The Rose Bakery

 

Secretly tucked into the very quaint Rue des Martyrs near St. Georges, Paris is the Rose Bakery.  I’m such a foodie and after hearing many great things about the place, my friend Ella and I decided to go there for a much-needed Brunch.  Yes, it’s a little on the expensive side, but they do have pancakes with maple syrup (need I say more?)  When we walked in, there was a mound of exotic salads on our right; amidst cakes of varying colours and flavours, and gigantic hunks of cheese which I just wanted to cradle (I’m already having cheese nightmares by this point).  Perfectly square home-made quiches with crusts that melt in your mouth; vibrant green haricots verts; rainbow-orange carrots, grated and dressed in lemon vinaigrette.  I even spied something which looked like Eton mess.  I felt like tiptoeing; as if I’d entered a magical food realm which could so easily be quelled by human existence.  At this point I wouldn't have been surprised to turn around and see an Oompa-loompa churning up a chocolate souffle.

Men and women were ordering sumptuous amounts of the food spread out before them as a small man boxed them up neatly for them to take home to their doting families.  Waiters paraded from the kitchen hatchet with vast loaves of fresh bread and new salads ready to compete in flavour and display.  Around the back you could make yourself at home in the cosy little café with their rustic tables and chairs.  The waiters all smiled and spoke in English too; the fresh from the oven brown crusty bread was brought to the table on a wooden slab.  I decided to go for the home-made broccoli quiche with a plate of fresh veg and Ella went for the scrambled eggs with smoked salmon.  I also ordered a glass of orange juice which was nothing short of electrifying.  It arrived, foaming at the top.  It was the perfect combination of sweet and tangy, bursting with fresh orange pulp which tingled your lips.  For €6.50 it was no bargain, but I had entered orange-juice heaven.  It surpassed Tropicana a long time ago.

Ella’s latte arrived with a slice of green tea cake.  And yes, the cake was green.  Not a luminescent, sickly green, but a dusty forest green with a splattering of purple.  It was simply so beautiful; so exquisitely executed that I wanted to talk to it, to congratulate it.  

The café also served as an organic health store, promoting shelves of dark chocolate, wheat-free products, organic cereals.  I want to live here...

I left, €21 euros in debt.  But €21 worth spent.

Watch this space.

Montana