Delicious Parisian Knick Knacks

Uniquely French Gifts

Girls Guide to Paris

by Tori Evans

Finding charming French gifts for a local French host or for overseas family and friends can be a challenge. To ease the angst of gift shopping in Paris, I’ve scoured the city, taken advantage of free samples, dropped some cash, and, most important, taken note whenever hearing a French person enthuse about something. (Spoiler alert: that something is usually either chocolaty or smelly.) Anything edible and described as hallucinant (mind blowing, or what appears to be “hallucination inducing”) is a must-have.

Michel Chaudun Chocolate

With Esmeralda, grenadine, truffles and other exotically named morsels arranged amid an edible sculpture garden, this chocolate shop is a delicious trove of innovative flavors and sweet works of art. I was drawn inside after noticing a conspicuous electric drill in the window display and realizing in total amazement that it was in fact made of chocolate. Inside, rows of chocolates with imaginative fillings were surrounded by other shelved sculptures of goddesses, animals and cocoa pods. Pacing the store like it was a museum and taking in the artifacts, I saw objects that had blended into the wooden walls reveal themselves: horseshoes, saucissons, cigars, colorful paint trays and mini Eiffel Towers. With sculptures of nearly every hobby, you can easily personalize a gift. You can fill a box of chocolates by handpicking from dozens of varieties, from liqueurs to nuts to fruits, creating a gourmet selection sure to please even the pickiest of hosts.

Gaining fame over his 26 years of business, Monsieur Chaudun was the first to sell chocolate containing crushed cocoa seeds (the shell surrounding cocoa beans). A bag of this delectable combination is what I took home and praised for the following week. Monsieur Chaudun explained that the majority of his customers are like me, wanderers attracted to the irresistible, but his biggest sales are for weddings. His record sale was an order from the queen of Bahrain that came to 270,000 euros; he created 60 giant-size eggs and 600 boxes of chocolates for her son’s wedding. Currently the priciest item for sale is a giant egg at 1,490 euros; the cheapest items include chocolate rings at only 4 euros.

Even without a website or an e-mail address, Michel Chaudun is all over the web and proclaimed by fans to be one of the five best chocolatiers in the world.

Where to get it: 149, rue de l’Université, in the 7th Arrondissement.

Breizh Café Spreads and Cider

This little shop and épicerie brings the traditional treats of the northwestern region of Brittany (Bretagne) to Paris. The crêpe capital of the world, Brittany produces the most unforgettable sweet spread: caramel with salted butter. Stock up on jars of this delicacy and devour it with fresh sliced strawberries and a dollop of vanilla ice cream. Grab a jar of the light chestnut spread in consideration of those without such a sweet tooth. Likewise, Breizh offers a choice between sweet or dry cider, with various regional brands across the impressive bottle display.

You will also find special mixes of buckwheat flour for whipping up galettes—savory crêpes to be filled with grilled vegetables, ham, fried egg and cheese. For more unique items, scan the back shelves for fruity chutneys and seafood spreads, to be slathered on thinly sliced and toasted baguettes or crackers. These jarred goodies cost between 5 and 8 euros. Then take a seat and treat yourself to a fresh crêpe right in the middle of the épicerie.

Where to get it: 109, rue Vieille du Temple, in the 3rd Arrondissement.

La Fermette Cheese

For the very best and freshest cheese in town, a waltz through the neighborhood open-air markets (marchés) is highly recommended. I am a loyal visitor to the Belleville marché (near the Belleville metro, held on Saturday, Tuesday and Friday mornings), but all locations and schedules citywide can be found on the official website of marchés in Paris.

Inevitably, my French boyfriend acts like a kid in a candy shop and picks out the moldiest, slimiest cheeses for sale, but as I am heavily persuaded by presentation, I always go for the vendor’s fermier goat cheese. Set atop a dark green leaf, this cheese is creamy white, shaped like a hockey puck, and reeks like a damp goat—all of which will appeal to your French hosts. As for family members back home, they are likely to wash any pungent cheese down with ample wine; it’s illegal to carry cheese across borders anyway.

