyone visiting or strolling through the 7th.

Unfortunately, due to the presence of aforementioned cranky toddler, today is not a day to sit and sip and stare (it's bloody freezing out today anyway), so we huddle in the warm queue and drool at the offerings d'emporter. Torn between a coffee eclair and a blueberry tarte, I toss both aside when I spot what appears to be a large glob of melted chocolate. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" I inquire breathlessly of the clerk. "Tarte au chocolat-marron," she replies. The mention of chestnuts give me slight pause, still the promise of chocolate reels me in.

OK, so it is not quite what I thought. As I bite in (too hard to cut with a fork), it actually has a cake-y bottom, with the chocolate perched on top like a kind of icing. It's like a very upscale chocolate-frosted donut (Dunkin, not Krispy). The cake is really delightful, an extra-firm pound cake kind of flavor, and the thick, fudgy chocolate (tres noir, of course) balances nicely with the cake. Aha, and there's the marron - it's a big dollop of chestnut cream that was clearly piped on first and then the chocolate dripped over top. Now I see what all the fuss over chestnut cream is about. It's lovely - particularly nestled between dark chocolate and pound cake.

I love visiting Le Boulanger because it's like running into an old friend - and gives me such warm, already bittersweet-nostalgic memories of that first trip, that first stepping stone in building our life here in Paris. With friends like these, you can understand why we're so heartbroken to leave! Not only would I recommend visiting Le Boulanger, I'd recommend ordering a Chocolat-Marron with your Café crème. Un bon nouveau ami.

Day Five: Chausson aux Pommes, Le fournil de Pierre

Quels Horreurs! Our international alarm clock malfunctioned this morning, setting an hour back at some point during the night and thus waking us up at 8:20, rather than 7:20! Yours truly, Wonder Woman, still managed to pack all three Davidson-Rothmans out of the house (with both breakfast AND lunch for Josie) by 8:40 and deliver our little musical prodigy to school by 9:03.

That put me, however, in the 15eme unshowered, unfed and un-caffeinated at 9:04. There was rien to do but head to the organic boulangerie on Rue de Commerce. Thus today's pastry is actually my breakfast, a very healthy Chausson aux Pommes. (poor photo quality due to the fact that this is taken with my iPhone under fluorescent lighting!)

Let me preface this review with my general take on organic bakeries. I don't know what the standards are for making baked goods "bio" in France but they generally take whatever the original product was and stomp it into the (windpower-irrigated, composted, biodynamic) ground. It took us several trips to our Sunday bio market's bakery stand to learn our lesson. Generally the baguettes are as hard as rocks, the croissants taste like particleboard and the quiches are limp and, well, tres triste.

Both of the boulangeries within spitting distance of Josie's maternelle are bio, so I chose the one by which I had not been already disappointed, Le fournil de Pierre. And to assuage my guilt at having pastry for breakfast I went for a fruit option: in this case the Chausson aux Pommes (apple slipper). I have tried these at various breakfast outings and they have always reminded me of Hostess Apple Pies (in a good, comforting Dad-got-us-sugary-treats-after-swim-class way). This morning I am particularly famished, so probably not the most sublte palate in the quartier, but I have to say I am pleasantly surprised by the pastry's buttery, flaky outside as well as its quite tender, fresh appley insides. Paired with a "creme" (cafe au lait), it nearly makes up for the morning's hectic start. Nearly.

I may have to retract my general dismissal of organic boulangeries/patisseries. Call me "Cendrillon": Le fournil de Pierre's slipper fits quite nicely.

Day Four: Les Macarons Chocolat et Fraise au Coeur, Dalloyau

Happy Valentine's Day! As the day actually arrived, Jeff surprised me with heart-shaped macarons from our favorite pâtisserie, Dalloyau. Dalloyau was one of our first "regular" places in Paris - the first opened in 1802, but thankfully 208 years later a branch of this fabulous coven of confectionary magicians stands on the Rue de Grenelle, just two blocks from Chez Rothman.

To both friends currently living in Paris and those planning to visit, I highly recommend a visit to a Dalloyau tearoom, such as the one near the Palais du Luxembourg, where you can actually sit and have a tea and pastry. The house tea is incredible, flowery, spicy - and I'm not even a tea person - and the menu not only describes each concoction in tantalizing detail, it gives the date that pastry was first served at Dalloyau. Many reach back into the early 20th century and others the 19th -- revealing the evolution of Parisian tastes and fancies.

