If you’ve spent some time on this site, you already know that I am quite a fan of chocolate. Dark chocolate especially, and I have at least one or two squares every day. (Ok, dark chocolate with the exception of my long time favorite Toblerone.)  I’ve shared with you where to find chocolate in New York City and where to find it in Paris; you’ve read about chocolate served in a cheese box, chocolate that’s blue, and even chocolate made with pop rocks.  And you’re sure to see a whole lot more in the future. I am always on the lookout for a bar to discover.  And it’s rare that I will come back from a trip without a few new wrappers in my bag.

So I was very excited to find this relatively new bar (introduced in 2008) in a local Coop supermarket here in Zürich.  It’s not a shocking flavor or something that’s never been done before.  It’s actually a rather common culinary trend right now.  It just hadn’t been done by Lindt: chocolate… and??  Salt. In fact, I often add the latter when I taste my few squares each day.  I take a piece of dark chocolate, whether it’s a pure origin bar or flavored with espresso, and I sprinkle it with a few grains of high quality Fleur de Sel (hand harvested from the salt marshes of Brittany, France) or Maldon salt (from England), depending on my mood.  Now Lindt has added 3% sea salt to its classic dark chocolate blend, giving us: Lindt Excellence, A la Pointe de Fleur de Sel (A Touch of Sea Salt).

That said, don’t expect to look at the chocolate and see large, noticeable crystals.  But take one bite, and you will taste them right away.  If you let the chocolate melt on your tongue, you can feel the tiny crystals as the chocolate melts away.  Or you’ll feel a few morsels afterwards in your teeth.  Lindt’s deliciously smooth 47% dark blend has a pleasant mouth feel, and the salt creates a very nice balance.  And you really do get a taste of salt in each and every bite.  In order to share accurate information, I ate the whole bar.  I even did this test with a second bar.  Again, solely for research purposes

While Lindt’s Summer Edition chocolates weren’t imported to the US when I reported on them in August 2008, this Fleur de Sel bar most certainly is.  I double checked with consumer relations in New Hampshire, and they let me know that it is available in Lindt retail stores as well as online.

If you like the taste of chocolate and salt, below are a few more bars to look out for: Vosges Haut Chocolat’s line, which always has a strong component of salt, my favorite of which is the Barcelona Bar (hickory smoked almonds, grey sea salt and 40% deep milk chocolate); Sal de Ibiza‘s 70% bar made with Flor de Sal; Paul de Bondt’s Fior di Sale bar; Theo’s 3400 Phinney Bread and Chocolate bar; and last but not least, my newest discovery and current favorite from Basel, Switzerland - Beschle’s Grand Cru Triniatrio au Fleur de Sel et Pistaches (65%).

Between the adventures of Breton butter and buckwheat crêpes, comparing Kouign Amann and different styles of mussels, there was yet another beauty to be discovered during our short trip to Brittany: the landscapes along the Côte d’Emeraude (Emerald Coast).  Eugène Herpin (1860-1942), author of numerous books on the history and archaeology of Saint-Malo, invented the northern coast’s nickname, admiring the sea’s bright green color as he saw it.  We nodded our heads to him, even if we would have went with a shade a bit more blue, but nonetheless enjoyed the beautiful views off the winding coastal roads.  The granite stone houses, bright blue shutters, multitudes of fishing boats, herds of cows grazing off the sides of the roads, attractive coves and tiny harbors… all made for quite the picturesque road trip.  So enjoy the ride below, passing through Cancale, Dinard and Saint-Malo.

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“Avec du lait, rien que du lait, on obtient de la crème… Et par barrattage, lavage et mélange, du beurre.”

From milk, nothing but milk, we get cream.  And then by churning, washing and kneading, we get butter.  These words are written large and clear on the back wall of Jean-Yves Bordier’s Maison du Beurre, a bright, impeccably organized, intimate cheese and butter shop cum museum in Saint-Malo, France.  Passionate foodies are known to bring back suitcases filled with local products from their travels, even making pilgrimages to certain areas of the world to do so.  I made mine to France’s Brittany region for that simple byproduct of milk: butter.  All good things in Brittany are made with butter.  The very best are made with Beurre Bordier. Read the rest of this story >>

Sweet or savory?  For me, it’s no question.  I am a sweets person, with an incredible capacity for sugar, rarely reaching my max and hardly ever stopping before there is nothing but a sugar granule left on my plate.  My dentist can’t believe that I still have all of my teeth left.

When I first discovered the Kouign Amann, the strange looking word that simply means “butter cake” in Breton, I knew that I had met my match.  It was at Pierre Hermé’s boutique in Paris’ Saint Germain des Prés years back, when this small round pastry called out at me, distracting me from the rows of colorful macarons at which I was gazing.  Sitting besides pains au chocolat and brioches, it resembled a typical French pastry, but one that had fallen into a deep vat of sugar and butter, and resurfaced as a perfect specimen of caramelization.  On a bench just a few steps away at Place Saint-Sulpice, I carefully pulled away the crisp, buttery layers, my eyes growing larger and larger with every bite.  The firm caramelized outer layers, the softer sweet pastry dough inside, nary an unsweetened spot to be found.  The wonders of just butter, sugar, flour and salt!  I knew that one day I would have to go to the source.   Read the rest of this story >>

Stepping off the plane at the somewhat miniature airport in Rennes, in France’s northwestern most region of Brittany, I immediately inhaled as deeply as I could, expecting to literally breathe in the butter from the air.  But what I swallowed was more like manure.  The odor of livestock was unmistakable.  Instead of salted butter caramels, I got cows.  We learned shortly thereafter that the 22nd annual Salon International d’Elevage (lnternational Trade Fair for Livestock) was well under way just down the road.  This gathering of 610 cattle, 170 sheep and perhaps a few goats and horses would clearly explain the smell.  However, we had other aromas in mind – of the fresh creamy butter we’d soon be tasting and of the caramels made from it.  But at that very moment, we followed our noses to the salty smell of the sea in Cancale.

We hopped in our adorably round Peugot rent-a-car and headed north to the coast. Read the rest of this story >>

Once I clearly accomplished my goal of not avoiding butter, my taste buds, stomach and head were all ready for my trip tomorrow to Brittany, France.  My thoughts went to the region’s mouthwatering pastries and crêpes, sparkling cider, big, red, spiny lobsters and colorful collections of tins that I always bring back – conserved sardines, tuna and scallops.  With this last thought, I could already see my cupboards filling up by the minute.

I had one lonely can of sardines remaining from our last visit to Brittany, and I decided now was a perfect time to open it, as my stash was just about to be replenished.  

We had spent a long weekend in Le Croisic, a rugged fishing town on the Loire Atlantic coast in Southern Brittany, a good starting point for a discovery of la Côte Sauvage (France’s Wild Coast).  Fishing boats were lined up on the water, up as if in a duel against the rows of adjacent wooden houses, dating from the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries.  In between, the one-lane road blended in with café terraces, where tables were filled with people slurping mussels, devouring crêpes and sipping their ceramic bowls of cider… while others were busy filling up their shopping cart with tin cans. 

That would be me, in the Conserverie La Belle-Iloise, in awe of the walls just overflowing with different color tins. Read the rest of this story >>