One of my almost daily pleasures when I am in Paris is to go to the Eric Kayser bakery near where I work. I pick my sandwich at lunch by the type of bread – will it be raisin and nut bread with chèvre or a fig roll with prosciutto? Hmm, maybe olive bread with tomatoes and mozzarella. In any event, it will be a wonderful sandwich. When I treat myself to dessert, the choice is easier. I go with a Tarte Monge, as in the photo above. It’s a fantasy of creamy filling with a mélange of tart red fruits in a jelly. I miss it passionately when I’m not in Paris. Kayser has several branches in Paris, elsewhere in France, and even several international locations. Sadly, however, there is none near me. Eric, can you do something about this for me? Please? (Update: Since I wrote this, Eric heard my pleas and opened in New York!)
Of course, if Kayser was near me all the time, I’d have a big issue with les poignées d’amour (lay pwanyay damoor) or love handles. The expression is exactly the same in both languages, and so is the cause. Why is it so easy to consume calories and so hard to burn them? Why doesn’t a stroll in the Jardin du Luxembourg cancel out a Tarte Monge? Until that happens, a Tarte Monge will be a more occasional treat.