I’ve mentioned before how discovering Pascal Caffet was a complete accident. I was on my way to Androuet for some stinky cheese, when all of a sudden I look over my shoulder and see this beautiful patisserie and, upon walking up to it, an even more stunning pastry spread. They weren’t like other patisseries I’d seen. Virtually all of them were a showcase of layer after layer of crèmes, chocolate, mousses, dacquoise, fruit, and more. Their perfectly cleaved sides unveiled these strata like some kind of edible paleontology exhibit, where instead of unearthing a well-preserved baby pterodactyl, I found exquisitely halved raspberries and mango. When I walked in that day, and the salesgirl approached me asking if I’d like anything, I merely gestured with my arm in a huge sweeping motion across the full expanse of the case and commanded her to fetch an “extrêmement énorme boîte” (extremely huge box). Without batting an eyelash, she then produced, from beneath the counter, a container measuring at least 3×2 meters with shiny gold cursive writing on matte black that simply said “Le Selection du Connoisseur” (The Connoisseur’s Selection). Apparently I was not the first to get carried away. And that’s how I came to know the Exotique.

Entranced by her mystical island charms, I was excited to dig in. From top to bottom, we have a light fruit mousse, “exotic cream”, pineapples with raspberries & wild strawberries, and a base of coconut gateau. Why did I put that one phrase in quotes? Well, that’s because that’s how Monsieur Caffet’s placards describe the layer, but last time I checked my pastry memory banks, “exotic cream” wasn’t what you’d call a technical term. At least he didn’t refer to the thin layer immediately below the fruit as a “wicked awesome glaçage.” Regardless, this is where I run into my usual problem with describing a Pascal Caffet pastry. That list of ingredients/layers tastes just like it sounds. I can’t claim anything fell even remotely short of expectations, nor did anything surprise me. It was just superbly well done, textbook work . . . period. So here’s the recap. Fruit: perfectly ripe and sweet. Fruit mousse: tangy, smooth and fruity. Exotic cream: It was so exotic that I felt as those Grace Jones, circa 1983, were glaring at me while I ate it. It also tasted a lot like mango, raspberries and pineapple Coconut gateau: Yum. This was actually the one piece of the puzzle with enough nuance for me to say anything not abundantly clear . . . texturally it was excellent, but the coconut was relatively subdued versus the other flavors.

It’s such a shame that Pascal Caffet had to close his Paris location. No more for you, City of Lights! I’m cleary going to need to resort to purchasing several pastries from a variety of shops, along with a can of Del Monte, and then scurrying back to apartment to Frankenstein their various bits and pieces into something that approaches the Exotique. It certainly won’t come close to what Caffet has me accustomed to, so I’ll just cry while I chew, weep as I lick my fingers, and sob as wipe the last daubs of crème from my lips.

I’d recommend the Exotique as a pleasant treat, if it were still possible to get in Paris. I guess I’ll just have to keep searching until I find a suitable substitute. Aoki’s FuwaFuwa isn’t too far off, actually. But you’ll learn more about that in a future review.

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