The most appropriate reference point for situating Saint Leonard de Noblat isn’t a point but a line, that of the major medieval pilgrimage route from Vezelay, in Burgundy, to the relics of Saint James in Compostela, Spain. Follow it on foot, as a pilgrim did/does, proceeding at a steady pace of 14 miles (23 km) per day, and you’ll arrive in Saint Leonard de Noblat after a month or so, with another eight weeks to go before Compostela. With that as your line of reference, here’s the map to situate you.

That line, that pilgrimage along the Way of Saint James (Camino de Santiago), and more specifically the relics of Saint Leonard along the Way, is what earned Saint Leonard de Noblat a significant dot on the map.

My own approach was by car from Aubusson, of tapestry fame, 41 miles (66km) to the east. Courtney Withrow approached from Limoges, 13 miles (21km) to the west. We meet here in this 2-part article, where, in this part, I give an overview of town and its development and where, in the second part, Courtney tells of its 500-year-old paper mill Le Moulin du Got.

Doubly present on the UNESCO World Heritage List

So let’s forget for a moment that Saint Leonard de Noblat is well off the beaten path for most travelers. Instead, we’ll return to a time and a place where it was very much on the path of pilgrims. Thanks to that path, this town of 4500, whose historic center is preserved in its stone simplicity, is doubly present on the UNESCO World Heritage List:

– Tangibly, for its collegiate church that was a part of a dense constellation of medieval structures in France along the Way of Saint James;

– Intangibly, as part of religious processions and ceremonies known as Limousin Septennial Ostensions, organized every seven years to present and worship the relics of saints held in the region. (An ostension is a presentation of relics.) About 20 towns in the region—most within 25 miles of Limoges, along with several outliers—band together during the Ostensions to “translate” or move their local relics from town to town through the septennial year. The next Ostensions will take place in 2023.

Leonard, patron saint of prisoners

Nobiliacum (which morphed into Noblac and Noblat) was the name of the village overlooking the Vienne River that existed here in the Dark Ages before becoming fully associated with Saint Leonard through the veneration of his relics during the Middle Ages. Saint Leonard’s life story was written in 1030, nearly 500 years after his death, so it’s as much legend as biography. As word of it spread so did the appeal of visiting his relics and perhaps benefiting from their healing powers.

As the story goes, Leonard was born into aristocracy in the late 5th century during the time of Clovis, King of the Franks. Like Clovis, he was baptized by Saint Remi in Reims, with Clovis himself as his godfather. Become a pious adult, Leonard was given by Clovis the right to release prisoners that Leonard felt worthy of amnesty, hence his status as the patron saint of prisoners. Effigies of the saint present him holding shackles and/or chains, perhaps also with a fleur de lys to symbolize his royal connection. Leonard eventually chose to live as a hermit in the forest by the crossroads that would become Nobiliacum and that would eventually also bear his own name. Hermits took part in evangelizing a region by setting up shop in the forest near well-traveled roads. Miracles followed.

At the turn of the millennium, word was spreading throughout the region and beyond of the miraculous healing powers of a procession of the relics of Saint Martial of Limoges during an epidemic of ergot poisoning, an epidemic caused by grain infected with certain fungi that would strike the Limousin region. As the biography of Saint Leonard gained ground during the second half of the 11th century, other miracles of relief or cure would then be attributed to a procession of his relics, giving further credence to the power of ostensions. Funding from passing pilgrims and from feudal powers contributed to the creation of many churches through the 11th and 12th centuries along the pilgrimage routes of central and southwest France. The mostly Romanesque collegiate church of Saint Leonard de Noblat was a part of that movement. Today, still, it houses the saint’s relics, particularly his skull.

Massepain, the local pastry

Pilgrimages are intended to provide spiritual strength, but long-distance pilgrims, in addition to having sore feet, often had difficulties being suitably nourished. Two 13th-century entrances to a former pilgrim’s hospital still visible in town attest to the physical suffering of pilgrims.

My own visit to Saint Leonard de Noblat knew no suffering. In fact, while I spent some time visiting the old stones and the old bones of Saint Leonard de Noblat, my first encounter with the history of the pilgrimage to and through town came in the form of a pastry called massepain.

Actually, my first encounter wasn’t with a massepain but with Frédéric Rougerie, a founding member and master of ceremonies of the Confrérie des Compagnons de Massepain de Saint Leonard de Noblat, the order or brotherhood that protects and promotes traditional Saint Leonard massepain. Meeting me in the kitchen at Maison Coignac (22 Avenue du Maréchal Foch), a family-run pastry shop and bakery, one of many shops in town making massepain, he greeted me in full brotherhood regalia: a brown cape, the color of the full almonds that go into the pastry (and of Limousin cows); a neck baldric meeting at a patch of Limousin leather on which is attached, in locally-made Limoges porcelain, a reproduction of a massepain bearing the image of the arms of Saint Leonard; a large broach indicating an affiliation with other Limousin brotherhoods, and a pastry chef’s hat.

