Rose Bakery was certainly a rare culinary delight and an excellent welcome to Paris.
A city’s gastronomy is one of the many things I look forward to when traveling to a new place. Other than the obvious reasons that one would like food – taste, pleasure – there’s something about eating local cuisine that makes a travel experience whole. For instance, a trip to Spain isn’t complete until you’ve sampled tapas, just like you can’t visit Italy and avoid pizza or pasta. I think knowing what fuels the people of a city, adds to the understanding of their culture and way of life. Beyond these philosophical musings, however, it should be known that few things make me happier than a really good meal.
After a somewhat turbulent entrance into Paris (I haven’t quite mastered the art of traveling light,) I overslept, missing the free hostel breakfast. As I would come to find out, I hadn’t missed out on much. During my travels, the Time Out travel guides have become a very valuable resource. So, based off of the suggestion of Time Out Paris, my friend and I decided to try out Rose Bakery, a breakfast spot in our area. The walk to Rose Bakery should have been an indication of what would lay ahead – a cloudless blue sky let a bright sun shine down on skipping children and strolling couples. Being the 1st of May, Labor Day in France, every cafe was bustling with life and flower stands boasted a rainbow of color at each street corner.
The façade of Rose Bakery was surprisingly non-descript with its gray exterior and single window. Its interior, however, was quite the opposite. Barely one step inside the threshold, my nostrils were immediately hit with a thousand smells. Bananas, fresh bread, flour, butter, garlic, berries – the smells felt warm and familiar, a sensation I often get during Thanksgiving or Christmas. Upon being seated, we were quickly brought fresh sour dough bread on a wooden cutting board and served with what I assumed to be homemade butter. I was enjoying the simplicity of the place – unfinished wooden tables, sprigs of spring flowers in small vases, an open case of pastries, and crates of fresh fruit scattered around the entrance. Our cappuccinos came with the perfect amount of light frothy foam and two ginger cookies on the side.
Although my Spanish proficiency allowed me to decipher some of the French words on the menu, I succumbed to walking over to the pastry case and pointing to what looked best. Everything we tasted was delicious, however, one item stands out in my memory: the raspberry muffin. I realize that that may sound ordinary, but there is something special when simple foods are done incredibly well. I mentioned the olfactory sensations of Rose Bakery at the beginning of this essay and here again, they come into play. Breaking the muffin open, I could see steam rising from the crack. The steam floated up, bringing a raspberry fragrance so strong I could taste the freshness before I even brought a piece to my mouth. The smell held subtle traces of cinnamon and banana, traces made real once I finally bit in. The crisp outer shell of the muffin top gave way to fluffy inside and warm gooey berries. Rose Bakery was certainly a rare culinary delight and an excellent welcome to Paris.
