It was one of those gloomy days in Paris where the wet clings your clothes to your skin and the opaque sky presses upon you so closely, you feel that if you lifted your hand, you would brush the clouds with your fingertips. Jennifer and I had come to la ville des lumières on business, but we had come to the Rue de Buci solely for pleasure.
Rough stone storefronts spired above on either side of the thin, twisting street, and held aloft the canopy of dull pewter sky. Beneath the buttresses of vibrantly colored shop awnings, the bustle of the gastronomical trade swirled. Baguettes flowed from the doorway of the boulangerie. A vendor held aloft a rope of onions, white and lumpy as freshwater pearls.
The heart of Paris may technically be the Ile de la Cité, or symbolically the Eiffel Tower, but the Rue de Buci – nestled between the metro stops of Mabillon and Saint Germain des Près – is the city’s embodiment the French love affair with food.
Amorino Photo from www.amorino.fr |
I’d first stumbled upon this street when visiting a friend earlier that year. “I’ll take you to the best ice cream boutique in all of France!” she had boasted. After a winding dance through the subway and a handful of curlicued streets, I found myself under the angel-strewn awning of Amorino, where I learned that, yes, heaven is a place on earth, and it contains over twenty different flavors of Italian gelato. And, by the time I’d finished my cup (runneth over with chocolate, sweet cream, and strawberry gelato), I’d been seduced by the Rue de Buci – the sounds, the smells, but above all, the wares.
The next time I visited the Rue de Buci, I found myself walking in circles, hopelessly searching for the entrance like a lovelorn Giovanni at the wall of Signor Rappaccini’s garden. I eventually did find it, one hour and a map later, which set me up nicely for my third trip to the Rue, accompanied by Jennifer.
We glided among the crowd, silently drinking in the sights. Businessmen in pressed suits carrying baguettes under their arms as they chatted into their cell phones. Little old ladies teetering down the cobblestones in high heels, pulling their shopping carts behind them.
Cacao et Chocolat Photo from www.cacaoetchocolat.com |
We ducked in to Cacao et Chocolat, entranced by its maize-and-burnt-sienna exterior. With décor inspired by the ancient Aztecs (the grandfathers of chocolate-making), Cacao et Chocolat is an exquisite chocolaterie and salon de thé.
Because it was cold, and because it was teatime, we each purchased a cup of Aztec hot chocolate and a slice of chocolate torte. I don’t remember much about the torte – except that it must have been delicious – but I do remember the hot chocolate sliding down my throat, silk smooth and thick as cream, warming me to the very tips of my fingers. Pure, melted bliss.
There are better-known streets in Paris, to be sure, but I’ve yet to know a better Paris street. Like the city to which it belongs, the Rue de Buci is a moveable feast, and it lingers with you long after you have drifted from its smells, its sounds, its tastes.
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