A new Pralus in Paris, more Praluline in Paris

Say the word "praluline" (pray-looo-lean) to someone, and they'll think you're doing tongue exercises. Say it to any one of the hundreds of people who buy the beautiful brioche every day, and they will swoon. Much like I have ever since this specialty made by the chocolatier Pralus became the object of my obsession a couple years ago.

It was over 50 years ago that the first soft, buttery pastries chockfull of house-made, rose sugar-coated Valencia almonds and Piedmont hazelnuts were created. It is squishy and crunchy, savory and sweet, a beautiful little bomb of flavors and textures that is irresistible and unique.

Each time I visit Paris, I look forward to devouring one. This is a problem as "one" could easily feed four. So I was going to let it slide this past visit, having sampled plenty of breakfast pastries and Parisian cakes. But wouldn't you know: Pralus opened a second boutique in the city, on rue Cler. Just a lovely stroll from the apartment where I was staying.

Needless to say, I needed no further excuse or prompting. I bought myself a six-euro, soul-satisfying treat on my last day. Took home the carefully wrapped present.

Sliced into it.

And sighed at the utter perfection of eating a praluline in Paris.

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.