When I take my yearly trip alone to France tongues start wagging. They wonder, “Why does she leave her husband behind?” Audacious friends inquire, “Is there someone special waiting for you?” Even my French teacher has the chutzpah to suggest an affair (or aventure) would  improve my accent. But my husband doesn’t worry. When he whispers in my ear at the airport, “Be careful. Watch out,” we both know that he really means is, “Don’t eat too much cake.”

Yes, my inhibitions loosen while travelling in France—the home of crusty baguettes and a hundred or so of my favorite pastries. He has seen my face light up at the sight of a crackling croissant in the morning and how a tray of pastries arranged like a Klee print leaves me breathless. He knows what makes me swoon post-menopause.

Before getting into this year’s recommendations, here are a few tips for sniffing out superior baked goods:

1. Ignore the “best of” anything on social media. Mostly, these selections are retreads from influencers who feed off each other like crazed pastry zombies. Yelp is of no use in France, unless you want advice from other tourists.
2. Never travel more than 15 minutes for a pastry. Don’t plan your day around a destination bakery, unless you want to risk the heartache of the store being closed, as they often are in France. A few years ago I walked for an hour in the heat in a less than charming neighborhood to bite into the “best” apricot tart. Was it good? Yes, but is any tart worth walking two hours and then waiting in line in order to eat with a plastic fork? Are you beginning to understand why my husband stays home?
3. Price should never be a consideration. If you flew to Paris for vacation, why tie yourself in knots over the cost of a raspberry tart or a chocolate éclair? Isn’t it worth $12 for a few transcendent moments? Like fine chocolates, pastries are an affordable luxury, as I keep explaining to my husband.
4. Nothing compares with discovering a mom and pop shop that has honed its offerings over many generations. Explore a residential neighborhood by foot and watch where the locals go. Parisians lined up at lunchtime, schoolchildren picking up after-school treats, and an elegant, clean décor are good clues.

Here are some favorite spots in central Paris from this year’s trip. Enjoy and remember my husband’s warning: “Be careful!” But not too careful.

Left Bank

Des Gâteaux et Du Pain, 7th and 15th. Celebrated for the delicate design and intense flavor of her bio (organic) pastries, Chef Claire Damon is enjoying a moment. Her puck-shaped lemon tart, built on a crumbly brown sugar crust and filled with reversed layers of slick meringue on  bottom and a layer of rich puckery lemon curd on top is just right. I need to return with friends for a more complete sampling.

Angelina, 6th. If you love Paris, you’ve probably made the trip to the classic belle epoque tea room on rue Rivoli for their thick hot chocolate. I recommend the lunch space at Musée du Luxembourg for a less hectic experience. I can’t resist their refined version of the American club sandwich. In May, I topped it off with the seasonal frasiers—perfect squares of fluffy sponge layers, light whipped cream and juicy strawberry halves. Did I mention the brilliant red strawberry glaze topping? The proverbial cherry on top.

Les Gourmandises d’Eiffel, 7th. An unpretentious bake shop on rue Grenelle, steps away from the popular rue Cler market, this artisanal boulangerie was my regular spot for last minute baguettes. Their Sunday special—a giant, round egg bread topped with crunchy, pearled sugar that tastes like Italian panettone minus the dried fruit—is sold by the slice. A big, moist chunk  keeps on the counter for a few days, perfect for making beautiful morning toast.

Right Bank

Ritz Le Comptoir, 1st. The bakery at the Ritz is open to the public in the same way as the Hemingway bar is—as a tourist attraction where the price for experience is high. Breaking my own rules, I went to the swanky address on rue Chabon across from Chanel at about 3:00 p.m. with dreams of lingering over treats and sipping an espresso or two at a small table. I’d been ogling the pastries for a year online, having become addicted to a marketing campaign that featured cute Chef François Perret with his darling little pastries. My dreams crashed when I realized the tiny place had only five tables and the line was long. Shlepping home on the Metro with my jam-filled, glazed raspberry madeleines and crisp mocha millefeuille, was not a catastrophe, but it was a mood breaker. I hope I don’t sound like a Karen.

Blé Sucré, 12th. Just a few steps from the Marché d’Aligre, this unpretentious shop is known for its low cost pure butter croissants and madeleines. A couple of outdoor tables make it possible to enjoy your carbs with coffee in the morning while watching children play in the little square adjacent.