Calling massepain a pastry makes it sound fancier than it truly is. It’s simply a soft, dry, rustic biscuit made of three ingredients: almonds, egg whites and sugar. I resist translating massepain as marzipan since that risks calling to mind dense almond paste that’s often molded into animal-shaped confections. Marzipan it may be, but this one is so particular to Saint Leonard that it’s best to call it by its French name. Saint Leonard de Noblat is also known as the City of Massepain.

For pilgrims traveling on a poor diet of water, cabbage leaves and some root vegetables, almond-based biscuits were, says Rougerie, the equivalent of a high-protein sports bars. Almonds grow along the Mediterranean basin, so almonds and almond-based confections were known to southern travelers. However, the traditional recipe of the massepain of Saint Leonard practiced today wasn’t developed until 1899, when the local pastry maker Camille Petitjean learned a similar recipe from a Swiss monk who was passing through on the pilgrimage route. Petitjean sold them in town and in surrounding villages, and massepains soon became a staple of the sweet and rustic life in and around Saint Leonard.

Three ingredients go into the traditional Saint Leonard massepain: almonds (the full almond which is then finely crushed), egg whites (unbeaten) and sugar (caster). Despite its Mediterranean roots, the United States is currently the world’s largest almond producer, so many a Saint Leonard massepain likely contain California almonds. By its ingredients, the massepain is cousin to the Parisian macaroon, but it’s very much a country cousin. The macaroon doesn’t use the full almond fruit, its egg white is beaten, and its sugar is powdered, making it suitable for a highfalutin pilgrimage to Paris but not to Saint Leonard de Noblat.

Pilgrims make up only a tiny part of the clientele for massepain. The bulk is consumed by, well, everyone living in or passing through the region. Massepains can be enjoyed at aperitif-time with, say, a glass of pink champagne if you want to go upmarket with your downmarket pastry, in the afternoon with coffee or tea, even by a teething toddler. You name it, the simple yet versatile massapain can have its place.

Come mealtime, however, the traveler to the region inevitably opts for a hearty sit-down meal that may be inspired by the farmland of Saint Leonard de Noblat and the surrounding Limousin region, where you’ll see Limousin cattle, as well as Limousin lamb and Black Bottom pigs. Chestnuts and Limousin apples are also grown in the region.

Porcelain, Paper and Leather

While Saint Leonard now putters along as a largely off-track town in 21st century France, it maintains its attachment not only to its pilgrimage prosperity during the Middle Ages but also to its substantial period of prosperity as a hub for artisanal activity during the 17th and 18th centuries.

To understand the artisanal prosperity, your reference map would show the rivers running through the region, in particularly the Vienne River, which lent its name to the department or sub-region called Haute-Vienne or Upper Vienne. (Saint Leonard and Limoges are far upstream along the Vienne. Further downstream, the river makes a sharp turn north and eventually flows into the Loire River near Saumur.) The quality of its water and that of its small tributaries at this stage of its course encouraged the development two types of water-dependent manufacturing complexes: tanneries, treating hides for leather goods, and papermills. The Vienne also played a role in the development of the porcelain industry in and around Limoges.

Tanneries: By the 19th century there were about 20 sites for tanning hides in the area. The only one now in operation is Tannerie Bastin & Fils. Bastin is a 200-year-old tanner that opened the functioning Moulin Follet (Follet Mill) site in 1892 and has been owned by J.M. Weston since 1981. Weston, based in Limoges, uses leather made here for shoe soles.

Papermills: There were also some 20 paper producers in the heyday of artisanal paper production in the Saint Leonard area in the 18th century. Again, only one remains, the Moulin du Got, which Courtney Withrow tells about in the second part of this article.

Porcelain: Fine bone china and hard-paste porcelain considered “Limoges” isn’t only made in the city of Limoges or by a single producer but by artisans and industry throughout the region who have access to the proper clay within the production zone.

The region was actually known for centuries for its enamel production prior to gaining an international reputation for its porcelain in the early 18th century. In Saint Leonard, the local star of fine porcelain production is Coquet, producer of the brands J.L Coquet and Jaune de Chrome. (Two years ago the company was caught up in revelations of The Daphne Project with respect to money laundering. Since 2019, Coquet has belonged to the Compagnie Européenne de Luxe et Traditions.) Porcelaine Carpenet, a family-run Limoges producer, is also located in Saint Leonard.

Saint Leonard de Noblat Tourist Office, Place du Champ de Mars, 87400 Saint-Léonard de Noblat. The tourst office website provides a list of hotels and B&Bs in the area. Note: This is not an area for luxury accommodations or haute cuisine.

Haute-Vienne Tourist Information. Saint Leonard and Limoges are within the department of Haute-Vienne. Americans on the Statue of Liberty tour of France (there are about 25 replicas in France, in addition to those in Paris) might head 12 miles southeast to Châteauneuf-la-Forêt, where one stands as the monument to the dead of the First and Second World Wars. Not much else to see once you get there, but a drive though Haute-Vienne countryside nonetheless.

Oradour sur Glane, the “martyred village,” is also located in Haute-Vienne, 28 miles (46km) west of Saint Leonard de Noblat.

© 2020, Gary Lee Kraut

Go to the second part of this 2-part article Saint Leonard de Noblat: 500 Years of Paper Production.

