’Tis the season to be indulgent

A trip to Parisian chocolate shop À la Mère de Famille inspired a joyous trip down memory lane for Donal Beecher

A delicious box of Easter eggs from À la Mère de Famille, the oldest chocolate shop in Paris.

Just last week here in Paris, I indulged myself in a little bit of nostalgia when I got to thinking about Easter.

It all began when I was invited to visit friends for dinner and wanted to get something for their two delightful children, Roxane (5) and Tristan (3). So, with Easter in mind, I ambled through my neighbourhood of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and stopped in rue Bonaparte at one my favourite shops, the very special, À la Mère de Famille. 

Inside À la Mère de Famille in the neighbourhood of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris.

Founded in 1761, À la Mère de Famille is the oldest chocolate shop in Paris, and with its landmark green and gold façade is considered to still be the alpha and omega of all Paris confectionaries.

A visit there is a real treat. Keeping it simple for the kids I was shopping for, I got them each a small egg box containing six little chocolate praline eggs. The cute factor was that the box looked identical to a ‘real’ chicken egg box and true to form later that evening the kids were delighted when they saw them. Roxane whispered to me just before I left that night that she thought it was just lovely. This five-year-old clearly has taste.

So, your honor, if it please the court, I would like to state for the record: I paid €18. Eighteen euro for two small eggy boxes which contained six tiny eggs. €9 each? Are you mad? Ya eejit. They saw you coming! I hear you cry out. What about five for a tenner? Three for a fiver? Two for the price of one?

Delicious chocolate eggs will bring joy to everyone's inner child this Easter. Photos: Donal Beecher

Let’s face it, it’s not like even the most sophisticated young French kids will know the difference in chocolate quality? Screwing up their faces about the cocoa content, or complaining that this particular chocolate lacked a smoother, creamier texture.

Don’t worry I’m well aware that I could have gotten something very similar in style and packaging at any supermarket anywhere in the world for way less money.

So what was it all about? As with most independent shops, these speciality houses, it was not only the fine product, it was also about the experience. The act of buying something that was significant. Chocolate. Chocolate for Easter.

The woman behind the shop counter ceremoniously putting on her gloves to handle the chocolate. The tasting. The conversation. The list of the various options to fill the box. The final choice that was just right. The time that I took to do this. I think that I was trying to recreate something for myself. Something connected with Easter and something that has long left me. A memory of another place, another time, another shop.

Founded in 1761, À la Mère de Famille is the oldest chocolate shop in Paris.

What was this sentimental longing for the past? This reminiscence?

For me, as a young boy, Easter was about two things, religion and the promise of chocolate on Easter Sunday. As a young lad, I liked both mass and Cadburys. Nowadays, neither are of any significance to me. I’m no longer a believer and I try not to eat chocolate. While I have no desire to go back to my past in any way whatsoever, what I do miss is the point of it all, the point and the drama of Easter.

Back in the day as a young boy, I did 40 days of mass and 40 days of no sweets or chocolate. For Lent and Easter, you could say, I was all in.

In my reminiscence on that lovely Paris afternoon, I missed my mother waking me up, whispering in my ear to get up and get ready for 7.30am mass for Lent. I missed the promise of my tea and toast when I got home afterwards.

I missed the fantastic drama of the Easter Vigil in my local parish church in Cork, St Vincent’s, Sunday’s Well. The church in darkness, the knocking on the doors, the priest entering all of us lighting our candles, the incantations, the smell of the incense and the wonderful organ music and choir.

But most of all I missed my father, occasionally quiet, occasionally rambunctious, always loving. I missed him appearing on Easter Saturday with ‘something’ in a brown paper bag. I could only hope that, as always, he’d been to Cudmore’s Shop on Patrick Street. I’d know the next morning, when I got up, because it would be waiting on the piano for me.

So as I stood, last week, in the oldest chocolate shop in Paris, À la Mère de Famille, taking my time, making my choice, picking the best, I thought about my dad in Cudmore’s shop in Cork, all those years ago, taking his time, making his choice and picking out the best, for me.