Paris eating : Pierre Hermé (and the tragedy of the half eaten vanilla tart)
When we were planning our trip and where we would go before the bfs mini Europe tour, it was basically a choice between Rome, Italy – which the bf really wanted to do, or Paris, France. I very strongly insisted on Paris, I absolutely had to go to Paris, but when the bf made me list the reasons why it must be Paris, I was all just…’the Eiffel Tower! and…croissants!’ That was my Paris mission, to see the Eiffel Tower and eat pastries every day. It’s not a very difficult mission, there’s pretty much a patisserie/boulangerie on every corner, each one with the most amazing array of pastries, breads and sweets on display, it doesn’t matter which one you go to, you will be dazzled by the choice and how amazing everything looks.
My friend Katiana told me the best way to see Paris is to walk everywhere, and when we moved to the Latin Quarter for a few days, I looked up nearby patisseries and found this Food Lovers Walk around the Saint Germain area. It listed a number of places Kat had told me to eat, so I trusted the guide. It included Ladurèe, but listed Pierre Hermè as the number one must do for patisseries.
Macarons & boxed up goodies
I took the guide’s advice and grabbed a Infiniment tart in vanille for myself, citron for the bf, a salty caramel and mystery flavoured macaron for myself and another chocolate treat for the bf. It was a beautiful day, so we decided it would be nice to head to the Luxembourg Gardens and eat there. There were a bunch of seats free so we sat down and I laid out all the treats, took photos, and then dug into the vanille tart. It was incredible, so delicious, and the bf said his citron tart was the best lemon tart he had ever had. Ever. I was so happy. Like, tears of joy happy at how good everything was. So, I’m halfway through eating my vanilla tart, and I get a sudden bout of the hayfever sneezes, so I put my tart down, reach into my bag for my sunnies and some tissues and just at that moment a gust of wind blows the pastries right off the chair and flat onto the dirt. My tart is ruined, no ten second rule can be applied here, the bf had already finished his. I say something like, ‘WTF!!’ loudly and glare at him like it was his fault, and sulk like a child, so he laughs, and then I yell at him for laughing, and ask him why he didn’t try to save my tart from the wind (lol). He’s all ‘that’s what you get for taking photos instead of eating your tart’, so I yell something along the lines of ‘EATING MAKES ME HAPPY’ and he’s clearly not taking this damaged tart situation seriously. Then I start to get paranoid that some of the people at the park are laughing at me sulking, and I want to cry because the tart was so perfect and I only got to eat half of it, and WHY GOD WHY. Annnd that’s my cool story about that one time I was a brat and almost cried over a tart. The bf suggested that at least it would make a good story for my blog, and I was like, ‘NO! I will never share this story, it hurts my soul too much to think about!’ Because seriously, the vanilla tart was that good. The End.
