Let me just preface this post by warning you all not to get used to multiple posts in one day. We all know how long it took me to post my first entry, although that being said, I don't anticipate there being months between posts. Maybe days. But keep your expectations low.
Now. On to the main event.
As previously mentioned, it has taken me an abominably long time to get this blog up and running, even though the concept has been marinating (or macerating?) in my little head for a while. Subsequently, I have several culinary exploits squirreled away, patiently waiting for their big debut on this blog.
I have spent some time contemplating what my inaugural entry should be. I have certainly had a lot of wonderful things to eat in this city since I've been here (and, I feel I should mention, some not-so-wonderful things too). But I think the (quasi-)meal that has, thus far, garnered the most attention, conversation, and saliva has been at a small café in the Marais, curiously named Le Loir dans la Théière, but more commonly referred to as "the cake place" amongst my fellow eaters.
As you may have guessed, they serve cake. Although to group these wondrous desserts under the same general umbrella of other ordinary, so-called "cakes" seems unfair. I give you exhibit A (humans and cakes shown to scale):
The visit depicted in the photo above had been my third in about a one month time period, and while I am easily able to enjoy each encounter with these delightful (if slightly grotesque) confections, no experience will compare to my first meeting with these sugary monsters, one grey afternoon in December.
On this particular afternoon, we had been in search of refuge from the chaos of Paris the weekend before Christmas, the constant misery of rain and cloud, and the extreme disappointment of a missed flight home. We found our salvation in six inches of meringue and the glory of the chestnut.
There is no menu, save a flimsy laminated card with a long list of teas and the requisite cafés and other steamed-milk beverages. Instead, one must take a tour past a crowded sideboard, heavy with the weight of about eight or so cakes and pies, and make the agonizing decision of which of the selections will be making the trip over to your table and into your waiting mouth. And I don't use the word "agonizing" lightly here. It truly is an excruciating decision, like choosing between one of your children, or which one of your limbs you'd have amputated. Although you may take comfort in the fact that in this case, regardless of what you decide, the outcome will most likely be wonderful.
In total I have tried five varieties of cakes/pies/tartes at Le Loir dans la Théière, all of which were superior creations, although I will admit that the apple-nut-spice-type cake (pictured on the far left in the photo) was by far the least favourite for myself and my companions. No matter. We had two other incredible options to wash it down with, one being the lovely, luscious, and ludicrously portioned chocolate banana tarte. The other being the reigning beast of the dessert world -- the lemon meringue pie.
It may be an understatement to say that I am anxious to try every dessert that this place has to offer, yet every time we've gone, one of us has to order the lemon meringue. Maybe it's because it defies most laws of culinary engineering, or maybe because it's being sliced and served at such an astonishing rate, that you feel compelled to snatch the last piece before the French hipsters at the next table. Or maybe it's simply the hypnotic effect of that incredible meringue, towering and glossy-white in the soft light of late afternoon, beckoning, from across the room, for you to raise your index finger and skim it gently over the sweet and supple surface and then just take. One. Taste.
Not that one taste would ever be enough.
This is not the soap-sud meringue of your supermarket pie. This is the dense, creamy, and intensely sugary stuff that dreams are made of. Take one spoonful and be amazed as it expands exponentially in your mouth, filling every crevice until you almost can't breathe. In a good way.
There has also been speculation that the lemon curd has been graded to compensate for the sloping character of the meringue. But it's just a theory. We could be putting more thought into this than is warranted.
And while the lemon meringue will always likely be the star of the show, we cannot forget the unsung heros, the equally tasty, yet somewhat less aesthetically demanding confections that surely deserve a nod, a lick of the lip, or a deeply satisfied moan. The chocolate banana tarte, as mentioned above, for it's profoundly affecting chocolate experience; the orange crème brulée tarte for the incomparable sensation of silky, citrusy cream melting effortlessly on your tongue; and the chestnut tarte (oh, the chestnut tarte) for it's unmatched ability to induce a backwards eye roll and utter speechlessness.
For those of you familiar with my eating habits, you will know that I am a lover of all things sweet. Never one to miss dessert, no matter how much I've eaten beforehand, there is nothing I would rather do than indulge in something lovely and sugary. And Le Loir dans la Théière certainly delivers on that account. But more than that, it's become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where crammed in the corner, at a table over looking the dumpster and amidst the din and clatter, nothing bad could ever happen. A place where a café crème and a slice (or two) of cake will relieve any problem, and where food becomes a friend rather than an adversary. And it's a place that when I look back, searching for my fondest memories, will remind me of Paris.