We've already discusssed macarons a bit and I'll take this opportunity to reveal my personal favorite macaron in Paris: none other than the delicious rounds turned out by Maison Dalloyau. No, the flavors aren't as exotic as those one might find at Pierre Hermes or Laduree, but the consistency, the balance of crisp and chewy in the classic flavors we care about (chocolate, coffee, caramel beurre salé, vanille) are really tops in my -- no, our -- book. And today's romantic issues are no exception: the strawberry center explodes gently in the mouth, while the chocolate's gooey insides melt like brownie batter, or one of those Jean-Georges chocolate lava cakes. Mmm-mmm-mmm. Makes me want to go over and smooch my husband. I'm guessing that was the idea.

Bonne Fête de St. Valentin!

Day Three: Tarte au Chocolat, Thevenin

On Day Two of what seems to be a three-day Valentine's celebration (why not?), we've finished lasagna, a 2002 Vintage bottle of Veuve Clicquot (a nice combo, I must say) and are tucking into today's entry, a Tarte au Chocolat from Thevenin. Thevenin is a bakery on Notre-Dame-des-Champs in the 6th, a cute boulangerie/patisserie that I always happen to pass on the way home from the gym. Today I stopped to grab baguettes for the abovementioned dinner, and was completely charmed by the heart-shaped raspberry meringues in the window. However, given our framboise extravaganza of last night, I went instead for a classic: Tarte au Chocolat.

The Tarte is nicely presented (though said presentation now includes a big chunk of Jeff's caramel "bombe," as you can see by looking closely at the tarte's rear end, so I think we should probably at some point discuss the finer points of packing pastries for l'emporter), with half a chocolate macaron on top. The pastry itself is quite nice - the chocolate is dark, mostly bitter and just a hint of sweet. And a really nice consistency - creamy, not too sugary. Delish. And the crust, especially compared to the Tarte Citron from Thursday, is sturdy, a bit crunchy. The macaron is an afterthought and not a particularly germane one. Its chocolate flavor is a bit stale - I brush it to the side and don't even finish it.

However, the rest of the tarte is terrific. A really nice chocolatey flavor and the perfect finish to a spicy dinner -- and really lovely with good champagne. But really, what isn't?

Off to spend the rest of the evening with Nicolas Cage, Sarah Jessica Parker, and James Caan. That's right, Honeymoon in Vegas. A Valentine's classic. Bonne nuit, tout le monde!

Day Two: Le Paris-Toulouse, Josephine "Chez Dumonnet"

Valentine's Day came a little early for the Davidson-Rothman household! Every year we take turns being in charge of making plans. Typically, a romantic Jeff-hosted household involves dinner at home, with him shopping for and cooking at least part of the meal. And equally typically I will flee the kitchen and make reservations at the nicest restaurant in town.

This year it was Jeff's turn, and - having been told Valentine's Day is not widely celebrated by French couples - he waited until late last week to make reservations. So as it turned out we had to celebrate tonight, but no one's complaining. Josephine "Chez Dumonnet" is, as Zagat opines, one of the last great old bistros in the 6eme. Snuggled into a sleepy block on Rue-Cherche Midi, almost to Boulevard Montparnasse, JDC sports lovely tin ceilings, white tablecloths and black-vested waiters. I won't go into too much detail on the menu or the food, but suffice to say I ordered (and consumed too much of) an entire petit sauvage (small, wild) duck, and we were parked there for three and a half hours, reminiscing about our quite romantic year in Paris.

But enough - on to dessert - which was the house special, the "Paris-Toulouse," which was described to us as a pastry with framboises (raspberries) and as you'll see, looked like a huge bagel with cream cheese and, ok, raspberries, and made us laugh out loud. Thankfully we were warned about the restaurant's generous portions and had already agreed to share dessert - and when we sliced into the "bagel" we were not sorry. The pastry was soft, buttery, delicious. A perfect balance to wonderfully fresh and tart raspberries, as well as the cream. Ah, the cream. Where do I start with French cream? If it's any good it comes from a region called Chantilly - and this cream certainly did - rich, slightly sweet, an ideal complement to the fruit and pastry.

