Review : Paris Bakery, Dublin 1

It was the first day of Spring.  The sun was shining, coats had been left in the car and we were wearing sunglasses.  The main purpose of our trip into town (which is what us suburbanites call the city of Dublin) was to bring my godniece Lulu shopping for various Holy Communion fripperies.  She's the image of her mother, allergic to getting up when she should be having a lie on and when I first mentioned collecting her at 10.30 on Saturday morning, I was told "listen, I'm only starting to have my breakfast then".  Breakfast, eh?  How about we have our breakfast in town?  She soon changed her tune and told me to be there on time or else.  I actually rang the doorbell 10 minutes early to discover that the hair had to be tamed into a style suitable for trying on veils (the one thing she really wanted) and Sandie the Wonderdog thought I was calling for her.  Much drama ensued when said dog hopped into the back of my car and refused to leave.  I had to physically carry her back into the house and she sulked for hours.

40 minutes later with the car securely parked, we were walking through Arnotts and I was treated to a running commentary on everybody in the shop. She told me that she'd hate to be as tall as the lady on the makeup counter as she would only end up hitting her head off everything.  I was mortified and decided she needed food to keep her quiet.  We weaved our way past all the fruit and veg stalls on Moore Street where she told me what she did and didn't like, asparagus getting a particular "yuck" and soon were at the door of the Paris Bakery.  It's long and noisy and crammed with tables on one side and display cabinets full of delectable food on the other.  We quickly discovered that they have a table service policy so we sat facing the patisserie cabinet and after a short wait, were given menus.  We had a sneaky look to see what everybody else was eating : Eggs Florentine were nixed because of spinach but Lulu soon spied a plate of pancakes and bacon and decided we would have that to share, but I could have the bacon.  I can't understand how she's related to me and doesn't like all things porcine.

I soon discovered that chatting to the waitress in French ensured that we received great service and food delivered quickly.  Mind you, Lulu thought she had to wait far too long and told me that she could have made pancakes in 5 minutes and what was slowing down her breakfast?  She was in full flow when the plate arrived, again to my mortification, but soon stopped talking when she saw her pancakes.  Initially she asked me if the pancakes would be full of sauce, which I deliberately misunderstood as being ketchup and told her no.  I knew they would be covered in maple syrup which she had never tried and she initially pulled one of her faces when she saw it.  A few words of gentle encouragement and not only had she eaten her own, she was starting to eat my pancake too.  Greedy beast. We had a Fanta Lemon (which turned out to be Lorina French lemonade) and a Mocha with our breakfast.  She was intrigued by the Lorina, pronouncing it to be very very very cold and not as sweet as Fanta.  I think we may have a new convert.

Once the pancakes had been dispatched, she told me she was still starving and really needed one of the chocolate cookies from the jar on the counter.  I tried to persuade her to have a macaron instead but the vivid green of the pistachio macaron put her off.  My treat was a perfect Religieuse filled with chocolate creme patisserie.  Once Lulu heard that it was custard, she flatly refused to try it. Her loss.

The still-sulking Sandie

Our late breakfast came to less than €20 and was the perfect Saturday pitstop. Next time, I'll go back to try the lunch menu.  And Lulu will return for the pancakes.  But hold the bacon.

Paris Bakery, 18-19 Moore Street, Dublin 1.  Tel +353 1 804 4112