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.

Les Philosophes

For dinner, we ambled across the Seine into the Marais, where they not only have the best falafel in town but a lovely little restaurant called Les Philosophes.
My duck was superb: moist, deeply savory, and with that crunchy skin I love so much! The chef had paired it with a cracked pepper and honey sauce as well as a simple salad and frites. Yum! Cecco, of course, had the lovely tuna steak with curry sauce over rice and little mounds of mushrooms, roasted peppers, and eggplant. One of the best things about going to dinner with your friends is sharing each other's food -- so I can say with confidence that his dish was delicious. Here are some pictures...they really capture the vibrancy of the meal.

شاي بالنعناع

Is that my rag-tag Italian alley cat dragged in from the streets?
Yes, Cecco finally made it home after his long Mardi Gras weekend. But Cecco, baby, I don't think the Madonna is going to help you now!


Luckily, I know something else that might: Mint tea!

One of the first times I was in Paris my girlfriend Janae and I wandered over to La Grande mosquée de Paris where the sun peeks through the trees of the blue and white tiled courtyard and sparrows flutter up to take bits of baklava from your fingers. It was the first time I tried that magical North African brew, mint tea. Janae promises it works wonders for digestion (and hangovers too, Cecco!), but I drink it just because it tastes so good.

Here's a recipe so you can try it for yourself:

Mint tea*

10 fresh mint sprigs, plus 4 for garnish
3 teaspoons green tea
3 tablespoons sugar, plus extra for serving
4 cups water
2 tablespoons pine nuts

Bring water to a bare boil. Pour a small amount in teapot with the green tea and swish around to warm the pot and "clean" the tea leaves. Pour this water out, retaining the tea leaves. Combine the mint and green tea and sugar in the teapot, then fill it with the rest of the hot water. Let tea brew, stirring the leaves once or twice, for 3 minutes. Pour tea through a tea strainer into glass teacups to serve. Garnish with pine nuts and remaining 4 sprigs of mint, passing more sugar for guests to sweeten the tea to their tastes.

Mardi Gras!

I wondered: What would Mardi Gras be like in Paris? Would there be a parade? Drunken co-eds? Would they be bartering beads for flesh? Would the venerable lenses of "Girls Gone Wild" be there to capture it all for posterity? Most importantly, would I be able to get one of those giant plastic green alien cups? And if I did, would it have a beret?

These questions have followed me since last week -- when I came across what seemed to be a Mardi Gras call-to-arms plastered against one of the walls along the rue de la Roquette. But the poster was elusive...prominently featuring a large red dancing cow in a shower of daisies. Hmmmm.....

Curiosity getting the better of us, Cecco and I walked up to join the celebration yesterday. You know what our biggest surprise was? ...That that poster wasn't elusive at all! There (in fact) was a big red cow -- the parade's mascot -- and showers of paper "daisies"! Apparently, the tradition is to march this cow all through the streets on Mardi Gras. Why? Who knows! But while there may not have been any beads or peek-a-boo, and all the giant plastic beret-wearin' alien cups may have been waylaid at the border, there were plenty of drunken French co-eds making merry (a group of whom Cecco befriended and wandered off with)...as well as musicians and street performers...even some capoeira dancers. My favorite, though, was the old wino climbing the awnings and shouting hurrahs into the crowd. Too bad "Girls Gone Wild" had to miss it....

The Year of the Boar

Since it's Chinese New Year, Cecco and I wandered over to the Hotel de Ville to watch the parades and pick up some dumplings.

The dumplings were delicious. Thin rice pastry, savory pork and ginger filling, just a touch of crunch, and juicy enough that after you bite the top off, you have to hold the rest of it like a little cup! They're the kind you pick up from a bored street vendor, who just doesn't seem to understand just how happy he's made you by being there.