If you miss the morning window, there are still ways to get your cheese on a leaf. Many cheese shops, including la Fermette, offer a large spread of colorful cheeses in all the shapes and smells of those at the marché. Prices vary with the wide selection, but 3–6 euros will get you a rich family-size hunk of most types.

Where to get it: 86, rue Montorgueil, in the 2nd Arrondissement. 

Maille Mustard

If the word mustard makes you grimace rather than drool, chances are you are not French. This tangy, sometimes spicy spread is often served with steaming, fresh-off-the-grill cuts of beef, duck or pork. The famous brand Maille has a shop at la Madeleine with a surprising feature unknown to many French people—at least the ones allergic to downtown tourists. In addition to the endless rows of colorful and creatively marinated mustards in jars lining the walls, the shop offers fresh mustard served on draft, squeezed from a tap just like beer. With three tempting flavors always on tap, such as Chardonnay, dry white wine and Chablis, you also have a choice of sizes, the smallest being 110 milliliters for 11–13 euros. Containing no preservatives, these healthy mustards remain fresh for one or two weeks, so wait to purchase them until the day of gift giving if possible. For longer-lasting options, a multitude of jarred mustards come in classy and quirky containers, with sweet flavors like orange ginger, blueberry and apricot with dried curry, plus more savory flavors like basil, lemon garlic and grilled onion with thyme.

Where to get it: 6, Place de la Madeleine, in the 8th Arrondissement.

Pierre Hermé’s Macarons

Perhaps the most obvious of gifts, the macarons at Pierre Hermé are well worth the rage. Delectable and very Parisian—these cream-filled cookies were originally created for Marie Antoinette—this gift has the aesthetic bonus of brilliant colors representing the endless array of flavors: crème brûlée, orange blossom, caramel with salted butter, strawberry . . . and that’s just to name my favorites. Pierre Hermé even has a line of Christmas macarons, easily recognizable by their shimmering shells, as if covered in gold dust: a mixture of chocolate and foie gras (the famous fattened duck’s liver), and another combination of eglantine (sweetbriar), chocolate and foie gras. At once moist, crumbly and fluffy, the macarons at Pierre Hermé are bursting with flavor and leave other competitors far behind.

Assorted boxes make for a vibrant gift, though rough transport should be avoided in order to keep these crumbly cookies neatly intact. If the price surprises you (a box of 12 for 25 euros), take comfort in knowing that these rich, supersweet cookies go a long way.

Where to get it: multiple locations, including 72, rue Bonaparte, in the 6th Arrondissement; visit the Pierre Hermé website for other addresses.
Related Links

Maille

Marchés of Paris

Breizh Café

Struck with wanderlust at an early age, Tori Evans studied in Australia to try to get as close to as many deadly things as possible, then moved to Alaska to see how often she could get lost in the wilderness, and then to Egypt to get caught in a revolution. Now a resident of Paris and bound in the mysterious PACS (Pacte civil de solidarité) with the French man she picked up in Cairo, she is set on exploring the thrills of the City of Light. Check out her three years of culture shock, scuba diving and horseback—and donkeyback—desert riding in Egypt at www.torievans.blogspot.com and at her new French blog.

- See more at: http://girlsguidetoparis.com/archives/uniquely-french-gifts/#sthash.NUY10FS7.dpuf

Cambodia blog

Here's the blog I've started for Cambodia:

torievanscambodia.blogspot.com

Keep in touch!

Packing Up

I'm up before my alarm on a Wednesday morning, which never happens. It must be either eagerness to see another bright blue day in Paris, or moving anxiety. Probably the latter - One can't expect too many ungrey days around here. But yesterday was a tantalizing taste of spring, and lugging trunks of my stuff through the entrance of my building was a weird way to enjoy the leafy cobblestone courtyard on the first bright, warm day in awhile.

Courtyard chez moi

Mathieu left in January for Malaysia/Vietnam/Cambodia - based in Kuala Lumpur but moving around for meetings - and has been sending me snippets of information, like "it's humid" and "it's 95 degrees". He says Kuala Lumpur is like a modern Western city but Phnom Penh is nice and green. I'll find out for myself in just two more days (ahhh!)