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This morning, March 19, I slept late and so was out around 9:30 to buy my breakfast croissant. Because we are in a period of confinement at home, decreed by the government in an effort to stop the coronavirus epidemic, I had with me a printed certificate attesting to my plan to leave my apartment to buy basic necessities, such as a croissant. The atmosphere in the almost deserted street was ominous, and I wanted to make my purchase and get back home as fast as possible.

Going down the rue du Cherche-Midi, I saw coming toward me a dark-haired woman, middle-aged, plumpish, with glasses, who looked familiar. She must have also recognized me, for she stopped, observing the regulation coronavirus distance of one meter.

Then I recognized her. I used to see her at the bakery where she sold me my croissant each morning. I didn’t know her name, she didn’t know mine, but we knew each other’s identities all the same.

She spoke first. “I haven’t seen you for a while, have you been sick? And where’s your little dog?”

At that moment I was embarrassed. I could not admit to her that after having long been one of her faithful customers, I had deliberately switched bakeries. One day, on the weekly closing day of the bakery that I used to frequent, I had tried the croissants at another bakery located just a block or so farther on. They were even plumper and flakier than the ones I had been buying. So I had made the change.

I could not confess my sin of disloyalty to the woman in front of me. Instead I told her the truth, but a different truth. “I fell and broke a bone at the end of December, and I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. Even after I got home, it was a while before I could walk without crutches.”

“But what about your dog?” the woman repeated. She looked truly concerned about my little wire-haired dachshund Britanie, whom I had always left attached to a hook just outside the bakery door where I, and the bakery woman, could see her easily from within.

Then I had to tell the rest of the truth, and I felt no more guilt, just pain. “Britanie is dead. She was an old dog, she was 14, and she died of a massive heart attack while she was with her dog sitter in the country. It was just before Christmas, on December 21. I was still in the hospital. I never got to see her again.”

“That’s terrible!” the woman from the bakery exclaimed. She added: “You must get another dog. Your dog was such a wonderful companion for you. It won’t be the same dog, of course, but it will be a presence in your home.”

A presence in my home. That was just the way I had always thought of Britanie. “She certainly was,” I said. I assured her: “I do plan to look for another dog, as soon as this coronavirus emergency is over.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” said the woman from the bakery. She gave me a big smile.

We went our separate ways, I returning home to face another long day of confinement. I thought about this kindly woman and how sympathetic she had been to me. And I thought about the croissants she sold. They are not that much less good than the ones at the bakery a block away. They are a little less flaky, but not enough to make a big difference. On the other hand, the woman at my old bakery is so kind, nicer than the women at the other bakery, who are polite enough but cool, who never noticed my little dog, or the moment when she was no longer there.

Tomorrow I will return to my old bakery and the kindly woman who warmed my heart in this cold, hard time.

© 2020, Alice Evleth

Alice Evleth is a long-time American expatriate living in the 6th arrondissement of Paris.

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The winner of Paris’s Best Baguette in the French Tradition for 2020 has just been announced, and the prize goes to… Taieb Sahal, an artisan baker at Les Saveurs de Pierre Demours, 13 rue Pierre Demours in the 17th arrondissement. He receives 4000€ and the honor of supplying the Elysées Palace, official residence of the President of France, for one year.

As each year since 1994, when the annual event was first held, competition was tight between the 210 fresh baguettes that were entered this year. So you can’t go wrong by breaking bread bought from any of the nine runners up noted below, nor from the bakeries of previous winners also noted here.

Held annually since 1994, the Grand Prix de la Baguette is organized by the City of Paris in partnership with the Greater Paris Bakers Union. The jury of 17 was comprised this year of baking professionals and six Parisians randomly selected though an online application system. The jury spent the afternoon of March 5 tasting all of the baguettes entered into the competition.

Entries, deposited fresh that morning, had to measure 55-70 centimeters (21.7-27.6 inches), weigh 250-300 grams (8.8-10.6 ounces) and have a salt content of 18 grams per kilo of flour (just under 1.5 teaspoons per pound). They were judged on appearance, baking, smell, crumb and taste.

Winner Taieb Sahal, age 26, is of Tunisian origin. You’ll note below that a significant percentage of past winners have names of African, particularly North African, consonance.

2020 Grand Prix de la Baguette

WINNER – Taieb Sahal of Les Saveurs de Pierre Demours, 13 rue Pierre Demours, 17th arr.

2. Baptiste Léauté of L’Essentiel Mouffetard, 2 rue Mouffetard, 5th.
3. Liman Tigani of Boulangerie Martyrs, 10 rue des Martyrs, 9th.
4. Laurent Demoncy of Au 140, 140 rue de Belleville, 20th.
5. Antonio Teixeira of Aux Délices du Palais, 60 Boulevard Brune, 14th.
6. Khemoussi Mansour of Aux Délices de Glacière, 90 Bd Auguste Blanqui, 13th.
7. Ahmed Ounissi of Boulangerie Lorette, 2 rue de la Butte aux Cailles, 13th.
8. Thierry Guyot of Boulangerie Guyot, 28 rue Monge, 5th.
9. Giovanni Bianco of Giovanni boulangerie contemporaine, 49 rue Chardon Lagache, 16th.
10. Jérôme Leparq of Maison Leparq, 6 rue de Lourmel, 15th.