Du Pain et Des Idées, 10th. If you wander over to the Canal St Martin, Paris’s Silverlake, take the time to wait on line at this pretty wood-paneled bakery. Oversized escargots, snail-shaped viennoiseries, overflowing with rum-soaked raisins, pistachios, cherries, pralines and chocolate keep coming out of the ovens all day long. Many of their sourdough breads, for which the owner won the coveted “Best Worker of France” certification, can be bought by the slice.

Tapisserie, 11th. Console yourself with a pastry at this tiny takeout shop on gentrified rue Charonne when you can’t get a table at restaurant Septime across the street. Under the same ownership, the young bakers turn out a few seasonal specialties each day. In the spring, I nibbled on a rustic rhubarb tart and a pillowy apple turnover (chausson aux pommes) that still makes me a smile.

Luxe Pastry Chains

These brand names with several locations can be trusted for consistent fine quality:

Yann Couvreur. Often found in ordinary neighborhoods where the clientele is French, Couvreur’s prices are fair for such high quality. Drop in for breakfast, sit at the counter and treat yourself to a five-star kouigin amman or other viennoiserie with coffee. The classic fancy pastries are all here in individual portions to-go.

Pierre Hermé. Best known for his flavorful macarons that fly out the door, Chef Hermé is considered the master chocolatier of France—a serious title in the land of cuisine. Though I’m not a big macaron fan, I will stop into Hermé for a coffee and pastry at the airport or train station. In town, the visual excitement of the windows and displays are hard to resist.

Aux Merveilleux de Fred. The first time I saw a Fred shop near the Marché d’Aligre, I resisted the scent of chocolate and the sight of adorable bakers in white coats decorating cakes in the window. Too much kitsch! Eventually, I stepped in and tried the specialty—a five-inch round globe filled with light layers of airy meringue, flavored whipped cream and a biscuit landing pad, then finished with chocolate shavings or crunchy coffee bits. Now I go back whenever I need an escape into a sugary fairy tale.

Still need a nosh? These two Jewish bakeries in the Marais deliver comfort along with taste:

Florence Kahn, rue des Ecouffes. When I visited at Passover, the counter was piled high with homemade matzo sandwiches stuffed with pastrami! Almond and coconut macaroons were light and small enough to munch through a day of sightseeing. A Yiddish Patisserie, Kahn is best known for its bagels and takeout sandwiches.

Sacha Finkelstajn, rue Rosiers. Standing on the long, loud line one afternoon surrounded by Ukrainians, I time-travelled back to my neighborhood in the Bronx. It was tough choosing which specialty of the Eastern European diaspora to try: neat trays of bagels, bialies, pletzels, rye bread, matzo, mandelbread, challah, borekas, strudel, cheesecake line the shelves. In addition to baked goods, deli items like fresh sour cream, herring and smoked fish are available for takeout.

As Hemingway once said, “Paris is a moveable feast.” Go taste it.

 

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Los Angeles food writer Helene Siegel is the author of 40 cookbooks, including the “Totally Cookbook” series and “Pure Chocolate.” She runs the Pastry Session blog.

Third in a series about Jewish Mindfulness 

For a long time I have disdained the way our culture seems to encourage us to marinate in our emotions, and even flaunt them. It’s normal for people to refer to themselves as “survivors” of relationships they call abusive or dysfunctional, and of physical or emotional experiences they call traumatic. Many experiences and relationships truly are abusive, dysfunctional, and traumatic. But they are frequently used to cover such a broad swath of experiences that the meaning of these powerful words become trivialized.    

Dr. Edith Eger, a Holocaust survivor and PTSD expert, wrote in her extraordinary book “The Choice” that there is no hierarchy of pain, meaning that everyone’s pain is significant and must be respected. I understand this and would never disagree with a woman of her professional stature and personal history, but it’s hard to deny that the victim mentality has become commonplace. How can you build a forward-looking, optimistic life when you remain fixated on the past?

Jewish mindfulness has made me temper my reproachful attitude toward those who cling to their pain and let it define them. I have come to understand that when this happens, it may be because real pain (at whatever level it was experienced) was never processed in a healthy way. Judaism predated the mindfulness movement by a few thousand years, but both teach a restorative path that encourages emotional pain to lift naturally. 

In Exodus (6: 5-9), God tells Moses, “I have now heard the moaning of the Israelites because the Egyptians are holding them in bondage.” God is validating the pain of His people. But when Moses promises that God will lead them out of bondage, the people do not believe him because of their emotional exhaustion. This kotzer ruach, or constriction of the spirit, literally leaves them short of breath, a reminder of how mindful breathing can be medicinal during acute stress.  