I've spent my bachelorette weeks in Paris going to French classes, giving English lessons, packing suitcases and trunks, going to doctors and pharmacies, and otherwise just trying to cram in as much time as possible with friends. I went east to Strasbourg to visit Clementine, who I'd met in Egypt, and we spent a weekend biking everywhere in the cute little border town with Germany. Naturally, there was no shortage of beautiful wood-trimmed architecture or hearty food.

My cousin Erin visited me for a long weekend amid her semester abroad in London. We shivered through the city and checked off a lot of hotspots in Paris Bingo. While lunching on galettes in a small creperie in the Marais, I heard a familiar voice and looked up to see Romain Duris, a beloved French actor (L'Auberge Espagnole, L'Arnacoeur, Paris) who has played opposite Audrey Tautou, Vanessa Paradis, Juliette Binoche...I flipped out and tried to stop my gaze from constantly shooting over at him a few tables away. I got this very lame picture of him (below) with food in his mouth and his girlfriend raising her arm like she's bopping him on the head. Erin said that he looked more like a homeless guy than one of France's most famous actors. He was a bit on the grisly side (green shirt, in the center of the picture, toward the back - not that you can't already tell, right?)

Romain Duris having lunch with us

Last week Noellex (Noelle + Alex) came to visit, took me out around town, and were even super helpful with moving stuff. We went to the Agricultural Exposition and saw a lot of cows and horses, but none of the politicians who supposedly visited too. (Insert your own crack equating politicians to farm animals.)

Saturday was my going-away party at a new(ish) bar called The Workshop. True to its theme, there was ratty furniture in the basement - some armchairs with exposed springs and tables that collapsed and tossed our drinks (and at least one person) to the floor. But the ambiance was fun and the DJ funky, and lots of people came out to celebrate, reminisce and dance. Here's a silly collage my classmate Da Woon made:

Going-away soirée

Now I'm skipping class this morning to do more packing, cleaning, hauling of things, etc, before running to school for a farewell coffee with my classmates when they get out. Time to crawl out of bed and get back to business! As expected, it's cloudy and grey.

But somehow today it's charming.

New Year, New Move

What's the difference between 2012 and 2013, besides one little number? A ring and a new foreign stamp.

I rounded out the year pretty low-key, settling into Paris and my routine of morning French classes and afternoon tutoring. For Journées du Patrimoine (Heritage Days) in September, I arose before dawn (which is no small feat) and went with Mathieu and his mom to wait in line for the opening of the gates at the Presidential Palace. We took photos of the grandiose rooms full of stuffy chairs and saw where all the visitors slightly more important than us usually eat, sit, and make decisions. 

In October Mathieu and I spent a long weekend in Madrid with Pedro, who was a fabulous host the first day well into the night, until the next day when he busted his ankle. We hailed a cab, navigated sloppily to a hospital, found out we were in the infant and maternal ward, carried Pedro out in our (Mathieu's) arms, hailed another cab, found another hospital, and deposited Pedro in a waiting room chair. With various ID and medical cards in hand, Mathieu and I went to check him in. I had very little confidence in us, but Mathieu waltzed right up to the window and managed to communicate our situation from his muddled Spanish word bank. 

After maybe an hour, Pedro emerged in a wheelchair with a knee-high plaster cast. He had to hop on one leg toward the cab and search for open pharmacies (not easy to find on a Saturday afternoon) to get crutches and medication. The only thing the hospital seemed to equip him with, besides the cast, was a syringe for injecting himself in the stomach twice daily to prevent clotting - a concept that I have yet to swallow. Mathieu and I spent the next couple of days bringing breakfast and ice to Pedro at his perch on the couch, then abandoning him to have sangria in sunny courtyards and try to store up vitamin D before returning to Paris.

Back in Paris we got to be the hosts when Tess and Phil visited from London. We stuffed them with tons of French food - crepes, quiches, pastries, baguettes, cheese and raclette (below):

I've written a couple more articles for Girls' Guide to Paris and was also a guest on their radio show with the Overseas Radio Network. I come in five minutes into the track; the guest that sounds like a hearing-impaired child calling from within a submarine is me. 

In December I went home to Virginia for a nice long (5-week!) vacation. Mom had made a mountain of  good ole American chocolate chip cookies to greet me. I caught up with some friends in Virginia and New York, meeting Noelle's family, and barhopping in Santa costumes for Santacon with Theo, Jenn and Michael.