Recent previous winning bakers and bakeries

2019: Fabric Leroy of Boulangerie Leroy-Monti, 203 avenue Daumesnil, 12th.
2018: Mahmoud M’seddi of Boulangerie 2M, 215 boulevard Raspail, 14th.
2017: Sami Bouattour of Boulangerie Patisserie Brun, 193 rue de Tolbiac, 13th.
2016: Florian Charles of Boulangerie La Parisienne, 48 rue Madame, 6th.
2015: Djibril Bodian of Le Grenier à Pain, 38 rue des Abbesses, 18th. (A two-time winner, he previously won in 2010.)

The bread shown above did not win the Grand Prix de la Baguette, but those are nevertheless the best traditional baguettes in the author’s neighborhood – bakery at 58 rue de Lancry, 10th arr..

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At 7 AM my dog Britanie tells me it is time to get up and start our daily routine. It begins with her first walk of the day that includes a stop at Boulangerie Delattre, on rue du Cherche-Midi. There I leave her attached to a hook outside the door while I run in and buy my breakfast croissant for 1.10€.

I prefer a croissant beurre, made with butter as opposed to ordinary croissants, which are made with margarine. The butter gives it more flavor than the ordinary croissant.

“The quality of the butter also makes a big difference,” Mme. Delattre tells me. She and I both remember when butter prices went up and the Delattres experimented with a lower quality. They gave it up in disgust after a couple of weeks and raised their price from 1€ to 1.10€. Cheaper butter produces a chewier croissant, with less taste. The Delattre croissant beurre is flaky, and when small flakes fall off, I give them to Britanie, who watches for them with an eagle eye.

I eat the croissant with my two morning cups of coffee. I love this breakfast ritual, which I have followed for over forty years, first with my husband Earl, who died four years ago, now alone. I have held to it like a treasure, to remember him by.

But today is Saturday, August 12, beginning a four-day weekend which will culminate on Tuesday, August 15, a legal holiday called Assumption. It celebrates the bodily taking up of the Virgin Mary to heaven at the end of her earthly life. The French call such cobbled together long weekends ponts or bridges. This holiday looks to me like a consolation prize for those businesses unable to take their fermeture annuelle (annual closing) in August. More businesses seem to close for this one than for Christmas.

The hunt is on

Knowing that Boulangerie Delattre will be closed for the whole month, I go straight to Boulangerie Thevenin on the rue de Rennes, a bit farther from home. Their croissant beurre, also 1.10€, is large and flaky, just as good as Delattre, but I don’t like to leave Britanie hooked up alone by the door in this busy area where I cannot see her from inside.

Alas, their “engineers,” as Earl used to call them, have built the holiday “bridge” and Thevenin is closed. A sign on the door tells me this boulangerie will reopen on Wednesday, August 16th.

Britanie and I walk several blocks further to Eric Kayser at the corner of rue de Sèvres and boulevard du Montparnasse. Eric Kayser is a chain with twenty locations, three of them in New York. I have always distrusted chain stores because their quality can vary so much. After a long wait in line I pay 1.20€ for my croissant beurre, thinking that for the 10 cents more than I am used to paying it had better be good. It is flaky enough, but it has a burnt spot on the bottom.

The following day, Sunday, August 13, Eric Kayser is closed. I remember that the bakery and pastry shop Gérard Mulot, a good deal farther from home, near the Marché St. Germain, is open on Sundays. Better known for its pastries, I don’t find the Mulot croissants as good as either of the other two. They are chewy rather than flaky, and again I remember a burnt spot on the bottom of the last one I had. It also costs 1.40€. But I am desperate, so Britanie and I trek down there, only to find they are taking the whole month off.

On my way home I pass several other boulangeries, including a big chain one, Secco. All are closed today. At last I remember Boulangerie La Parisienne, at the corner of rue de Vaugirard and rue Madame. It’s one of seven shops owned by a baker who in 2016 won the presitigious Best Baguette in Paris competition which made him the official supplier to the Elysées Palace (official residence of the French president) for a year. I stand in an interminable line of mostly English speaking tourists struggling to order in French. My croissant costs 1.20€, it is the largest one I have found yet, and it is nice and flaky. To me, it’s also tasteless. After I eat half of it, I give the rest to Britanie. She nibbles it without enthusiasm.

On Monday August 14th, I assume Eric Kayser will be open, since it was closed the day before. It is, but when I get there around 10:30, they are sold out of croissants. Secco is, however, open, and I take home a croissant that is more than chewy, it is almost tough, for which I again pay 1.20€. This time Britanie gets three quarters of my rejected croissant. She does not lick her dish to get every crumb.

Eric Kayser has announced that its boulangerie will be open on August 15, Assumption Day itself. It keeps its promise. I go early, at 9 AM, and find a breakfast croissant that is reasonably flaky, reasonably buttery, bottom unburnt this time.

By August 16, the worst is over. Thevenin has reopened, and will see me through until my favorite Boulangerie Delattre reopens at the end of the month. I will then be at peace until next August, when Britanie and I will set out again on the Great Croissant Hunt.

© Alice Evleth, 2018

Alice Evleth is a long-time American expatriate living in the 6th arrondissement of Paris.

