I’ve heard about Dehillerin from the Barefoot Contessa and Julia Child. Both have fallen in love with this store, and I’m excited to learn why. My mom and I tried to visit while she was here, but alas it was closed in observance of a holiday. Did you know that the French have 12 weeks of vacation a year? And that doesn’t include holidays?

Dominique, Susan and I enter the corner store with anticipation. As soon as I step in the door, I feel like Harry Potter when he was picking out his wand. Huge wooden shelves line the walls all the way to the ceiling and are packed with fabulous finds – beautifully hand hammered copper pots, whisks in every size, molds for every dish imaginable, pots that I could play hind-and-seek in, baskets for poaching fish, huge wooden paddles that look more appropriate for a row boat than a bread oven. I have been rendered speechless. I want it all – I want to by it all and send it back home for safe keeping.

There are two levels to the store. Walking down the ancient steps to the basement, we get a glimpse for how old the store really is. The wooden floorboards creak under our feet as we wander the shelves. A few blocked off old staircases lead upwards to nowhere. The plaster on the basement ceiling falls off in chunks onto the floor. The air is cool and still as if no air from this century has reached this level.

Kim, our petit Chinese salesman, makes our visit more entertaining. He speaks both English and French, but when he finds out we’re from Le Cordon Bleu, he insists that we speak only French. He’s constantly checking on us, making sure we have everything we need and answering any question. He makes us laugh by bantering back and forth with other customers and employees. He also makes fun of our awe as we touch and hold items we’ve never seen before.

After a good 45 minutes, I’ve made quite the pile on the counter: a new, very accurate scale; a pastry scarper with the Dehillerin logo; a circle and diamond shaped mold for plating rice; a small spatula; a pair of tongs for turning meat; and a sharp peeler good for removing fish eyes. Because we’re students, they give us a 10% discount that makes shopping there ever so sweet.

Clutching our packages, we walk down the block to Au Pied Du Cochon (The Pig’s Foot) – another Paris institution. This old restaurant serves all things pig. They’re famous for their pig’s trotters (pig’s feet), which I have yet to try. I hear they’re quite delicious, and I believe we might be making them later this quarter.

We opt for French onion soup and grilled salmon. When the soup arrives, it’s mostly gooey melted cheese on top of a little bit of onion soup. Eating it can be tricky since the cheese is quite stringy and difficult to cut, but once you get a bite, it’s worth it. I’m surprised to learn that the soup stock is chicken based rather than beef. All the recipes I’ve ever seen are made with homemade beef broth. But this version is nice and light (minus all the cheese of course). The salmon is perfectly cooked and comes on a bed of rice. We drink cold rose wine and have coffee and tea afterwards. We’d rather stay and enjoy the day, but class starts in one hour, so we find the nearest Metro stop and head to class.

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