Though I’ve been shopping at La Graineterie du Marché for well over two years now, I’m still not quite sure how to describe it. Perhaps the best thing I can do is to provide a partial list of things I’ve bought there in recent months: brown-paper sacks of basmati rice, polenta and mojettes (a dried white bean similar to cannellini); green tea with dried fruits and flowers, perfect for drinking iced; gloriously aromatic ras el hanout, dotted with dried rose petals; pine nuts, walnuts and almonds; candied orange peel.
Before learning his name, I used to refer to the proprietor, José Madani, as the hippy bird guy. It wasn’t meant to be unkind: José sports longish, graying hair, has a tweeting bird by the front door of the shop and sells many health food staples: grains and pulses from bulk bins and a wide variety of nuts and seeds. There’s even a sign requesting customers to use their own bags. But a few things make the store very different.
Firstly, despite a more-than-superficial resemblance to the health food stores that began to open in the 1960s and 1970s, Jose’s shop is part of an older tradition: the graineterie and epicerie. Akin to the general or dry goods store, it aimed to provide the full complement of dried and preserved foods, along with some household products. The graineterie at the Marché d’Aligre has been in continuous operation since 1895, making it the oldest of its kind in Paris. And while the current shop is not fully comprehensive in its stock, bird feed, seeds, gardening equipment and enameled picnic ware are all available in the back room, and at least a dozen varieties of herb plants for sale on the pavement.
A second distinction comes from an unusual attention to provenance and quality: the nut oils come from an old, family-owned business, the pain d’epices (gingerbread) from Dijon’s most renowned supplier, the jams from an excellent, small-batch producer, also from Burgundy. Each bin is labeled with its place of origin and cooking direction, from the humble (couscous) to the expensive (tarbais beans) and the exotic (sticky black rice). The nuts and seeds are always fresh, a sure sign of high turnover and quality control.
Finally, there is a strong aesthetic sensibility, building both on original features such as a terracotta tiled floor and the colours and patterns of the wares. Pretty china saucers act as signs in the bean bins, shelves devoted to jam are a spectrum of oranges, reds and pinks, even simple sacks of tisanes and flour draw in the eye. The effect is a pleasant middle-ground—very rarely found—between the disorderly visual feast provided by ethnic groceries and the studied minimalism of so-called “gourmet” groceries.
Should you need any further enticement, he is also a huge fan of New York City, which he describes as "fantastique!"
La Graineterie du Marché 8 place d'Aligre 75012 Tuesday-Saturday 9-1, 4-7; Sunday 9-1:30 Metro: Ledru Rollin or Bastille
Situated in a privileged position across from the Jardin du Luxembourg, Le Rostand oozes money, though in a respectful, understated way. The café’s interior is grand yet slightly faded, its clientele genteel, but rarely ostentatious. On a visit this past winter, I saw women of a certain age wearing their fur coats indoors, Bonpoint-attired children sharing cake with their equally well-dressed parents, a few professorial types holding court and some students (the Sorbonne is not far away) buying 3 euro espressos, thus earning a table for the afternoon.
The cafe takes its name from Edmond de Rostand, author of Cyrano de Bergerac. While this was likely not an intentional homage (rather governed by the fact that the cafe sits on a square dedicated to the writer), the association is nonetheless a fortuitous one, as both the café and the neighbourhood like to trade on their intellectual heritage. All but the most successful writers and artists have long since decamped to the city’s cheaper northeastern arrondissements. Yet the lure—for visitors and, to some degree, the French themselves—of St Germain’s mythical past remains, even as the quartier is becoming better known for luxury clothing boutiques than for philosophical debates.
Le Rostand’s food is serviceable but expensive, the coffee better than average, the gentlemen’s loos (I’ve been told) still Turkish-style and the maître d’ one of the grumpiest I’ve encountered. The terrace is a sun-trap, though given over to smokers, and the people-watching is arguably better inside. If you were planning to go to de Flore, come here instead.
Le Rostand 6 place Edmond Rostand 75006 Daily, 8 am-2 am Metro: RER Luxembourg or Odéon
Their macarons, while credible, are not a match to those of Pierre Herme, located just a few minutes’ walk away. But a slice or two of their wobbly, delicate quiche—favourites include wild mushroom and smoked duck breast—and a bruleé-topped tarte orange will make an ideal alfresco lunch. Pack some wine, and bring your beautifully-wrapped packages to the nearby Jardin du Luxembourg. Just don’t sit on the grass.
Hidden on a tiny street near the Seine, this branch of the famed tea shop and salon is nearly as charming as the Marais original and far less crowded. Spend a few minutes looking at the tea memorabilia in the basement.