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* * *

By Daniele Thomas Easton

Every winter, during our sojourn by the French Riviera, away from the American northern inclemency, my American husband and I seem to embark on a quest for some Holy Grail, usually a gastronomic quest. This year, it is the elusive bagel that has captured our interest and energized us.

Sunday brunch is not the same, here or at home, without the traditional bagel, cream cheese, smoked salmon and the works! There is a sad reality, whatever your age or nationality: after splurging on croissants and brioches at breakfast time, one reaches a level of saturation and wants to revert to old habits, healthier or not.

What gave us the idea – erroneous – that the search would be easy this year was the discovery of a center city eatery baptized “Bagel History,” Avenue Notre-Dame, a few footsteps from the cathedral. Comforted by this ecumenical neighborhood, we stopped by to purchase a few bagels that were offered on the menu. Non, we could only order and consume their ready-prepared feasts with appealing names like The Manhattan, The Central Park, The Hudson River and, yes, The Nissart (meaning “from Nice” in the local dialect), with tuna, olives, tomato, hard boiled eggs, cucumber, red pepper… and vinaigrette.

We managed to extort, after many compliments on their innovative menu, the name of the supplier of bagels, a new bakery in town, BREAD. No rampant linguistic Americanism, BREAD is the acronym of Boulangerie Responsable et Amitié Durable, a fair-trade establishment where bread is made with organic ingredients, in an artisanal manner, sourdough et al.

Early one Saturday, I woke up and walked to BREAD to make sure I would get the four bagels I had ordered the day before. Although BREAD only sells bagels to restaurants, the owners have a soft spot for foreigners with a yearning for home food and accept orders placed by individuals! The salesperson was sorry… priority had been given to a last minute’s order of 10 bagels by a regular client, a promising new chef.

There is no law against lackadaisical bakers in Nice! One has to bite the bullet, if not the bagel, and accept fatality. We negotiated for a similar order for Sunday. Patience is a virtue. Back home early Sunday, a proud acquirer of a French version of the baker’s dozen (in this case a baker’s four: our original order plus one on the house as an apology), I prepared breakfast.

From the height of his food knowledge and his Brooklyn upbringing, my husband punctured my balloon: “This is no bagel, a bastardized version of baguette, brioche and bagel, maybe… But definitely no bagel!”

Well, the bagel was no real bagel, the cream cheese was no real cream cheese either—we use light ricotta cheese, even if Philadelphia cream cheese has made it here—but, all in all, brioche-like bagels aren’t bad. Four went that morning. And the fifth one, that evening, went pretty well with a creamy goat cheese and a glass of Haut-Beynac, 2010.

Bagel History, 27 avenue Notre-Dame, 06000 Nice. Tel.  04 93 92 39 05. Open Mon.-Sat. 8am-7pm.

BREAD Boulangerie Responsable, 44 boulevard Gambetta 06000 Nice. Tel. 04 89 98 67 24.

© 2013, Daniele Thomas Easton

Daniele Thomas Easton is the Director of France-Philadelphie, which provides consulting for French-American business and cultural projects. She is the former Honorary French Consul to Philadelphia (PA) and Wilmington (DE). When not wintering in Nice she and her husband live in Philadelphia. In 2007 she received France’s Legion of Honor.

Note: Photos above are not of BREAD bagels.

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Though you’ll find some fine addresses in the four pastry-related articles of this issue, I didn’t set out to draw up a list of the best or newest pastry shops in Paris or the city’s most famous pastry chefs, but rather to explore various aspects of la dolce vita:

– A Paris Cupcake Diary, Featuring Macaroons, Too,

– ANZAC Biscuits, a Memorial Taste of War from the Battlefields of the Somme,

– Paris Street Talk: Gastronomy, Pastries and Wine on Rue de l’Abbé Grégoire and

– Angelina at 110 Pursues the Sweet Life in Paris and Beyond.

Along the way I got slightly sidetracked in Fast Food Improves on France’s Fast Train, but there’s a cup of hot chocolate there as well.

As if all that weren’t entrancing enough, I joined journalist Corinne LaBalme to visit a new boutique hotel with a magic theme, where we saw ourselves in some bathroom fun-house mirrors, met the enchanting decorator and fell under the spell of the card-trickery of the magician receptionist. Corinne then took out her magic pencil to write a hotel review, while I went off to visit Paris’s Magic Museum to add a brief P.S. to her text.

I’m somewhat saddened to see this Magical Pastry Issue end, but nevertheless ready to improve my diet. Not right away though, because my new-found credibility as a cupcake expert in Paris has landed me a chair at the judging table of Cupcake Camp Paris, which takes place on Sunday afternoon Nov. 24, with proceeds going to Make-a-Wish France. Cupcake Camp Paris may not get the mass attention and local investment of Batkid in San Francisco, but we take our moments of happiness where we can get them.

You can grab some informative happiness right now by reading the Magical Pastry Issue. Don’t overdo it though. Savor these articles like I have pastries over the past few weeks, one or two a day, with long walks in Paris in between. How sweet it is!

See here for information about how to join on a culinary and wine adventure in the spirit of France Revisited.

