I have been sick. It’s nothing serious, laryngitis followed by what, I don’t know, maybe just a pollen allergy. Anyway I have had barely enough energy to take Jacques around the block. Actually going shopping has been out of the question but I can still tap the screen of an iPad. Thus I found myself looking for delivered groceries that I actually wanted to eat.
I got spoiled living in San Francisco, shopping at the farmers’ markets or at Monterey Market in Berkeley. Of course the food was seasonal, locally grown and organic — or at least I always had the option of organic. Of course. My house is in an agricultural area, so the twice-a-week market is first rate. In Paris, if I want first-rate, I have had to eat out. Every time I see a TV show with a chef in his personal potager I think well yes, he must have been driven by desperation to do this. But now, thanks to my bedridden condition, I may have found the secret to finding good ingredients in Paris.
A few weeks ago I found “La Ruche Qui Dit Oui!,” the beehive, though maybe here they mean that in the sense of a collective, that says yes. I like them and they put out an entertaining newsletter. You put in your order. At the appointed time you go to a nearby location — in my case the lobby of a movie theater — and pick it up. Everything is seasonal, locally grown and organic. The staff is really nice. They have a tie-in with Bon Marché, of all things, so clearly they are well-connected. I got a beeswax-based hand cream that would shame Bert to no end. However the quality of the produce, well, not great. I’ve had better. Maybe I got them on a bad day. I’ll doubtless give them another chance, if only to get more hand cream. Besides, as I say, I’m not going anywhere right now. For food right now, delivered to the door, I had to look elsewhere.
I tried Auchan. I needed soap and how bad could the produce be? Well. If I were a food photographer, I would shop at Auchan. Everything came perfectly packaged and looking fabulous. Everything had the texture and flavor of cardboard. I don’t know how food can look so plump and gorgeous and ripe, while tasting like nothing. I do like the web site. I’ll go back but I’ll stick to the soap.
To my great good fortune, I found a winner. Le Comptoir Local is where I bought the confiture in the photo. They check the local, organic and small producers boxes, of course. Those labels look like they were purchased from Etsy, which I love. Overall, the quality was a little higher than that offered by the Ruche. The vibe of the packaging and handling was a little more professional. The food was excellent. I am surprised that only one of those jars is empty. The pear spread has cocoa in it; my morning oatmeal has never tasted so good. I don’t like marmalade but I have been reading Helena Attlee’s book, “The Land Where Lemons Grow.” She makes you want everything citrus so okay, I ordered some. I’ll order more, no question. It plays around in your mouth, bouncing from sweet to tart to something in between, then bounces some more. I’ll have to put some in food, some time. I still dislike industrial marmalade but Trois Agrumes has a permanent welcome at my house.
If you rent an apartment when you visit Paris, you could do far worse than to order from the Comptoir. They take a couple of days to deliver your order and I think they give you a choice of days and times. Order while you are still wherever you are coming from. Pick that first jet-lagged morning for delivery — come on, you know you want to sleep in — and wait for the goodness that is to come your way. Tell yourself you are allowing Paris to come to you.