Paul

Boulangerie industrielle, rien à voir avec ce que proposent les autres artisans du coin.

I walked in and suddenly went stupid, forgot every French word I knew. As I’m stammering Fernando, maybe as a joke, asked if I spoke Spanish. «Well yes my man, I do!» Now my frontal lobe is kind enough to begin working again and I can order.
Paul’s a chain. For anyone who’s traveled in France or has an inappropriately loving relationship with baked goods, me enthusiastically raising my hand, these guys are real familiar. Clean, well stocked stores with dependably great breads, tarts and cakes. This location was no different. I happily gorged myself when I got home but did hold back enough that there were plenty of snacking options for the extended fam.
Woke up the next morning looking forward to a little slice of Paul happiness «But…uhh. Where’re the tarts?» Turns out the @*%$# dog ate them. She’s not my dog so I didn’t inflict the whoopin’ that any tart sneaking dog deserves but it looks like Fernando and I have a date tomorrow.