With exception of one hour of wicked turbulence, it was an uneventful trip over. I headed straight for the hotel, dumped my bags and headed out to enjoy the glorious sunny say.
We are staying in the 15th – and the closest market open on a Sunday Is Marche Grenelle. This market takes place on Wednesdays and Sundays, between the La Motte Picquet-Grenelle and Dupleix Metro stations. At this part of the line, the metro runs above ground and the market takes place underneath the track.
It was a bustling scene with incredible produce, seafood, meats , cheeses. At some stalls people were lined up at least a dozen deep. There were artichokes the size of softballs. Mushrooms of all varieties, including gorgeous fresh Cepes, known in Italy as Porcini. There was an oyster stall with well over a dozen varieties, and the proprietor was shucking to order. I debated ordering a dozen and slurping while I walked, but I think it could have been a little messy. At the escargot stall, they were prepared in a variety of ways, but always paired with a bright green and pungent garlic butter. The foie gras stall offered a sample as I perused the selection, and I bought a tin to bring home. The seafood was sparking with fresh Mackerel, Dorade and Rouget to name a few. I paid visit to Gerard Mathieu, known as the cookie man, and had one of his near-famous brownies loaded with chocolate and lots of whole roasted almonds. The eggs, the cheeses, tiny fraises des bois…it all looked and smelled delicious. (Check out more pictures in the gallery section of the site)
Next I headed up La Motte Picquet to Lenotre, one of Paris’ most famous patisseries. The savoury side of the shop held an array of delicate hors d’hoeuvres – almost too pretty and too delicate to eat. Teeny tiny salmon en croutes. Miniscule glasses with baby scoops of foie gras mousse, complete with their own wee silver spoon. Finger sandwiches barely the size of my pinkie with four layers. They must have an army of elves in the back to do such detailed work. The sweet side was equally gorgeous, but the portion sizes were much more “human” size. I chose eight macarons, and nearly fell over when my bill came to almost 11 Euros. I totally admit that close to fifteen dollars for eight morsels each the size of a toonie is extravagant, but man can those Lenotre elves bake. La Duree in Place de la Madeleine is reputed to have the best macarons in the city – and I have had them several times. The Lenotre ones (in my humble opinion) beat them hands down. The chocolate with fleur de sel caramel in the centre was straight from heaven, and the pistachio with fig by all accounts came along with it. The vanilla was the best I have ever had, the meringue (like all their flavours) perfectly crisp on the outside, chewy in the middle with lots of ground almonds. The fillings were made with plenty of fresh cream and each delivered impeccable flavour.
I headed on to Rue Cler to look in the many foods shops, including La Sablaise Poissonerie and Fromagerie Cler. I made a short stop at Oliviers and Co to pick up some fruity olive oil from Provence, before stopping for lunch at a small bistro. I knew this was the one I had to stop at as there where there were two men out front shucking fresh oysters to order. (Are you keeping track? Yes, I did just have a brownie at the market and macarons, but that was breakfast!!) A few oysters to start, then duck confit and a gorgeous green salad simply dressed in a vinaigrette all accompanied by a small “pichet” of Chablis. While I was eating, the group of men hanging out drinking Ricard at the bar broke into song and entertained the bistro for a few rounds. Yup – definitely not in Toronto anymore.
After lunch I attempted a visit to the famous Poilaine Bakery, but after over an hour walking realised I was on Rue de Grenelle and not Boulevard de Grenelle. Not to worry, I crossed the Seine and walked past the Louvre, but truth be told, I think I was developing several dozen blisters, and with only two hours sleep on the plane was just a tad tired. I decided to rent a bike. It seemed like a better alternative than going underground on the Metro this spectacularly sunny day.
At last, I found a spot, actually directly behind my hotel. I locked the bike up, checking at least three times that I had returned it properly – I loved my bike, but I did not want a charge for it on my Visa. All that pedalling made me thirsty…..off to the lobby for a little “first day in Paris” refreshment.
