Once your algorithm clocks that you’re even thinking about Paris, your feed floods with I just found the best bakery in Paris: always featuring the same pastries, same window front, same line snaking down the block. Half locals, half people straight from CDG, suitcase in tow. But the proof is in the brioche.
Cécile Khayat and Victoria Effantin built Mamiche in a space dominated by precision obsessed male pastry chefs who doubted them— despite the fact that, for most people, their first great baked good came from a woman’s hands. The pastries here don’t look perfect. They don’t have to. The loaves come out with unexpected ridges, the croissants lean a little sideways—but they taste like the best version of whatever you thought you knew.