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As all businesses in this part of Montmartre, these three attract both residents and tourists. That’s a good sign seeing that from the plateau at top of the hill, where everything is devoted to tourism, you wouldn’t think that anyone actually lives in Montmartre. Montmartre is, in fact, a large, dense residential zone bordered by Boulevard de Clichy, Boulevard de Rochechouart, Boulevard Barbès, Rue Custine and Rue Caulaincourt.

This short list of notable brunch places concerns only the western part of that zone. Outside of brunch-time, you need only witness the buzz in the cafes on Rue des Abbesses or on Rue Caulaincourt in winter to understand how residential Montmartre truly is and what sociable characters inhabit this part of the 18th arrondissement.

Le Café Qui Parle, 24 rue Caulaincourt, 18th arr. Metro Abbesses or Blanche. Tel. 01 46 06 06 88. Serving brunch on 10am-4pm Saturday, Sunday and holidays. Reservations not taken. Otherwise a café and a restaurant. Closed Sun. evening.

A bountiful buffet and tableside service for beverage, all at a few euros less than most brunches in Paris, makes this one of the top choices anywhere in Montmartre. That explains the line that forms outside by noon, or even by 11:30am. Come before 11:30 or after 2 to avoid a long line.

If no seats are available you can always pick up some good sweet or savory offerings at the excellent Goutran Cherrier bakery across the street at 22 rue Caulaincourt.

After brunch, consider a stroll nearby in the atmospheric Montmartre Cemetery, final resting place to Degas, Berlioz, Offenbach, Nijinsky, Truffaut, Stendhal, Zola, Dalida and 22,000 others.

Coquelicot, 24 rue des Abbesses, 18th arr. Metro Abbesses or Pigalle. Tel. 01 46 06 18 77.

Coquelicot, meaning poppy (you will see red poppy flowers everywhere), is primarily a bakery though it also acts as a café. The high quality bread at Coquelicot is a good reason to stop here. Since it’s primarily a bakery it is, of the three places noted here, the least attractive for a lengthy sit. Unlike the other two on this list, however, there’s an easy way to beat the weekend brunch crowds: come for brunch during the week. You can reserve or just stop by. Coquelicot also serves a various types of simple breakfast, a wise choice for the weekday traveler.

In addition to the tables outside and on the ground floor there’s plenty of (tight) seating upstairs.

This reputable moderately-priced restaurant, otherwise serving a range of Paris classics, proposes a pleasing Sunday brunch. Decent though not exceptional as far as brunches go, but the place is appealing for a long brunch sit, without the constant bustle of the two mentioned above. And on the approach to this restaurant Rue Tholozé has a great uphill views toward the windmill of the Moulin de la Galette, the open-air dance bar subject of Renoir’s famous “Bal du Moulin de la Galette” in the Orsay Museum.

Kudos to owner Ludovic Janssens for being such a friendly and accommodating owner when I brunched here. He was willing to remake the pancake batter when I told him the pancakes were too thin, which he quickly saw was true. Most owners in Paris would have simply invited me to pay the bill and leave. Pancakes are typically served as part of the dessert portion of brunch in Paris and, even at their best, tend to be less fluffy and contain less flour than their American counterparts.

Prices
A typical brunch in Paris runs 17-26 euros and naturally much more in luxury hotels and fashion-conscious restaurants. Le Café Qui Parle and Coquelicot are in the lower end of that range. Le Petit Parisien, which is a restaurant, is mid-range.

© 2011, Gary Lee Kraut

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I stopped into a gas station just over the North Carolina border in Fayetteville, the first American town named after the Marquis de Lafayette, and couldn’t take a oui without reading on a comdom distributor that “abstinence before marriage and a monogamous relationship during marriage” served as better protection than a tube of latex, nevertheless “available here for your privacy and convenience.”

In France, you’re actually more likely to get laid, not to mention elected, by practicing abstinence from God and a monogamous relationship with the local wine.

Nevertheless, south of D.C. and before you hit Florida you travel through states with identities comparable to certain regional identities in France—Burgundy or Champagne or Brittany, for example—meaning that whatever pleasures and opportunities they may provide for the visitor you’d feel quite the outsider if tried to settle down there.

I wasn’t looking to settle down though but simply to spend two days in and around Cary, North Carolina, visiting an old friend from high school and enlisting him on a tour of French bakeries or restaurants in the Raleigh-Cary-Durham area.

We had a lot of catching up to do, which I won’t bore you with here, so I’ll cut to the chase.

First we went to the old North Carolina Statehouse in Raleigh, where sculptures on the outside mourn for the Confederacy (below left) and a sculpture of George Washington on the inside (below right) serves as a cautionary tale for those who would have their democratically elected leaders sculpted by Italians.

We went hunting for French pastries and found what I have come to consider the best croissant between Newark, NJ, and Naples, FL.

It was in the town of Cary, between Raleigh and Durham, at La Farm Bakery, a busy brick, wood, and tile bakery-café with an open kitchen where even on a busy morning the service was friendly as all get-out. If it takes a bit if fear of God to get good service then maybe the French should start going to church more often.

The croissant was deliciously fresh and buttery, and it had a close rival in the flaky pain au chocolat. The breads looked look picture-perfect.