Following our 20-year streak, my family celebrated New Years and my grandparents' anniversary at the beach this year. On New Years Eve, as all 30-something of us were gathered around, Mathieu added to the tradition by stepping into the middle of everyone, making a brave speech, and bending down on one knee to propose. Everyone was totally surprised (except my parents who'd been tipped off!) and full of congrats for us. It was an emotional night but I forced myself to stay up for a bit of dancing until the first party poopers left. However it wasn't until 3 AM that my grandparents finally went to bed! They are an inspiration.

What followed was a slightly hectic week of trying to make arrangements for a wedding at the family reunion next year. After feeling like we'd made some progress and deserved a break, we got an unexpected call that set us off again. We had been eagerly keeping an ear out for opportunities on the Ohio River Bridge, a new project Mathieu's company Vinci just won. Then last week, reclined in a chair at the dentist's office in Lynchburg, VA, Mathieu answered an unidentified international call. He held his breath as a superior made polite banter then unleashed the proposal: to work on an airport expansion project in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. We were given just the weekend to think about it, and the first morning back in France Mathieu reported to the office to accept. 

Before I could even sharpen my geography and pronunciation (I have to stop saying "koala" when I talk about Malaysia's capital city), our life for the next two years was already shifted to Asia. This Sunday he's off to Kuala Lumpur for a month-long mission, with planning meetings in Ho Chi Minh City and Phnom Penh within his first few days. He'll return in mid-February for a week to pack up, then he ships out to Phnom Penh, and I follow sometime after. I'm in a daze!

Now I embark on a new year that feels awfully like the last, which started with Mathieu asking me to PACS him and move to France. After only 5 articles, and 4 blog entries, it's already time for a new country. Time flies in Paris!

Canal Saint-Martin

After Boulogne Half-Marathon

Chateau de Vincennes

Inner-City Expeditions

I was finally persuaded to risk my life and take advantage of the city bikes. Mathieu signed us up for Velib, so we just swipe our public transportation passes at any of the bike stations all over town and have a free 30-minute ride for free. I know our ride to the Eiffel Tour the other night surpassed the free limit but I'm not sure yet what the paying rate is. It's an incredible system, especially when the route includes bike lanes:

My first excursion via Velib was a quick ride to Bastille, where I had a soothing sheesha to reward my bravery. Now I'm ready to take on scarier rides, like the uphill climb from school to home. Lately there haven't been any bikes to be found near school, so I've been walking home through Buttes Chaumont Park:

  

Classes are still amazing and I'm still obsessed with my teacher. My evenings are riddled with "my teacher said this" and "guess what she thinks about that", but Mathieu has been a champ about this woman entering into our lives. My class went out to a salsa bar the other Friday night and he got to meet all the 15+ personalities that I spend my mornings with. My Chinese classmate Naiqun and I have also been going to the pool each week - City pools are all over Paris and a 3-month membership is only 19 euros. That wouldn't buy a single yoga class! Since Naiqun told me she can't swim, I've been giving her informal lessons. 

Last week, as we were hiding out in the kiddy pool doing little exercises, an older man came up to us and gave a paternal 5-minute speech about how we could teach ourselves to swim. Then he retrieved 2 kickboards for us and bid us good luck. When I took the kickboard for a spin to demonstrate for Naiqun, he appeared again out of nowhere, full of joy for me and my successful traverse across the kiddy pool by following his instructions. His proud smile was adorable. What's more, mere minutes later a young guy doing exercises near us took us under his wing as well, even demonstrating the breathing and kicking drills to do. It was like a makeshift Good Samaritan Day. We were tickled. 