Accepting pain is also a critical step. Both Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) as well as Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) therapy teach that thoughts create emotions. At first this sounds confusing: are they not the same thing? In fact, thoughts have words, while emotions are simply feelings. Learning to control our thoughts can help us learn to control and manage our emotions. This isn’t easy and takes a great deal of practice. 

For example, when I’m upset, I will only inflame my emotions by allowing my thoughts to judge them: “What’s wrong with me that I’m getting upset over this? Why does this person always have to frustrate me this way?” “I bet other people don’t have this problem as often as I do.” 

Mindfulness, DBT and similar psychological philosophies encourage us to simply feel that pain. Don’t fight it. Don’t analyze it. Just “let it flow and let it go,” as my mindfulness course leader, Rabbi Dov Ber Cohen, often says. Pain and negative emotions have their uses in the short term. Don’t be upset that you’re upset or feel frustrated that you’re frustrated. “Pain is pain but pain plus resistance is suffering,” said a close friend of mine who has walked this walk. 

In addition to not judging our emotions, these three mindfulness practices can be extremely effective in managing negative or painful feelings:

1. Sit with that feeling. I know a person whose therapist told him to bring a chair outside and invite his pain to sit alongside him. Acknowledging the reality of the pain will ease its grip.

2. Put it in perspective. Know that there is a time and place for feeling pain, but that it’s not going to hijack the rest of your life, either. It may not even hijack the rest of your week or even your day.

Pain is here to teach us something and to help us grow. It’s up to us to find out how to use the pain for personal growth or to help others. 

3. Find the purpose. Pain is here to teach us something and to help us grow. It’s up to us to find out how to use the pain for personal growth or to help others. 

I discussed this topic with one of my sons, Rabbi Noach Gruen, a day school rebbe in Norfolk, Virginia. He pointed out to me that the Jewish model for aveilus, or mourning, provides the ideal paradigm for dealing with painful emotions. When we lose a close relative, we sit shiva — seven days of literally sitting with our grief. We don’t run away or distract ourselves from our pain. We need to feel it, and talk about our loss when it is fresh and experienced most acutely. But shiva ends. We get up and are escorted outside by friends. It’s time to reengage with life.

Shiva is followed by shloshim, the first month after a loss; in the remaining 11 months of the year the restrictions of mourning are gently lifted as we navigate away from our most intense grief, while still being mindful of our loss. Sometimes, well-meaning but misguided people say hurtful things to someone in pain, such as “This will be for the good,” or “God knows what He’s doing.” The Sages of Pirkei Avot know better: “Do not try to pacify your friend in his hour of anger, nor comfort a person when their dead is laying before them” (Avot, Chapter 4). At times like these, only quiet empathy can offer whatever comfort is possible.  

During the last few weeks I was tested by very strong and negative emotions stemming from a professional defeat. This disappointment stung so badly that despite my new understanding of sitting with pain to let it go, I felt rebellious: I would take my sweet time wallowing in resentment and misery. After all, I earned it!  

But the next day, while discussing the situation with a colleague, I began to recover rapidly. Given how intensely I had suffered the day before, I surprised myself by quickly losing interest in my self-righteous pique. I considered what I could learn from the situation and felt ready to move on. Was this mindfulness at work? Or my life experience and Jewish wisdom helping me rise above it? I assume it was both, and am grateful that I proved stronger than my pique.

Mindfulness helps us manage difficult emotions, but what about helping us maximize positive, happy ones? In the next column I’ll look at how mindful practices can optimize even our happy thoughts.

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Judy Gruen is the author of several books, including “The Skeptic and the Rabbi: Falling in Love With Faith.” Her next book, “Bylines and Blessings,” will be published in February 2024.

It has taken over 60 years, but I finally mustered the courage and did it. I’ve spent almost a lifetime watching other people do it and wishing I could be like them but wishing to be someone else is generally not a good thing. I learned that God wants us to be ourselves, not another Moses. I said to my wife, “I’m about to do something I wanted to do forever.” Without even asking, she said, “Do it.” That’s trust. But being about to do something is still not the same as doing it. We’ve all seen someone balancing on the tip of a diving board and then climbing back down. 

“Come on, Mark, what the hell did you do?” I feel slightly ashamed because many of you will think this is not a biggie. But have you ever wanted to do something forever and not done it? Courage is a very odd thing. In some areas, I have tremendous courage, and in others, I have zilch. For me, each day my courage buckets need to be refilled.

I had been doing pushups for months, then one day I lost the courage to continue. I thought and believed the idea that I didn’t have the strength. Not the slightest bit true. I had more than enough strength. Yet I went weeks without doing a single pushup.