Of course one can’t judge bread simply by its appearance so I asked the woman in line behind me which one’s she’d tried and if they were good. Turns out she was Sandra A. Gutierrez, a local food writer, and she had tried them all. Her knowledgeable enthusiasm for La Farm’s bread convinced me that this picture was worth a thousand bites.

Too good to be homegrown (no offense to residents of the Raleigh-Cary-Durham area), there had to be some serious baking education behind La Farm Bakery. Indeed there is; I learned from the bakery’s website, that the man behind the quality (and success) of the place is Lionel Vatinet.

His know-how doesn’t come from the Frenchness of his name, though I suspect that helps, but from the fact that he learned and developed his skills by touring for seven years with the guild of craftsmen and artisans called Les Compagnons du Devoir, at the end of which he earn the prestigious title Master Baker.

An outsider might never feel at home in North Carolina, but he’ll always have find comfort at La Farm.

La Farm Bakery, 4248 Cary Parkway, Cary, NC. 919-657-0657.

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On Sunday I walked into a bakery with a friend visiting from Denmark. Everything looked delicious to him, and to me, so we were slow to choose and let several people go ahead of us. Finally the friend told me what he wanted and I ordered for the two of us since I was treating and could order in French.

I told the seller that we wanted a pistachio crumble (in the case to the left, and so the seller immediately went left) and a brownie (in the case to the right, and so the seller went right). When I ordered the first pastry the seller was already standing behind the case with the brownies, so he went to one direction then returned in the other.

In the scheme of things that mattered little since the cash register was in the middle. Still the seller remarked, “Next time order the brownie first. It’ll be more efficient that way because I was standing right there.”

Perhaps he was trying to be funny, but if so he could have been a lot funnier. No, I think he was actually telling me that I should follow his script for seller-customer “correctness.” I was in fact being admonished for ordering in a way that he saw as inefficient.

I responded, “Sorry, but I thought it more polite to order my guest’s pastry before mine.” In other words, I have my own script for “correctness” that apparently contradicted his own. For me, the customer, my guest trumped his efficiency.

The seller looked at me with a smile and with a slight nod and said, “C’est tout à votre honneur, Monsieur” (“That’s very honorable of you, Sir” or “It does you credit”).

He may have still thought that I’d wrong him with an inefficient order, but it was nonetheless a gracious response.

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You don’t always recognize the name. But there he (less often she) is, some local hero, the memory of a moment, a community, a neighborhood, a city, a state, a region, or a nation.

Identifying and telling about the individuals or scenes such sculptures represent is the common stuff of tours. Most guides, whether a text or a person, will tell you who is represented in that sculpture, along with an intriguing or amusing anecdote or two.

The best guides—the rare guides—will also tell you when and why the monument was erected. There are as many insights to be learned by knowing who placed the monument as there are by understanding the social and political and perhaps financial context that brought about the monument and allowed that hero to be praised at that spot. For example, none of the royal sculptures that you see in the great squares of Paris date from the time of the represented king. The curious travel then asks when they were placed there. The wise traveler asks why.

For the group doing the honoring (i.e. paying for the monument), monuments to local heroes are a way of emphasizing a moment in history, writing—or rewriting—history, promoting an agenda, and honoring themselves for holding the views or carrying the supposed mantle of the person being honored. Napoleon III, for example, erected or re-erected statues of Napoleon I.

Unlike in Europe, where an informed visitor could get a great sense of a city’s history and major sights simply by going from statue to statue, far fewer figurative monuments stand out in the United States, though they do exist, particularly on the East Coast. Such monuments naturally appear more often in the nation’s older states because the honoring of public figures with a monument was far more common in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

The monument to a public figure, whether financed publicly or privately, lost favor in the 1960s as the will to promote and finance such projects was often resisted. For a while cities and states were conscientiously attaching the names of favored sons to buildings and parks; mostly now those honors go to donors and advertisers.

Even on the East Coast, only a handful of cities have felt the need (or had the political or community drive) to honor their local heroes in marble or bronze. Richmond, Virginia, is one such place, which is why I had such an enjoyable sense of European-style discovery there recently while examining the city center’s many monuments to local heroes and asking Richmonders about them.

They may be forgotten heroes, they may be heroes of another era, or they may be heroes only of those who held influence at the time the statue was erected. In any case, there they sit or stand in the heart of Richmond:

on Monument Avenue
– Robert E. Lee, J.E.B. Stuart, Jefferson Davis, Stonewall Jackson, Matthew Fontaine Maury, Arthur Ashe;
outside the Virginia Capitol
– Harry F. Byrd Sr., George Washington and fellow patriots, Governor William Smith, Stonewall Jackson (again), Dr. Hunter Holmes McGuire, Barbara Rose Johns and others on the Civil Rights Memorial, Edgar Allan Poe;
inside the Virginia Capitol
– George Washington in the rotunda surrounded by the busts of the seven Virginia-born presidents who served after Washington: Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, James Monroe, William Henry Harrison, John Tyler, Zachary Taylor, and Woodrow Wilson. And since that leaves one other niche in the octagonal space, the bust of Marquis de Lafayette fills the eighth. Meanwhile, in the Old Hall of the House of Delegates, Robert E. Lee turns his back to George Washington as takes up the fight of the Confederacy.