13 rue des Grands-Augustins Daily, 10:30am-7:30pm Metro: Odéon or St Michel
I’ve written about this gelato shop before, but I should note that the special for this past month was an extraordinarily creamy granita made with wild strawberries. The rest of summer promises other limited-edition fruit sorbettos.
81 rue de Seine Daily, late morning-midnight Metro: Odéon or Mabillon
The installation of a roof on Centre Court at Wimbledon seems to have resulted in the balmiest June in recent memory. These days, English strawberries—not to mention Spanish or Chilean ones—arrive on the supermarket shelves well before the opening match, regardless of climatic variation. But it is doubtless true that summer traditions such as Pimms cup, Jersey Royal potatoes and Eton mess are more enjoyable when they don’t provide the only reminder of summer’s putative existence.
Perhaps because I spent my childhood elsewhere, I have little sentimentality for England’s variable but occasionally glorious summers. Given the choice, I would rather spend mine in a place where it’s regularly hot enough to require a cool drink, and where climate, architecture and culture all conspire to encourage time spent outdoors. (France has mastered the latter, though its northern reaches often leave something to be desired on the temperature front.) I can therefore only attribute my tangent into English summer cooking to the tennis.
Without the over-abundance of good, cheap fruit that comes from a garden or country farm stand, I’ve never really been tempted to make dessert classics such as summer pudding, preferring to eat my berries straight-up. The only exception I make is for gooseberries, whose mouth-puckering sharpness only softens with a judicious application of sugar and heat.
The gooseberries got no further adornment before being puddled next to a freshly-grilled mackerel, the classic perfection of the combination hinted at by the French word for the fruit: groseille à maquereau. And when I could find no more gooseberries, I moved on to a variation on another English summer classic, salmon and mayonnaise. Guided by Nigel Slater, I made fishcakes from salmon (and an equal quantity of smoked trout), boiled new potatoes, and generous handful of tarragon, dill and parsley, and served them with a punched-up mayonnaise full of the same herbs, lemon juice and chopped-up capers.
The tennis is only on for another week. But I suspect these dishes will be on regular rotation for at least another two months.
Mackerel with Gooseberry Sauce
Because of its high oil content, mackerel is only appealing when it’s very fresh. (If it’s unavailable, salmon fillets or steaks could be substituted.) We ended up with whole, cleaned fish, though fillets would make for neater serving. A sauvignon blanc (I like these moderatelypriced ones) will pick up the grassy, gooseberry flavours of the sauce and cut through the fish’s richness.
Serves 2 Total time: 30 minutes; Active time: 10 minutes
1 small basket gooseberries Sugar to taste Very fresh mackerel, either whole or filleted, with skin on (at least 200 grams per person after wastage) Lemon
Rinse the berries, trim both ends and place in a small saucepan. Add a tablespoon or two of water, and a tablespoon of sugar. (You may want to increase this at the end.) Place on a low heat, stirring occasionally until the gooseberries are soft and collapse under the weight of a spoon. Crush gently with a fork or potato masher, adjust sugar and set aside.
If using whole fish, heat grill (broiler), rinse fish and season. Grill on foil, turning as necessary. Fillet on a separate plate, then add the gooseberry alongside. You may want lemon, though the sauce likely adds sufficient acidity.
If starting with fillets, heat a teaspoon or two of olive or neutral oil in a non-stick pan. Start the fish skin-side down, turning with a thin, flat spatula when it has browned. Season the skinless side and cook for about ½ the time as the first side. Remove to a plate, adjust seasoning and serve with sauce.
Fishcakes with Tartar Sauce
Fishcakes can, when made small and spicy enough, be delicate nibbles. In truly tropical conditions, I’d opt for those, though the following recipe will be perfect for 99% of English summer evenings. The recipe is not particularly prescriptive: salmon can be substituted with a white fish, smoked (or unsmoked) salmon can easily replace the smoked trout and while aniseedy herbs such as tarragon and dill flatter both, the proportions can be adapted. Extra fishcakes can also be prepared up to 2 days in advance. Follow instructions through flouring the fishcakes, then cover and refrigerate until needed.
Serves 2 Total time: 1 hour; Active time: 20-30 minutes (depending on fish preparation)
Adapted from Nigel Slater's Appetite
Fishcake ingredients and initial prep 250 grams potatoes 250 grams fish (I used 1 small can of wild salmon and the same quantity of smoked trout) Good handful herbs—a mixture of parsley, dill and tarragon works well Flour Neutral oil for frying
Peel the potatoes, cube or slice, and place in a pan of boiling, salted water. Cook on a medium-high heat until very soft.
