Sampling the fruits of France

Today I would like to talk about French fruit. I am not referring to French fruitiness, which is an entirely different topic (and one in which I would be forced to address the small purple cars called Twingos and men who are comfortable wearing capri pants), but rather fruit that is available for purchase in France. Right now, I am under the impression that French fruit is superior in every way to all other fruit everywhere else. I say this with the vast experience that comes from having sampled three whole varieties of French fruit. Allow me to explain.

1) The peach
Yesterday I stumbled down Avenue Mozart, blindly searching for bread and peaches. Conveniently, two produce stands are located approximately three blocks from my apartment (in addition to the boulangerie/patisserie, the poissonerie, the boucherie, the multiple florists, the multiple confiseries and chocolatiers…and I am not being in any way hyperbolic. My neighborhood is not unique. Paris is just swimming in gorgeous, gorgeous food, everywhere you look. Today a van drove past me that was loaded entirely with foie gras.).

I randomly chose one shop and walked in. The selection was not large, and flies were swarming. I grabbed two white peaches, paid and left. Today the peaches were softened and ready for consumption. I just ate one and lo, it made my knees buckle. I stuffed the entire thing in my mouth straight from the cutting board, as if the flavors would dissipate if I hesitated too long. It was perfumed and intense, with zings of honey and roses and everything that is good and pure in this world.

I feel like a traitor for saying this, but it was even better than a Michigan peach. Michigan peaches are not often white, I know, and it’s not a fair comparison really, because white peaches do tend to be more perfume-y than yellow ones. But Paris peaches win out just because of the ease involved in procuring them. There was no farmer’s market, no special detour necessary. I just walked into a single, unknown produce stand and came away with glorious peaches.

2) The Charentais melon
I was shopping at the uninspiring Franprix supermarket around the corner from my house, and noticed a sale on Charentais melons. I bought one because they were cheap and because I noticed a slightly musky odor hovering around them. My policy is that melons are only worth buying if they smell like something. That’s true of many fruits. And in the U.S., supermarket fruit rarely has any odor, and consequently no flavor. How many slices of crappy cantaloupe and honeydew have you eaten in life? I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve bought a decent cantaloupe at a major supermarket chain.

But at the local Franprix, you can get a nice Charentais melon, which is actually a real cantaloupe with a real flavor. According to Wikipedia, the things we call cantaloupes in the U.S. are actually punk-ass muskmelon poseurs. Are you confused? So am I. Basically, the Charentais is a musky-smelling, delicious, true cantaloupe, while a U.S. cantaloupe is a frequently flavorless, often non-musky-smelling muskmelon.

Long story short, I wrapped some prosciutto around the melon slices and it was divine.

3) The raspberry
Today I went to the Laduree on Rue Royale for a little afternoon snack. I had spent the morning skulking around the entrance to my school, getting the lay of the land and staring goggle-eyed at all the amazing stores clustered in and around the Boulevard des Capucines (or Cappuccino Street, as I like to think of it). Thanks to the wonderful selection of $4 Penguin Popular Classics, I narrowly avoided spending $28 (!!!) on a paperback edition of Balzac’s A Harlot High and Low at WH Smith, which in turn freed me up to spend the money on pastry and iced tea.

I was slightly intimidated by the prospect of eating at Laduree by myself, but my fear was unfounded. The wait staff was comprised entirely of attractive young men in their twenties who were very kind to me and the other solitary women present – shocking, that. As their website notes, “The tea-room had an advantage over the cafés: it could welcome ladies without causing a stir.” Indeed.

The ceilings are frescoes, the walls are dark wood, the carpet is complicated, and the menu is filled with page after page of Baroque-sounding pastries and ice cream creations and exotic teas. I ordered the Divin, which was described as “A biscuit flavoured with almonds and cracks of nougat, nougat cream, raspberry stew, fresh raspberries.” I’m not sure that I would have translated “compote” from the French into “stew”, but I’m not going to argue. It was fabulous. The “biscuit” really tasted like a macaroon, which it probably was …and the raspberries were sublime. They were big and juicy and incredibly sweet. The iced tea? Not worth $8, but still very interesting.

So often in the U.S. I see frilly little fruit tarts and Napoleons in bakeries, but they are typically disappointing. Often they’re stale and dried out, or gooey, or flabby, or contain any other number of flaws. But not in Paris. Or at least, not at Laduree.

So, to conclude, the fruit that can be found in France so far seems to be very good. I'm not sure whether it all comes from France, or whether the standards for food here are just much higher and that affects the quality of the imports. Whatever the case, I have the feeling that you could never get away with the atrocities committed by American supermarkets over here. That makes me happy.