I feel like it all started to go downhill one edaciously trashy soirée in April last year, during which Dolly Tatin and I polished off two bottles of Ruinart, a few glasses of rosé…and 12 éclairs. Yes you heard it, 12 éclairs. I had brought home a box of the freshly piped, chocolate covered, custard filled choux from school on Friday afternoon, and by Saturday morning there were all but a few crumbs left.

So appalled was I with our gluttony that I swore off éclairs for the rest of my existence – and for one year I was the poster girl for abstinence (sort of). Unfortunately, like Oscar Wilde, I have discovered that I too can resist everything but temptation.  And when punny pâtissier extraordinaire Christophe Adam went and opened L’Éclair de Génie (which means ‘stroke of genius’) down the street, temptation won out.

Yet these are not so much éclairs as they are works of art.  Ridiculously delicious works of art.  In fact, next time you’re in Paris, don’t fight the crowds to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, pop on down to L’Éclair de Génie and and tuck into Michelangelo’s ‘The Creation of Adam’ instead.  Believe me, it’s far more satisfying.

The flavours of the éclairs change seasonally – although some stalwarts, like the marscapone and salted caramel butter, thankfully stick around throughout the year.  From the beautiful magenta coloured Rouge Baiser, to the bounty-reminiscent Coco Chocolat, and the chocoholics Feuille D’Automne to the zesty Citron Yuzu – there is an éclair to suit every palate.

L’Éclair de Génie – a little stroke of genius, and a lifetime of temptation.

xoxo

Paris Stilton

If you are going to indulge in the cliché (and you should), make sure you do it right.

And there truly is nothing more right than the perfectly nutty, crisp cornered salted caramel butter crêpe from Breizh Café.

I’m going to put it out there, this is the best crêpe in Paris, and I have spent my fair share of time inside the wood panelled walls of Breizh Café over the last 18 months to know.  Introduced by francophile and fellow foodie Edith Pilaf when I first moved over, I have taken every guest from Dolly Tartin to Burrata Obama and Linguine Lohan to this little Marais haunt, and tried almost every crêpe on the menu.

I even attempted a ‘diet salad crêpe’ there once during a particularly chubby few months last year that I affectionately refer to as ‘La Belly Epoque.’

Breizh means ‘Brittany or Bretagne’ in the Celtic language of Brittany, from where the owner Bertrand Larcher hails – and, from the unfathomably good Jean-Yves Bordier butter (it is the type of butter you eat with a side of bread) and the incredibly brut, artisanal selection of cider served in rustic clay pots, to the fresh, seasonal Cancale oysters, this crêperie pays homage to all things Breizh. Beautifully presented organic galettes (savoury crêpes made with buckwheat flour) filled with a host of quality ingredients, from the traditional – unpasteurized gruyère, farmers eggs, jambon cru, artichoke hearts – to the more adventurous – seared duck breast, tripe sausage, shitake mushrooms, salted cod, smoked herring and herring roe.

The influence of Lacher’s Japanese wife is also clear from the modern Japanese prints adorning the walls to the galettes with algae butter and wasabi salad dressing.

The Provencale – cider confit onions, tomato, ham, anchovies, cheese and a perfectly cooked sunny side up egg – is a definite crowd pleaser.  But nothing can beat the orgasmic home-made salted caramel butter crêpe topped with a dollop of vanilla ice-cream. Truly, it is mouthwateringly divine.

The slogan of Breizh Café, ‘La crêpe autrement‘ rings true – it is indeed the crêpe done differently.  And by different, I mean better.

A dozen freshly shucked Cancale oysters, a glass of artisanal cider and a salted caramel butter crêpe for an afternoon snack- what can I say, here in Paris life’s a Breizh.

xoxo

Paris Stilton

And then there was the bikram yoga phase.  On the way home from my first intensely sweaty bikram yoga class with 30 budgie-smuggler wearing men in the Marais one Saturday morning,  I stumbled across Victor Silveira selling his indescribably mouthwatering warm little pastéis de nata (Portugese custard tarts).  Needless to say, the pastéis de nata phase has lasted…sadly the bikram phase did not. My short shorts sit in my wardrobe gathering dust along with my swimming cap and broken ipod, but Victor and I have become the best of friends.

