Buying our first baguette on our last trip to Paris, I spied a tray of pistachio financiers and felt my willpower melt away. I have always loved the color and flavor of pistachios.
I bought two of them and carried them back to our cozy apartment. My husband raved.
And thus began my pistachio obsession, which actually began in January, but hit its peak in Paris. As did I.
For one thing, I liked asking for them. Fee-non-see-ays pee-stash may not roll trippingly off the tongue, but it is fun to say.
"Deux financiers pistache, s'il vous plait," I asked the lovely blond lady behind the counter.
To her, I sounded American. To me, I sounded French.
I felt like a real Parisian.
As we were searching for the city's hidden gems, we found Cafe Pistache. Since it was rather early in the day, the place was quiet, if not closed. It is near the Grand Colbert and the Passages Colbert and Viviene, near Le Palais Royale and the old round Bourse, a neighborhood teeming with life and traffic, especially at high noon. But I am enamored with the name, and hope to visit next trip, at least for a cafe creme.