While the potatoes are cooking, prepare the fish. Drain canned fish and chop smoked fish finely, placing both in a mixing bowl. If using fresh fish, poach in a shallow pan until just cooked, then cool and flake fish from skin, adding to the mixing bowl. Chop herbs finely and add to fish.
Drain potatoes. If still a bit wet, steam off excess water by placing the covered pan over low heat for several minutes. Mash with a fork or potato masher and, when cooled somewhat, add to fish mixture. Mix and adjust seasoning.
Sauce ingredients and prep 1 tbsp capers, preferably preserved in salt Good handful herbs—a mixture of parsley, dill and tarragon works well Mayonnaise (homemade or quality store-bought), 1- 2 tablespoons per person Lemon juice Cornichons (optional)
Soak capers in water to remove salt (or vinegar). Chop herbs finely and add to a small mixing bowl. Add mayonnaise to taste, aiming for something in-between a herb-flecked sauce and herbs just held together by mayonnaise. Remove capers from water, chop and add. Chop and add cornichons, if using. Add a squeeze of lemon juice and adjust seasoning.
Frying Heat a neutral oil in a heavy-bottomed frying pan until hot but not smoking. Unless your pan is non-stick, you’ll want enough oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Put several tablespoons of flour on a flat plate and flour hands lightly. Form fishcakes about 3-4 inches in diameter, flatten slightly and dredge in flour. As each is ready, place gently in the oil. Fry each fishcake until it is crisp and golden on the bottom, then turn carefully with a flat spatula. Remove to a plate lined with paper towels and serve with sauce and freshly-steamed peas and/or asparagus.
A number of Paris’ 20 arrondissements are defined by a single core neighbourhood, architectural style and/or population. The 4th, for instance, is known for its beautiful 16th and 17th century hotel particuliers, and for its upmarket array of shops, galleries and bars. Though it has grown too expensive in recent years for any but the most successful artists or writers, the 6th remains identified with its grand cafes, De Flore and DeuxMagots, and their onetime habitués, Sartre, Gertrude Stein and Hemingway. Further south, the 15th is solidly residential and respectably bourgeois.
Others are more difficult to characterise. Though physically compact, the 2ndarrondissement incorporates the Bourse (stock exchange), a red light district, hundreds of clothing wholesalers, an enclave of Japanese noodle shops and groceries and the city’s premier art auction house. The 10th is similarly eclectic. It contains the western reaches of Belleville—a polyglot immigrant neighbourhood of North African Jews and Muslims, Chinese and Vietnamese—and the eastern and southern boundaries of the Goutte d’Or, historic home of the city’s substantial sub-Saharan African populations. Two major train stations, the Gare duNord and Gare d’Est, connect the city not only to French cities such as Lille and Strasbourg, but to Belgium, the Netherlands, Switzerland , Germany and the UK. And past another cut-rate clothing district lies the Canal St Martin, an increasingly popular destination for young, artsy types (known somewhat derisively as bobos, bourgeois bohemians), the better-off of whom are buying canal-side apartments and studios, while the rest make do with cafe-side tables for bio (organic) Sunday brunches.
Moored on an innocuous corner halfway in-between the cheap shoe-sellers and the Canal, the ornate, old-fashioned frontage of Du Pain etdesIdeés seems a bit out of place. Inside, the bakery retains its original mirrors and display cases. This, along with its unusually small selection (just a few kinds of bread, rolls with unusual sweet and savoury toppings and a handful of fruit tarts) give it an atmosphere which is almost—though not quite—mannered. Add in slightly above-average prices, organic credentials and the collection of antique bread-baking kit in the window, and it could easily be dismissed as a stylised sop to the neighborhood’s new monied class.
But the bread is both delicious and distinctive, particularly the Pain desAmis. Sliced in flat slabs from a huge, foccaccia-like loaf, the crust yields up an aroma of toasted nuts, and the moist crumb is perfect for breakfast (I had it with greengage jam and very fresh goats cheese) and with all kinds of cheese. The bread rolls are, for once, not an afterthought, stuffed with combinations like blue cheese and apricot, green olive and herbs and chocolate and raspberry. And I’ve been told that the chausson aux pommes is even better than the one at Au LevainduMarais.
NB: Lest you think I discovered it, the bakery has received its fair share of acccolades. GaultMillau named it the city’s best bakery in 2008, Gourmet mentioned in its most recent Paris issue and David Lebovitz thinks it worth a detour.