Victor’s intimate little corner store Comme à Lisbonne (‘Like in Lisbon’) is the perfect place to rest tired feet after a hard day shopping in gay Marais – a little marble counter, a phenomenal custard tart, a suave Portugese man in a grandpa hat and a damn good espresso to boot.

The tart was phenomenal, ethereal, ambrosial et al – warm unctuous custard, decadently viscous and caramelised to perfection, in a light buttery flakey shell that left crumbs all over my lap – there was certainly nothing vanilla about this tart.  And then there’s the optional cinnamon that Victor sprinkles on top with a knowing smile – make sure you get it, it adds that extra je ne sais quoi t0 this already luscious little treat.  I went to Lisbon a few years ago, I had a sangria (or four) on the way up to Castelo de Sao Jorge, I scoured the Avenida da Liberdade for the perfect peri-peri chicken (I found it at Nandos) and I sampled my fair share of pastéis de nata (and we all know that I would have sampled enough to make an informed comparison) and I’m going to put it out there, these are the best I’ve had. Anywhere. Ever.

Victor has also stocked up on other Portugese delicacies including the organic Salmarim salt from Castro Marim, teas from Gorreana – the only existing tea plantation in Europe, a selection of honey, jam and olive oil, and, most importantly, parcels upon parcels of Tricana conserved fish straight out of the Conserveira de Lisboa.  When in Lisbon I made the pilgrimage to the famous Conserveira de Lisboa, a veritable Lisbon institution since 1933, where a nonna still sits all day long wrapping each colourful tin of high quality conserved fish by hand.

The ever-smiling Victor is proud to bring a slice of Portugal to Paris, and so he should be, its not Comme à Lisbonne – it’s much, much better.

xoxo

Paris Stilton

Here are a few of my favourite sweet treats that you should never feel guilty about.

Pierre Hermé 

Hermé is to macarons what Hermès is to silk scarves. The man.

Years ago on a trip to Paris, it was pouring with rain and I ducked into a little boutique in St Germain to ask for directions to the famous macaron store Ladurée.  The female shop-owner leaned over and said to me “Mais non, Mademoiselle if you really want to be like the French you must go to Pierre Hermé.” And there they were, hordes of Frenchmen standing in a line in the rain, getting soaked for a bite of an exquisite Infiniment Chocolat, a morsel of a mouthwatering Médélice or, like me, to devour a divine Désiré.

Mogador, a macaron with a tangy passionfruit shell and molten chocolate middle was my absolute favourite…until I came across the supersize me Ispahan; a large rose and raspberry flavoured macaron with fresh raspberries encircling a luscious lychee centre. Despite its size, this is not one to share.

Jacques Genin

During a weekend of degustations and debauchery, after a 3 course meal at Bistrot Paul Bert, and a little charcuterie and wine at Le Verre Volé , my friend Foodie Dostoyevsky thought we needed to sample something sweet. So we headed off to Jacques Genin for the famous mille-feuille à emporter (unsurprisingly we came out with a mille-feuille, a Paris Brest, a chocolate éclair, some profiteroles, a tarte aux pommes and some little salted caramel butters for the road).

The atmosphere is a tad sterile; the light, clean, cave-like interior looks like it should be showcasing works of art or designer jewellery. But you quickly feel at home when you notice most of the happy clientele have pastry crumbs, icing sugar or chantilly cream all over their face.

If you order the mille-feuille (you must), the cream is piped into the crispy layers of pastry before your eyes.  It is buttery and delicate and scrumptious and incredibly hard to eat gracefully, while the Paris Brest, a praline cream centred choux pastry, tastes like an enormous middle of a Ferrero Rocher.

At €110 a kilo, you would hope the little caramels au beurre salé (salted caramel butters) were out-of-this-world amazing…and they are.

Lets not beat around the bouche here, if you eat these delectable delights in vast quantities, you too may start to look more Boticelli than Giacometti.

But you will enjoy every bite along the way.

xoxo

Paris Stilton