Falafel in Paradise

Falafel in Paradise
by Kristin Franklin

Actually, I mean Paris, not Paradise. Plus, it was snowing in Paris for about four days of my trip. To me, being born and raised in temperate California, it was a blizzard, absolutely freezing. Yet I felt like a kid who had never been to the snow, which is almost true. Anyhow…

Am I justified in feeling guilty, as a professional cook and ambitious eater of good cuisine, to have consumed not once, but three times, street fare at a falafel/schwarma stand in Paris? Maybe. But what I do know for sure is that inhaling the fresh, warm, crisp chickpea balls encased in a pillow-like flatbread pocket garnished with raw cabbage, cucumber and roasted eggplant, finished with a cool yogurt sauce sure beat my attempt to knife and fork through grilled pigs trotters at a traditional Parisian bistro. And, yes, I tried the escargot. And the frogs' legs. On a scale of one to falafel, both the snails and the hoppers score a 6. Oh, but I would give an 8 to the herbed olive-oil jus left behind in each snail shell, poured on bread and eaten in soaked delight.

L’As du Fallafel is a little heaven within paradise.

I would almost call the falafel my most wonderful and tastiest eating experience during my 9-day trip in Paris. Its carnivorous sister sandwich, the schwarma—shaved tender spiced lamb meat in flatbread with all the same fixings—could have been a close second. That is if it weren’t for a small, local charcuterie shop avidly supported by my Parisian-American newly-married best friend, Marissa.

I really didn’t think I liked foie gras all that much. I had tasted it here and there, once featured in an appetizer of braised oxtail and sweet carrot puree and once as part of a sourdough stuffing. Both times my palate was pleased but not to the point of what I had first expected to be gastronomic ethereality. This time was different, though. It all started with the source.

The charcuterie shop, called Au Bon Porc, was charming to me, but that’s because it was the first specialty shop I had stepped into during my trip. I would soon realize these types of shops ARE Paris, in the commercial, retail sense. Butchers, bakeries, cheese shops, wine shops, charcuterie shops, thread and needle shops, pastry shops, book-binding shops, produce markets, flower shops, leather bag shops, frozen food shops. People must get their baguettes everyday. These shops are everywhere, and I’m sure they are just as charming to an everyday Parisian as Rite Aid is charming to me.

But get this. At this specific charcuterie shop, there is only one certified foie gras slicer-lady, and lucky for us, she was there. With careful precision, she smoothly inverted the terrine mold, which tightly housed the fattened goose liver with a layer of transparent fat, or maybe gelee, on top. She was efficient with her wire cutter but carefully wrapped each slice individually before cutting another. We battled the Parisian blizzard three blocks home with our three delicate slices. But not before stopping at the butcher for lamb chops. And at the cheese shop for some aged gouda, Roquefort and chevre coated in dried cranberries. And the knick-knack and novelty shop for some confetti for the wedding. And the wine shop for some inexpensive but wonderful not-as-sweet-as-Sauternes wine to go with the foie gras. And the supermarket for some packaged Brioche slices, perfect for foie gras, as it says on the packaging.

I have to say, foie gras spread on toasted Brioche with a semi-sweet, cool white is the perfect first course after battling pelting snow and flying for nearly 24 hours. Why was the foie gras so good this time around? I don’t know. It was just perfectly balanced. We could spread it on the brioche quite thin so that the richness didn’t overwhelm the palate. The brioche, slightly sweet and buttery with a delicate crispness from the toasting process provided a contrast to the creamy spread.

The seared lamb chops, seasoned with herbs d’ Provence and served with sautéed mushrooms and shallots also helped combat the on-setting jet-lag. Oh, and so did the fresh bread with this amazing butter laced with coarse, crunchy sea salt. I was so warmed by the end of the meal and so far from the blizzard outside that the almond and crushed macaron ice cream went down quite easily.

Speaking of macarons, they are everywhere in Paris, like jewels in windows in various colors and flavors and sizes. These sandwich cookies house a flavored filling (buttercream, jam, whatever) between two rounded meringue-like discs atop a chewy, more cake-like layer. I tried two flavors from a chocolate shop proprietor who owns a patisserie as well. That morning, this was my breakfast, mind you, and I pretty much downed two of these very sweet, partially chewy, partially delicate, moist yet dry confections. The tea flavor was amazing, pistachio was quite tasty. Although I am all for the macaron (I love them, even in ice cream), I have to say they fail quite miserably as a breakfast food item in the nourishment category, especially when walking many miles in Sheepskin boots is on the agenda for the day. Summon falafel.

The walk from the chocolate/macaron shop felt like miles but must have been only three blocks. Falafel was calling, sugar was taking over my head and the occasional sips of my friend’s artisan chocolate chaud didn’t help. I needed falafel for the third time on the trip. The falafel/schwarma guys knew us by then. They gave us high fives. I ordered a falafel spéciale, which came up in about two seconds because the guys that gave us the high fives are so fast with the tongs. As I savored every bite I wondered if I was missing out on some moules frite or a croque monsieur or some coq au vin somewhere else in the city. Probably. I really did want to see if traditional Parisian moules frite were better than those at Plouf in San Francisco. But I guess I’ll just have to come back to Paris, on one condition: I can’t stay just blocks from the Jewish quarter or I would be totally drawn, again, to falafel heaven.

L’As du Fallafel, falafel heaven, is located in the heart of the Marais at 34 RUE DES ROSIERS. Au bon Porc, which I think should be called Au bon Foie Gras, can be found at 52 RUE DU FAUBOURG SAINT DENIS in the 10th arr.

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Kristin can be reached at kristin@babblog.com.