Du Pain etdesIdeés 34 rue Yves Toudic 75010 M-F 6:45am-8pm Metros: Republique or Jacques Bonsergent
Other notable stops in the 10th:
SarlVelan Stores
Turn off the Boulevard deStrasbourg, full of nail salons, beauty supply shops and fast-food restaurants, into the Passage Brady, lined with a certain globally-recognisable type of Indian restaurant: gaudy decor, laminated menus and desperate waiters. Passing perhaps half a dozen of these, you’ll come to a shop displaying crates of aubergines, curry leaves and, in season, Alfonse mangoes. Inside, you’ll find sacks of rice, every conceivable type of legume and spice, and, in a nod to India’s colonial past, jars of marmalade and boxes containing several years’ supply of PG Tips.
This eccentric bar-cafe boasts elegant high ceilings, mural-covered walls and leatherette booths and is the kind of place where it seems right to have a glass of wine at 11 in the morning. The clientele, most of whom don't seem to have office jobs, may stay long enough to require food, though for that I'd recommend stomach-lining at the tiny Turkish soup place, on the same side of the road heading back towards the arch.
47 Rue duFaubourg St. Denis M-S early morning until late at night Metro: Chateau d’Eau
Acculturation happens in subtle, often unnoticeable, ways. But it’s still rare that more than a few days go by without a deep-seated recognition that the country in which I live remains, in ways both superficial and profound, deeply foreign. More than two years have passed, and I am no wiser as to why so many people at my gym can be found outside, smoking cigarettes, immediately after a workout, how even the simplest, most transactional conversation, can shift into the realm of philosophical abstraction or why Parisians see nothing odd about parking on the sidewalk.
When it comes to food, however, the barriers to entry are somewhat lower. I’ve acquired a Parisian’s snobbery regarding pastry, learned how to enjoy steak tartare with élan and made at least a tentative peace with butter and cream.
In my kitchen, olive oil is still the usual fat of choice. And in the last few weeks, as summer approaches, I am even more likely to return home from the market with a bag full of Mediterranean produce: peppers, olives, goat’s cheese and rosé. Yet several days ago, as I stood in line at my regular vegetable stand, shifting to get the warm sun on my shoulders, I could not resist grabbing a bunch of the most quintessential northern French vegetable—leeks.
Though grown year-round, leeks are traditionally used in hearty winter soups and stews, from pot au feu to potage bonne femme. Steamed and served at room temperature with a sharp, mustardy vinaigrette, they could almost pass as a warm-weather starter. But in late May a slow sauté, followed by a dousing of crème fraiche, certainly violates most dictums of seasonality. Yet while I couldn’t recommend it for a genuinely steamy climate, this dish is—and I don’t say this lightly—worth putting aside the tomatoes for one evening.
Poireaux aux moutarde et crème fraiche (Leeks with mustard and crème fraiche) Serves 2 (can easily be doubled or tripled) Total time: 35 minutes; Active time: 10 minutes
It doesn’t look like much, and I’m sure the key ingredients have been combined with more finesse elsewhere. But for a simple accompaniment to roast chicken, steak or even a fat filet of white fish, I’ve found little to equal it. With so few ingredients, fresh mustard (Dijon, grain or a mixture) and full-fat crème fraiche are essential. Depending on your mood and palate, the dish can either be smooth and almost sloppy, with just a faint bite of mustard, or more aggressive in flavour, with a teaspoon or two of cream to bind. And while the cooking time given can be shortened somewhat, I find that allowing the leeks to soften gently adds significantly to the flavour of the dish.
4-5 medium leeks 1 tbsp butter 1 tbsp Dijon and/or grain mustard, possibly more to taste Up to 2 tbsp crème fraiche Salt and pepper
Slice the tops and base of the leeks, cut in half lengthwise and clean under running water. Slice into thin half-moons. In a large frying pan, melt the butter on a low heat. Add the leeks, season with salt and pepper and allow to cook gently for at least 20 minutes. In order to get the leeks to achieve a melting texture and avoid sticking or burning, you may need to add a tablespoon or so of water to the pan at regular intervals. When the leeks are very soft, take them off the heat. Add crème fraiche and mustard to taste, adjusting seasoning as necessary. Serve hot.
I’ve written up this dish for “Waiter, there’s something in my...”, a bistro blogging event being hosted this month by The Passionate Cook. Check back there in several days time for prettier, more elegant and altogether more skilled entries.
Even a mediocre peach is worth eating out of hand, so too a bowlful of less than perfectly sweet cherries. But an underripe apricot—dry, wooly-textured, with almost a tannic bite—has few redeeming virtues. Despite this, impatience and whiff of honeyed perfume have seduced me more than once, only to discover, once home, that the abricots’ rosy-tinged shoulders are only slightly more tender than my own laptop-wrecked ones.
