When in Paris, we wanted to do as the Parisians do.
Or rather, given our limited French, what some expats in Paris do.
And so we found ourselves wandering the streets of St. Germain in search of La Derniere Goutte, a little wine shop my friend Barbra, a former and soon-to-be-again Parisian, had recommended.
It turns out, my mother was right — church is good for you.
On day 1.5 in Paris, we feel drawn to Sacre Coeur in Montmartre. It’s Sunday and the childhood Catholics in us just won’t be silenced. I’m not saying we went to mass — but we did have a holy experience of another sort.
While leaving the church, there it was — tent after tent filled with duck rillettes, honeys, chestnut jams and sweet, sweet strawberries from the Perigord region.
We gawped at the decadent spread and then one another. This street fair — clearly, it had to be a sign. And so we stopped to smell the strawberries.
I’ve been thinking about Paris.
About bumping knees with Mike at the petite tables of the always-packed Bistrot Paul Bert. And wandering the streets in search of good bread. Or shoes. Or both.
So when it was announced that Recipe #4 of the Bread Baker’s Apprentice challenge was brioche, I took it as a sign.
Sure, it seemed silly to be attempting to make brioche for the first time when in a matter of days, I’d be in the land of great brioche. But I wanted to understand it. Just last week, I’d made bagels for the first time, a Herculean task that helped me develop a mammoth respect for a bread I’d often overlooked at breakfast.
So, with one pound of butter and a carton of eggs in hand, I steeled my arteries and was ready to go.