Alongside, as you'll see, we were served what I'm guessing was a homemade sorbet but really tasted more like an Italian ice, for lack of a better term - intensely fruity, tart, and refreshing after not only a rich dessert but an absolutely decadent meal. If you visit Paris and stay on the Left Bank we would both highly recommend Josephine "Chez Dumonnet." Just order a nice bottle of wine and get comfy. You're there for the evening - and that's a good thing.

Day One: Meringuée au Citron, Gosselin

Today the Pastry-a-Day project kicks off with a Parisian favorite, the Tarte Citron, from Gosselin, which is not a strip club owned by Jon Gosselin but a delicious bakery on Boulevard St. Germain just a stone's throw from the Seine. To be honest I've only had Gosselin's baguettes (so crusty-delicious that I ate half of one just walking home from my French lesson one après-midi) and their Galettes du Rois ("King's Cake," an almond frangipane concoction made to celebrate the Epiphany and prevalent in patisserie windows throughout the month of January).

But I've always admired the patisserie on display at Gosselin so for my first blog posting I chose the shiniest, most luscious-looking item on offer: the Meringuée au Citron (Lemon Meringue Tart). I love all things lemon (shout out to my Lemon sisters!): lemonade, lemon chicken, lemonheads, lemon bars, Liz Lemon...this little meringue practically shouts "take me home!" And look how cute it is, how proudly it holds its swirly, toasted-meringue topper and how brightly the lemon curd beams from the sturdy crust. Now for the first taste: the lemon is a nice balance between acid and sweet - it's hard to get a lemon flavor that is both au naturel and satisfyingly tart. One runs a high risk of producing a curd that tastes like Lemon Pledge (we've probably all had a lemon bar or two that bore this miscalculation). The aftertaste is a bit too cloying - not sure if that's sugar or the butter surely present in this curd because of its creamy color.

The crust is fairly bland - though it would need a strong "pop" of ginger or nutmeg to stand up to the lemon flavor - and really seems just to serve as a holder for the curd. The meringue is similarly inert - fluffy and airy, but doesn't provide much of a balance to the curd either. Hmm! I give this pastry a 6. It had me at "citron," but didn't bring it home.

Why a mini-blog sure to maxi the waistline?

As our time in Paris winds to a close, I've tried to think of a way to reeeaaally go out in style. Of course I'm hitting every museum I've wanted to visit, attending every lecture that looks interesting, signing up for as many outings with friends that I can. But how really to commemorate what have been 17 of the most amazing and formative months of my life? Why, bien sûr, by daily consuming a random sampling of the mouth-watering pâtisserie readily available across these 20 arrondissements in our City of Lights.

This idea was inspired by several things. One obviously is the book/film Julie and Julia. Saying you'll do something every day and blog about it requires that you a) actually complete the requisite task chaque jour and b) write about it. And in the meantime, why not pick a task you actually enjoy, like cooking... or in my case, shopping and eating!

The other is a fascinating lecture I attended at the American Library here in Paris with my friends Catherine (Brit) and Katherine (rouge-blooded Southern gal) led by food writers Dorrie Greenspan, David Leibovitz and Alex Lobrano. These funny and fabulous folk really illuminated my Pillsbury pea-brain as to the vast and delicious world that is Parisian pâtisserie. Yes, macarons and religieuses are fabulous, but they are just the beginning of the vast offering of gastronomic delights rolling out of ovens and lining shop windows, bursting with caramel, pistache, noisette, dressed to the nines in ribboned lavender boxes and gold foil wrappers.

The third is my love of this beautiful city that took us in, nurtured our souls and stomachs, and broadened our knowledge of art, music, architecture, wine, shopping, and - yes - sweets. And honestly the last is probably that which I have sampled the least!

So here we go: 28 days, 28 pastries. No, we're not leaving in 28 days but I fear our last week will be too frenetic with packing and practicing our Britishisms for gorging and blogging. Yes, I'm aware this could result in the systemic non-fitting of all my new Parisian togs. I'm guessing quite a few of these daily indulgences will in fact be dejeuner!

See you tomorrow with my first delicious installment!