I don’t want to know their names. I don’t want to know them intimately. I try not to dream of their fancy delights. They are an occasion of sin. Oh, please . . . keep thee behind me, Satan. Of course I’m talking about French pastries.
A friend stopped in several days ago with a gift box of goodies from Bakery Nouveau in West Seattle – bakerynouveau.com. To soften the blow of gluttony, she included a container of fresh strawberries. Needless to say, the strawberries were the last thing to be consumed. Last summer Peg and I had a long weekend in West Seattle and we enjoyed ourselves investigating new places to dine and shop. I’m just so thankful we never found this bakery. The box contained this ugly something or other with multiple layers of flaky crusts and ribbons that melted in our mouths. The deeper we got into the creation the sweeter the layers now containing almond paste became.
A few years ago we stayed in downtown Seattle. I went exploring one morning and returned to our room at the Hotel Monaco with a bag of goodies from Belle Epicurean a French bakery less than a block away (www.nwadventures.us/925Monaco.html). I purchased by pointing and musing of the pleasure to come. Back in the room with my bag of treasures Peg remained asleep. What could I do? When she awoke the precious prizes were diminished in number. I could tell Peg was disappointed in my weakness. How many times can you say you’re sorry. The two of us returned only to find the morning crowd had reduced the selections. Even when we stay on Capitol Hill, we visit “la Belle.”
Here in the Tacoma area I know of no authentic French pastry shops . . . if you know of bakeries that have trained bakery chefs from Le Cordon Bleu Paris, please do not tell me, do not comment, and above all do not send me an email with their name and address.