After swimming, we sometimes set out to explore parks or museums. Here's Naiqun and our Vietnamese classmate fighting in front of the comic book windows at the Palais de Tokyo:

For a new story for Girls Guide to Paris, I've done a couple more interviews, some of them spontaneously... One day I stumbled upon this chocolate shop and got swallowed up in the aromas and friendly banter with the owner for over an hour. It was good French practice, apart from moments when English- and Arabic-speaking clients entered and needed a translator. I benefited from hoards of free samples and learned about chocolate flavoring and molding. Here is a part of the creator's shrine of projects spanning the past few decades (the white pharaoh is white chocolate):

We recently got to host our friend Julien, who used to work with Mathieu in Cairo on the metro and is now living in France, coordinating again with Mathieu to build a high-speed train line. He inspired us to climb the Sacre Coeur for this lovely view: 

Last weekend Mathieu and I went to the flea market at Saint Ouen, which I believe my parents visited 20 years ago, and followed the tranquil winding pathways browsing antiques and random junk with a friend from class and her own Frenchman.

On May, On June, On July and August!

My friend Clementine recently made me realize that a whole 1/3 of a year has passed since we moved to France from Egypt. While she moved into her apartment pretty quickly and started a normal routine right away, Mathieu and I took a while to find a place and even now are still making it a home. 

The grey, rainy spring passed quickly during my 7 weeks of French classes at Alliance Francaise with some hilarious Italian, Spanish, Brazilian and British classmates…Then I spent 5 sunny joyous weeks with my family for my sister Kelsie’s wedding…And then returned to a grey, rainy summer in Paris to anticipate the arrival of the Cairo crew for some beach time in the southwest of France. Since they left me a couple weeks ago, I’ve started French classes at a new school and am now absorbed in my riveting student schedule. (I'm not being sarcastic. Yes, I'm a geek.)

All of the incredible wedding designs-come-true, invented by my sister and my brother-in-law then pulled together through a grand collaboration with them and the families, can be witnessed on the photographers’ blog. (The many hundreds of photos can be viewed here; password is the groom’s last name.) Also check out the silly photobooth.  

Back in France in July, Mathieu and I went to see the Tour de France arrive in Paris (meaning we watched colors whiz by us 8 times as they completed the Champs Elysees circuit).

Soon Lindsey and Jessica had landed and, after a couple days (hours, actually) of exposure to my neighborhood, they said they hadn't paid $600 to come to France just to feel like they were still in Egypt. Being Ramadan, my fellow foreigners had smothered the sidewalks with tables of feast goodies and turned the streets into the crowded bazaar that we all love and miss about Cairo. Unless walking through said mess means getting sexually harassed (which it did), and in that case we we were not struck with any nostalgia or warm feelings toward said region. 

Escaping to the coast, we took the train to Bordeaux where Noelle and Alex picked us up and immediately whisked us off to Cap Ferret for a sunset picnic on the beach. Alex and his family were generous hosts, opening their homes to us, lending us their boats and water skis, stuffing us with oysters, mussels, rich cheeses and home-cooked deliciousness for a blissful week. 

After the beach, Noelle entertained me in Paris for another week and helped me orient myself in my (relatively) new city. She mapped out destinations across town like vintage clothing shops, parks, beauty boutiques, and often we found ourselves wandering into unexpected places as a result - in the case of the Marais, it was charming. In the case of la Chapelle, it was a bit overwhelming. In turn, Mathieu and I took her out to a comedy show, "How to become a Parisian in one hour," and to Paris Plage, the summertime makeshift beach, along the Seine.

Now I've fallen into a steady but not-too-steady routine at my new French school. Every morning is a quick commute and two hours of general French class with a hilarious professor who never fails to entertain us (and I’m not a morning person, so that’s really saying something). She explains what is said on the street (i.e., what not to say), teaches survival skills in Paris, makes us sing along to cheesy French songs, tells risqué jokes, and makes us engage and talk about ourselves. After her class, I have a different choice each day of specialized workshops like essay writing, phonetics, cultural and historical lectures, or guided tours around Paris. Last week we saw the crown of thorns encased in Notre Dame, and the week before we explored the palace-made-prison where Marie Antoinette was kept until her death.

Next to the school is the Canal d’Ourq, where there was (all summer until just this week) a sandy beach (complete with lounge chairs and umbrellas) and a boathouse (with paddleboats, crew boats, sailboats, you name it) plus stuff for kids (dirt biking, face painting), all for free, thanks to the City of Paris. I spent many a sunny afternoon after class on those sandy banks and am already starting to miss it!

