I’m on a me kick. This entails a Facebook hiatus, yoga, lots of daydreaming about Paris and the French countryside, a New York Times Bestseller, writing and as much park and Ipod time as possible. I had a dream I was in Paris the other night . . . then I listened to French music and coincidentally enough I posted on my Facebook—pre hiatus—that I wanted to go in September. You won’t guess what happened next, suddenly I found myself in front of Petit Provence. So I took it all as one big sign that I must have a Fruit Tartlet and guess what? I was right; I was supposed to have a tartlet.
La Petite Provence gives the Oregonian the perfect boulangerie fix and for a reasonable fair. Their breakfasts are large and rich and their homemade pastries are out of this world, or at least out of the states. Allow me to digress; I have trouble making decisions. I spent over 30 minutes in Powell’s today deciding which color August to August day planner to buy. I am that crazy woman walking back and forth, away for a moment and then back again, pacing the shelves, trying to make a simple decision. I almost always walk away feeling regretful.
So you can imagine my dismay tonight when the dessert choices at La Petit Provence were endless. Finally, with a little guidance I choose the Fruit Tartlet. I did not regret. I ate each bite slowly, savoring the plump blueberries, sweet strawberries and custard filling; adoring the gelatin over glaze and buttery crust. I even licked my fingers clean of the last few crumbs on my plate.
If for anything else, maybe you’re gluten free or something (I’m getting annoyed of you people), go to Le Petite Provence so that you can sit in their beautiful boulangerie, which they’ve clearly spent tons renovating. Sit next to the open windows and forget you are on the most gentrified street in Portland. Forget you have work tomorrow, that you spilled wax all over your tile floors and that you have 3lbs to lose. Sit, breathe and eat pastries.