As a Northerner, I was fascinated by the many monuments to leaders and heroes of the Confederacy. Asking around I learned that construction of monuments to men of the Confederacy in Richmond, as elsewhere in the South, derived from the same form of nostalgia and political strength as monuments to, say, Napoleon in Paris or churches of the Counterreformation. I leave you to investigate that nostalgia or strength on your own. Ask around when you come to Richmond.

Instead, I’ll jump to my purpose for writing today about this stop on my East Coast road trip: local Francophilia.

The friendly folk at the welcome desk to the State Capitol were so willing to guide me in my search for local Francophilia that I nearly overstayed my coins in the parking meter. We discussed how Jefferson, in designing the original Capitol in the 1780s (the central portion of the current building, before it sprouted wings), was inspired by the Roman temple known as the Maison Carée in Nimes.

Those proud Richmonders actually found and photocopied a leaflet for me noting various French connections in the Capitol Square. Due to Jefferson’s French connections and Francophilia, Frenchmen were involved as consulting architects, draftsmen, and scale model makers in planning the building’s construction.

The sculptures of Washington and Lafayette in the rotunda are the work of French sculptor Jean-Antoine Houdon. Both are made from life masks that Houdon made of the men. Houdon was recruited for the Washington job by Jefferson himself who was then in Paris. The marble bust of Jefferson, copied from an original by Houdon, was presented to the Commonwealth of Virginia by a committee of French citizens in 1931. A bronze copy of the famous Washington statue was presented by the Commonwealth of Virginia to the Republic of France, specifically to the Museum of Versailles, in 1910.

Lafayette, Virginia’s first honorary citizen by act of the State Assembly, visited the Capitol in 1824 during his tour of the United States celebrating the cause of the American Revolution and his role in it.

Between touring Monument Avenue and the State Capitol I enjoyed driving along the center-city grid and seeing the magnificent old mansions.

I also visited the commercial Uptown and Carytown sections. Carytown, along and around Cary Street, was my main point of attack because I wanted to have breakfast at Jean-Jacques. I’d been told by a Francophile working at one of the city’s museums the Jean-Jacques was Richmond’s premier French bakery. (Where you visiting from? she’d asked. Paris, I’d said. The rest was history, and no parking meter to worry about.)

The entrepreneurial Jean-Jacques who launched the business left the eponymous bakery and café long ago, but Jean-Jacques has stayed as its name because there’s no denying that Jean-Jacques sounds French… far more than Josef, first name of the head chef since 1985 and owner since 2006.

Josef Bindas grew up in Belgium and traveled the world for many years before finally settling in the Virginia capital, yet his roots in French baking, and more particularly northern French baking, are deep and strong. His daughter Liliana now assists as manager and wedding cake expert.

There’s an appealing earnestness to the way he describes his work, his use of French equipment, and his insistence on importing as many fresh products (cream, butter) as possible from France. I sensed his integrity as a baker and as a businessman, the desire to appeal to local tastes without betraying his own sense of quality French baking.

When visiting a bakery in the morning, as I did here, I invariably first test the croissant. Spoiled by butter-rich Paris croissants, I would have liked Josef’s croissant, fresh though it was, to be more flaky and buttery, but it was quite nice for dipping in coffee.

I went for the calories on my next selection, a strawberry allumette—a puff pastry with strawberry, almonds, custard, and whipped cream. I already liked the place, and that pastry made me like it even more, earning Josef and his Francophile shop high marks from this writer.

I call it a Francophile shop not just for the offering and the equipment but because during my visit time several French-speaking clients and friends of Josef stopped in for a morning chat. There’s a long bakery counter and a half-dozen tables here. Nothing extraordinary, but I liked the feel of the place and Josef’s attitude toward his work and his clientele.

There’s a handsome French brasserie on the other side of the parking lot called Can-Can (or Can, as the half-lit sign indicated when I found when stopping by in the evening). You might also consider this, as I did, for an evening wine stop. Nice atmosphere, even on a calm night.

A more intimate and more upscale French restaurant 1 North Belmont, whose name echoes its address, is around the corner.

Meanwhile, on the western edge of the city Frenchman Alain Lecomte has an excellent reputation for classical French cuisine at his restaurant Chez Max.

I said to Josef, “Let me get this straight: there’s French restaurant called Chez Max run by a guy named Alain and a French bakery called Jean-Jacques run by a guy named Josef. Don’t you find that a little strange?”

“C’est comme ça,” Joseph said with a Gallic shrug—that’s just the way it is.

– Text and photos (except Library of Congress photo) GLK.

* * *

Addresses, etc.

Jean-Jacques, 3138 West Cary Street. http://www.carytownbakery.com/

Chez Max, 10622 Patterson Avenue. http://www.chezmaxva.com/

Can Can, 3120 West Cary Street. http://www.cancanbrasserie.com/

1 North Belmont, 1 North Belmont, http://www.1northbelmont.com/

The Capitol is open to visitors Mon.-Sat. 8:30 a.m. – 5 p.m. and Sun. 1-4 p.m. Guided tours are given regularly and self-guided tours are also possible. See http://www.virginiacapitol.gov/ for more.

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