I can’t tell you how many panic attacks I’ve had before shows and performed despite my fear. I have done so many things in life with courage that I never knew I had. 

Remember the courage it took to ask someone out on a date? Then rebuilding that courage to do it again after being turned down? One explanation of courage is the ability to do something that frightens you, and that’s me. I can’t tell you how many panic attacks I’ve had before shows and performed despite my fear. I have done so many things in life with courage that I never knew I had. 

But this thing was different. When I was very young, my mother frightened me about doing this thing, and I remained frightened for 60-plus years. Writing two books was less frightening than  doing this. I have been aware of this fear forever. Being aware of something is a start, but not the solution.

Before I tell you what it is, let me give you a few hints. Chefs do it, Ice Cream truck drivers, Marines, Pilgrims in Islam, and the Shinto religion of Japan all do it. Coal miners never do it. New Yorkers that ride the subway never should. 

Before I tell you what it is, let me give you a few hints. Chefs do it, Ice Cream truck drivers, Marines, Pilgrims in Islam, and the Shinto religion of Japan all do it. Coal miners never do it. New Yorkers that ride the subway never should. 

If you still haven’t guessed, I bought white pants. And I mean WHITE. My heart just raced while writing those words.

When I was a child, I wore white shirts, white socks, white tee shirts, and white briefs, but I never wore white pants. I always wanted white pants, but my mother, being my personal shopper, would never buy them for me. (Except for a protective cup for sports, I don’t remember my father ever buying me any form of apparel). 

The mere thought of me in white pants gave my mother agita. Agita is an Italian word even Yiddish speakers use. “You’re a slob. You’ll ruin them.” “Learn to use a napkin, and I’ll get you white pants.” She was right. I never did learn how to use a napkin. Her words scared me. Every time I’d see someone walk by in white jeans, cords, or khakis, I’d think, “Are they crazy? Where is their mother? Suppose they stain them?”

So now you know. I ordered a pair of white pants on Amazon. White pants are one of the great filth magnets of all time, and I bought a pair.

Coming home, I found a soft package on my doorstep. I took it to the dining room table and tore into it, practically ripping it open with my white teeth. And there they were, the whitest pants you’ve ever seen. I might even call them Blinding White. I put them on faster than a twelve-year-old getting into a bathing suit. I then ran to a full-length mirror and looked at them on me. I knew the second I saw them that they did not fit and that I needed to return them. I carefully took them off and put them back in the plastic bag so they would not get dirty. Will I reorder a new pair? Stay tuned.

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Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer, and host of the ‘You Don’t Know Schiff’ podcast. His new book is “Why Not? Lessons on Comedy, Courage and Chutzpah.”

My 24-year-old son Gabriel lives 5,663 away in Brussels, Belgium; 5662 miles too far for a Jewish mother. Fortunately, I visited him this summer. Sadly Rabbi Zevi and Sara Ives, who Gabriel goes to every Friday night for Shabbat dinner, were out of town. But Gabriel knows when I travel, I want to connect with my Tribe and explore the local history of the Jewish people.

Brussels is not very Jewish, but nearby Antwerp has 15,000 Hasidic Jews who live and dominate the diamond industry. This Flemish city is a trading center for 85% of the world’s rough diamonds and around 50% of the globe’s cut diamonds. 

Before the Netflix series, “Rough Diamonds,” I knew the Jewish diamond trade in Antwerp went back to the 15th century, when Jews expelled from Spain and Portugal settled in what is now Belgium. Antwerp’s Jewish population grew as Jews fled persecution in Eastern Europe.

Antwerp was home to many Jews who survived the Holocaust because they sewed diamonds into their clothes. It’s one reason why this city has one of the highest concentrations of Holocaust survivors and their descendants.  Another reason is after WWII, the city’s mayor encouraged Jews to return to Antwerp to work again in the diamond trade. 

I wanted to find an Antwerp guide whose family had lived in the region for decades and was a multi-generational diamond trader.  Searching on AirBnB experiences, we were lucky to find Henri Keesje, a third generation diamond trader with a BA in history who offers private tours.

We met Henri outside the Astoria Hotel and walked the short block to the diamond center. With the rise in antisemitism, not knowing if it was safe to expose he’s Jewish, he wore a NY Yankees baseball cap to hide his kippah and dressed in a modern style, no exposed payos or tzitzit. Before we began, I played Jewish geography so he knew we were Jewish. He smiled when he learned he knew Gabriel’s Rabbi in Brussels. 