I just wrote an article about how to pick up French in Paris and I’m working on one about a Parisian artisan; the articles will come up on the Girls Guide to Paris site eventually, but for now I only have two published here. More than a hobby, writing has been a great push for exploring and getting immersed into this city. The last interview was conducted totally in French, save for the artisan’s words that I met with blank stares, like “gold-plated,” then she would clarify in English. It was kind of her to smile and blink politely through my broken questions, when it was obvious that she could have comfortably proceeded in English. As a student in France, I have been constantly amazed with the patience people have shown me as I pose butchered and nonsensical questions...to the point where I have probably jinxed myself for repeating how lucky and pleased I’ve been.

Finally, last week I had a harrowing experience at the office for French health insurance, which I’d love to recount in its comical and disastrous entirety, but the trauma is still too fresh. In brief, I was reduced to pieces in front of 50 or so French people when I tried to explain to the woman at the front desk that I needed to submit supplemental paperwork here at the office, as I had been instructed by the agency over the phone due to a particular case with my file (that the US Embassy does not personally translate birth certificates), instead of by mail which was the normal procedure. As the woman did not like to consider that anyone else knew better than her, especially not her own superiors and certainly not some weak foreign white girl, she screamed me into tears, then screamed at me to stop crying. Even for my low comprehension in French, the words wreaked of derision.

Amazingly, Mathieu was on the line and could hear everything through the phone at my side. Eventually she saw that I wasn’t budging, and that she was attracting everyone’s attention, and let me into the waiting room amid many pitying (or scornful?) gazes. When my number was finally called, I was not sent to the main two desks dealing with everyone else, but to the back, to the same evil angry woman. Continuing to clip every one of my sentences and still refusing to speak slowly or clarify anything I didn’t understand, she insisted I mail my paperwork and then concluded with a sharp, “There, exactly what I told you from the beginning. Now don’t you regret waiting all this time?” I collected my precious papers, grabbed my bag and quickly left. All the way across the room to the door I could hear her yelling, “Oui, c’est ca, c’est ca!!” (“Yeah, that’s it! That’s it!”) She could have easily left other, more gentle natures to take on the customer service, but she made sure that I was sent to her desk and not to anyone who would hear me out. Either she really, really hated me, or she loathed her job (or both). 

And that’s just my brief version! Now I have exhausted myself in reliving the drama. Time to recover...

Settling In

It's 2 weeks down, and I have to say, they've treated me well. Paris has been everything I've been yearning - the quiet and beautiful order that opposes Cairo's (also charming) clamour and chaos. For me the city has fulfilled all the stereotypes of food, fashion, gorgeous architecture and stellar public transportation.

But Paris has also surprised me with traits that I was either too ignorant or preoccupied to expect. It's diverse (my neighborhood is full of Muslim butcheries, bookstores, and clothing shops), tirelessly rainy (I'd estimate 4-5 sudden downpours per day), and most amazingly of all, friendly. When I stutter with my order at a shop or restaurant, the server/employee smiles and blinks and generally freezes in place until I finally make my desires clear. Everyone I've asked for help has courteously stopped and attended to my needs, even speaking slower for me. One man stopped in the middle of the street as we were jaywalking just to pick up a 5-cent coin I'd dropped. One server welcomed me to France, doted on me, and proclaimed that he hoped to be "votre favoreet serveur!"

Classes have also been pleasantly surprising. My class is a lovely melange of nationalities, mostly students my age and hoping to stay in France for awhile. Class is 9 AM - 1 PM (largely waking hours, for me), and afterward most of the class goes out to lunch together. You may not believe this (Mathieu hardly could, until we hosted my classmates for drinks last weekend), but we speak solely in French. I know for a fact that many of them speak impeccable English, but they're determined to quickly build up their French and staying within the language is amusing but proving effective. Mathieu's also helping to speak with me, show me silly French films, and read news with me. I love being a student again.

Here are a couple pictures of our very cosy apartment, but we don't want to get too attached because it's short-term. We're browsing for a year-long rental but, just as we'd be forewarned, it's super tough! Mathieu's hoping we find a place closer to his work (the 50-min commute is the only thing he doesn't love about his new job) and I'll ensure that there's a fold-out couch to accommodate future guests whom I'll be so excited to welcome (hint hint!)