Friday, April 22, 2016

Maison De La Chantilly

When Tony first moved out on his own, one of his first indulgences was to buy a pint of whipping cream, whip it, sugar it, place it in the fridge, and eat at his leisure. This was the ultimate luxury to a man who'd grown up in a frugal household with a big appetite-ed brother, and certainly never having had the privilege of eating an entire bowl of whipping cream by himself.

Whipping cream does not send me into a tailspin or to the blender with a pint--my indulgences must have heft, crunchiness, texture. Plain whipping cream is equal to a banana which makes me gag.

Thanks to Hannah at Paris Perfect, I have discovered a dream spot for Tony. I just wish I could keep it a secret until we pedal our velo bikes over to the 7th arrondissement, where I will casually lead him down to 47 Rue Cler. I may drive past  Maison De La Chantilly to test the sharpness of his whipping cream instincts. Vegas odds are clearly in favor of him putting on his brakes so suddenly, he topples over the handlebars.

For a man like Tony, this will be a piece of heaven.

Maison De La Chantilly. Home of whipping cream. Yes, a little shop dedicated solely to whipping cream and the sweet delights it may enhance.

Won't he be surprised...unless he already knows its existence and it was a (hidden-from-me) motivator to plan a trip to Paris. One of his many Paris-or-bust motivators, besides tartes, baguettes, pastries, and a Christmas present for me, came in a longing expression from a man who was raised on margarine but swoons over fresh butter, "I just can't wait to get to Paris to have a warm croissant." ~Tony M April 10 2016

Proof that a photo is worth a 1000 words~~let each image write for me today.

 Maison De La Chantilly translated: House of whipped creme

And...right next to Madison De La Chantilly, is a cookie store, stocked with dense, chewy, nut-filled, crunchy, cookies, I'm sure. A delectable treat for everyone's taste in Paris.

While we are indulging in the professional photos of a whipped cream boutique in Paris, I will add my own. Yes, I made the mousse pavlova below by myself. It was so rich, too rich, not even my pastry loving family who are infused-with-Tony's-cream-loving-DNA,  could eat it all. 

When I called a French food loving friend and asked, "Would you like the rest of a chocolate pavlova?" she replied, "We'll be right over."

Afterthought: One might think that after two weeks in Paris, we'd have to buy bigger clothes for the plane ride home. Precisely why our apartment is on the fifth floor. Without an elevator.

Editorial correction. True to form, I couldn't keep Maison De La Chantilly a secret. I had Tony read this post. He called a few minutes later.

"Did you laugh?" Because my favorite thing is to make Tony laugh.

"Yes," he responds, "but there was one mistake."

"And it was?"

"The first time I whipped up my own bowl of cream, I sat down and ate it all."

Presumptuously silly for me to have imagined otherwise. I rest my case.