In typical Jewish fashion, this was not a knowledgeable tour guide telling stories and the tourists listening politely.  Gabriel and I had separately done research and peppered Henri with constant questions and commentary.   

Gabriel, the scientist, researched how diamonds were created, sourced, valued and cut.  Me, the economist, was fascinated by how business was done and the global threats and opportunities in the industry. I was curious how a $50 billion dollar industry spanned only one non-descript block in the heart of Antwerp.

Because it is Henri’s passion to be an ambassador for the trade, we learned no other diamond trader does what he does … take you into his office and allow you to handle both rough and polished diamonds. As history and technology geeks, we also loved seeing the evolution of tools from centuries ago to navigating the online trading platforms and AI (artificial intelligence) tools that have transformed the industry. What we saw was mind blowing — and, of course, all the technological innovations come out of Israel. 

We learned Henri and his father’s business is world renowned for colored enhanced diamonds. For someone who’s never liked diamonds (because I love bold deep colors), I fell in love with these diamonds! His family has perfected a specialized procedure of ionic beams and heat treatment to transform natural diamonds into permanent shades of blue, yellow, pink, green, cognac and my favorite, turquoise.

Gabriel said when he finds his Jewish bride, he’ll buy the diamond from Henri. If I’m lucky enough to get married again, I hope my beloved will get one of his rings with a single deep turquoise diamond floating in a titanium band.

Before we went into Henri’s office, we gave our passports and fingerprints to the guards and then Henri took us into the magnificent trading hall which is featured in “Rough Diamonds.” After centuries of business, it’s still the center of Antwerp’s trade in rough and polished diamonds. 

But to do business there you must be an approved member of the Diamond Bourse. The Bourse was founded in 1904 by Antwerp diamond merchants who wanted to move their diamond dealing from the Petit Duc café to a more structured and secure place of business than trading diamonds in a public cafe. 

To join the Bourse, there’s in-person interview where you’re grilled on who you know and what kind of deals you’ve done. Then your photo and name are posted on a bulletin board in the grand hall for three months. People who pass through can comment on dealings with you. If you pass the court of public opinion, followed by a criminal background check, then you’re admitted to this prestigious group. 

Once you’re in and maintain good status, it enables you to go to any diamond trading center in the world. However, if you screw over another member, an independent court called the “arbitrage” acts like a Beit Dein (Jewish religious court) to rule on the case.  If you lose, you’re expelled from the Diamond Bourse globally and your name/picture/country of origin/crime will be posted on the great hall’s bulletin board so traders know NOT to do business with you.

Outside the hall, the industry has changed dramatically because of three elements; technology, lab grown diamonds and low global labor costs.  Henri showed us all the new technology and walked us through how the internet has transformed how the diamond business works.

Because of sophisticated 3-D visual technology, diamonds are not traded in person, but online, putting brokers out of business. 

Israeli company Sarine has reimagined the diamond industry using AI to disrupt every aspect from how to cut a rough diamond to accurately assessing the four Cs: cut, clarity, carat, and color.  To address the issue of fake diamonds, dealers use the Israeli technology OGI System, which instantly checks if a diamond is real, or lab grown. 

Because of the low costs of labor, India has become Antwerp’s major competitor as a diamond center. Henri said that the Belgium government is sensitive to the issue and in 2017 enacted a “Carat Tax,” which aids registered diamond traders by removing the complexity of the profit-based tax system. The traders are no longer taxed on profits but on a percentage of their overall turnover.

With all the AI disruption and global competition, Henri taught us the most important aspect of the business that can never be disrupted is trust between humans. 

With all the AI disruption and global competition, Henri taught us the most important aspect of the business that can never be disrupted is trust between humans. As Jews, we’re not only a religion, we’re also a family. It makes sense why Jews have dominated the diamond trade in this region for centuries. You trust your family. But this family is growing and blending.  With the innovations in the industry, it’s easier for anyone to learn the trade.  Henri, being a great teacher, is starting a private diamond business school where pupils can learn the trade in a one-two week intense course.

Gabriel smiled at me and shook his shoulders, another career path he could pursue? Our tour with Henri was was by far the most fascinating experience of this trip and when I felt closest to my son. Together we studied and learned. It felt like we were chevruta (study) partners coming to meet with the Rabbi. Sitting side by side, looking at rough and polished diamonds through a jeweler’s loop was one of those moments as a parent you pray for; making a precious memory.

To learn more or contact Henri Keesje visit  http://www.treatedcolors.com/ or call 32 476 890 305 or email keesjehenri@hotmail.com

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Audrey Jacobs is a financial adviser and has three sons.