Dreaming of praluline in Paris

One of the things preoccupying my thoughts in the days leading up to Paris was Pralus.

I knew the chocolatier in the Marais opened at 10 a.m. I was there at 10:15.

“Un praluline, s’il vous plait,” I requested, then watched la vendeuse wrap it with the care it deserved.










Then I took it back to my place and ravished it.

You could see the sticky caramelized butter and sugar that had oozed out when it was still warm from the oven and hardened into an extra layer of deliciousness.

Its underside was just coated in this sweetness.

I kept slicing, just a little bit more…

… relishing the candied almonds and crushed hazelnuts.


You could say I’ve been sated. For the time being.