Marché Bastille

An homage to a Parisian street market

Best Little Falafel Shop in Paris?

When I lived on the rue de roi de Sicile, I was lucky enough to have just below my window the finest little falafel and pizza shop in all of Paris: Pitzman, née Essen'Bench. How did I know this?
Pure speculation.
But it was so good, and the service so friendly and, well, un-French, that I stopped considering other possibilities after eating there. To this day I would still be at Pitzman every time the craving for falafel hit if my friend Bob hadn't dragged me away to try the falafel sandwiches just a few blocks north on the rue des rosiers.
Historically, the whole neighborhood of the Marais was predominantly Jewish -- and there's still a notable Jewish presence there despite the boutique encroachment. You can usually tell the difference between Jewish and Arabic falafel by the choice of bean: chickpea or fava, respectively. On the rue des rosiers both find their spotlight, but chickpeas form the chorus.
Being as I'm such a lover of both falafel and thoroughness, I made it my mission during the past few weeks to try every falafel shop on the rue des rosiers and report as to which one was, in fact, the finest.

First on our list is the most popular: L'As du Falafel. And that first word is pronounced "l'ah" -- kind of like how those first two letters sound as you say "like" in the South: "lahhke". ...Just take my word for it and save your friends from choking on their sandwiches.
Anyway, my review: It's popular for a reason. They make a fine falafel sandwich: crunchy but bright falafel balls and a very spry, lightly pickled beet, cabbage and carrot salad. The pieces of roasted eggplant garnishing the top are well seasoned with a nice deep amber hue. And look how happy that pita is to be stuffed with it! How could it not be good?


Second on the list is Chez Hannah.
While they may advertise the "Best Falafel in the World" (in English - never a good sign) it would be a pretty neat trick for this claim to be true given that they don't even have the best falafel on the street. While still a cut above falafel I've had on any other street in any other city, Chez Hannah's relatively bland falafel and minced condiments just don't impress given the crowd they run with. C'est dommage: their service is outstanding.


Up next is Chez Marianne:
Not only does this falafel shop offer tiny dill pickles with their falafel sandwiches, they have a mighty fine selection of little Kosher pastries. Since they sell individually every sauce and pickle they make, each component of the sandwich shows care. Chez Marianne would be my favorite if it didn't have competition from...





Mi-va-mi. The best little falafel shop in Paris (and therefore the world).
Facing L'As du Falafel, Mi-va-mi doesn't get near the traffic -- nor do they have a happy pita mascot. What Mi-va-mi does have is sparkle. Theirs is the kind of falafel you spend years trying to recreate, to no avail. The balls are perfectly crunchy and hide a remarkably light and fresh chickpea mixture, with a little more green than others on the block. Their condiments are outstanding, particularly the deeply roasted eggplant. Get yours with a dollop of harissa and stuffed with frites like the French do...neither are an afterthought. My favorite place to enjoy my falafel sandwich is down the street at the Place des Vosges, sitting in the grass, soaking up the sun.

After all that falafel I thought I'd try my hand at the crunchy little things. They're criminally easy to make, and so delicious I was downright jealous of my guests...since they didn't have to feign restraint.

On the right side of the tracks

Last night, Cecco and I splurged on a lovely dinner at Café Viaduc - a restaurant that reclaimed the space under the old Gare Bastille-Vincennes tracks. My first time at the Café Viaduc was this past summer. My friends Erinn and Bryan were in town and we were determined to find a great place for dinner. So, we turned to Bob. Now, Bob probably deserves is very own entry. No, Bob deserves his very own blog. The man has enough character for ten. As a Francophile, he's lived on and off in Paris for the last ten years. And he's just a waterfall of information -- which is usually accompanied by wandering gesticulations and backwards walking. It's his apartment I'm renting now. And I sometimes wonder whether the hushed lighting and cloudy wrap-around mirrors weren't planned specifically by Bob to make him look fabulous. (Seriously, I look at myself in Bob's mirrors and think "Wow, my skin is glowing!" Later, I'll catch my reflection in a store window and, shocked, think "How did I let myself out of the house like this?")

Anyway, last night mine was a salty white fish pressed with a julienne of courgettes and enrobed in a sheer pastry crust that crackled at the touch. And this all atop a Provençal buerre blanc. It was very good, but the salt really was a touch heavy for my taste. Cecco, of course, only had eyes for a decadent chocolate lava cake with cinnamon ice cream. For my kitty, it's nothin' but the sweets....

Ice Ambrosia

My maria.... I remember the first time I tried Berthillon ice cream was with you. And the French boys you picked up on the train from England! At the time it was the glace café that really impressed me. So rich, bittersweet and unadulterated. -- And that Maison Berthillon closes during July and August. It just seemed so French.

But even when the original is shuttered, there are three or four window vendors on the île Saint-Louis who will sell it to you any day, and into the night. One of these provided me and Cecco with our celebratory treat: a scoop of bitter chocolate and one of pine nut. Delights! It's difficult to describe just how the quality of Berthillon ice cream differs from the usual premium ice cream. There's simply a purity to it, as if it had no air.