Were it not for the fact that Michelin-class patisserie is available just down the road, I might have attempted a tart. Jam was likewise eliminated, as I doubt I could improve on that supermarket standard, Bon Maman. After a few days on the counter, by which time the apricots were infinitesimally rosier but no softer, I settled on a lavender-scented compote, courtesy of Clotilde Dusoulier’s Chocolate and Zucchini.
I must confess to being a bit jealous of Clotilde’s fame. But it’s undeniable that her recipes not only work, but tend to offer a creative twist on the simple, market-driven French food I like most. The compote is a perfect example: judiciously used, the lavender adds sophistication and complexity, while an intelligent use of heat (and butter) creates an unctuous glaze for the fruit without turning it into mush.
The recipe suggests serving this alongside butter cookies. I usually have it alone or over yogurt, but it could easily dress up some good vanilla ice cream or buttery cake. And should unsprayed lavender be hard to find, either dried verveine (lemon verbena) or even a bit of fresh thyme might make interesting substitutions.
Compote d’Abricots á la Lavande (adapted from Chocolate and Zucchini)
Serves 2-3
Total time: about 20 minutes: Active time: 10 minutes
1 tbsp unsalted butter
1/8 cup granulated sugar
Small pinch sugar
Just over a pound of apricots, stoned and halved
1 tsp dried unsprayed lavender flowers
Gently melt the butter in a frying pan big enough to fit the apricots in a single layer. Add the sugar and allow to melt without stirring for 3-5 minutes, by which time it should be lightly caramelised. Add the salt and abricots and stir to coat. Cover and cook on a low to medium heat until the fruit is just tender, about 8 minutes.
Remove the fruit with a slotted spoon and set aside. Sprinkle the lavender over the remaining pan juices, turn up the heat to medium-high and cook uncovered until thick and syrupy, about 4 minutes. Lower the heat and return the apricots to the pan, stirring gently to coat. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Parisian women are said to have a closely-guarded list of bon addresses, the trusted suppliers of everything from the smoothest blowdry to the tastiest profiterole. With just two years in Paris, I haven't developed a full complement of resources. But I can boast of a few noteworthy finds which, unlike the natives, I'm happy to share.
Breakfast Parisians may be willing to travel across town for a box of macarons. But come breakfast, excellence must be found in a smaller catchment zone. For those within a 15-minute walk of Bastille or the Place du Vosges, the best pastries can be found at Au Levain du Marais. The croissant is textbook-perfect, the chausson aux pommes (a triangle of puff-pastry encasing a not-too-sweet apple compote) a messy delight.
Booze Finishing a meal with a sip of Armagnac always makes me feel terribly sophisticated. And buying it from Ryst Dupeyron, where the shelves are lined with wax-sealed bottles dating back to World War I and the monetary transaction is conducted ever-so-discreetly, just adds to the feeling of glamour. Prices are not nearly as ruinous as the setting might suggest, with a 70 cl bottle of the Napoleon blend (aged for a minimum of 6 years) costing just 36EU.
Browsing There's no better way to understand the city's relationship with food than to visit one of its 75 markets. And few better combine quality, variety and atmosphere than my local, the Marche d'Aligre. At the entrance is a raucous strip of fruit and vegetable stands, where the vendors try to outshout one another in a mix of French and Arabic. The square holds a more serene (and expensive) market, in which dowagers line up to buy well-aged cheese or meat for a pot au feu. Surrounding it all are pavement cafes, including a particularly popular wine (and in season) oyster bar, Le Baron Bouge.
Bonbons For years, the artisanal truffles and sweets made by Jacques Genin were only available to restaurants and hotels. But now, the likes of passion fruit caramels and chocolates flavoured with pu er tea are on offer to anyone able to find his elegant, minimalist shop, located in a nondescript strip of clothing wholesalers in the northern Marais. The adjoining cafe serves an unctuous hot chocolate and provides mignardaise with every hot drink.
Au Levain du Marais
28, blvd. Beaumarchais 75011
M; Th-Su
Though I’ve been shopping at La Graineterie du Marché for well over two years now, I’m still not quite sure how to describe it. Perhaps the best thing I can do is to provide a partial list of things I’ve bought there in recent months: brown-paper sacks of basmati rice, polenta and mojettes (a dried white bean similar to cannellini); green tea with dried fruits and flowers, perfect for drinking iced; gloriously aromatic ras el hanout, dotted with dried rose petals; pine nuts, walnuts and almonds; candied orange peel.
