Pistachio-apricot, red fruits, pear-chocolate, apple, peach, rhubarb, and on-and-on – the tarte selection in a well-stocked Parisian boulangerie/patisserie is seemingly limitless. But, given that your average shop is turning out dozens of these puppies every day, they’re often not what one would call “pleasing to the eye”. Instead, they’re almost universally 14”+ oozing rounds of deliciousness, from which are hastily cleaved generous “parts” (as they call slices) at your command. At the other end of the spectrum are the fancy-pants €5…€6…€7 minis, like this jewel from Pierre Hermé, meticulously assembled in the kitchens of the high-end shops. Or, taking it even further, high concept works like La Pâtisserie des Rêves’ tarte tatin. So when I stepped into Hugo & Victor for the first time, I was happy to see their approach – very basic in many respects, but very OCD. They simply bake pre-wedged “parts”, lay down a little crème d’amande, pipe in a blanket of filling and then place individual pieces of fruit in by hand. The end result is sophisticated without being gauche – and without feeling so swank as to be unapproachable. God knows everything else in the shop has enough mega-swank to go around. But aesthetic musings aside, the most crucial factor is of course how well it delights the palate. So how did the Victor Myrtille amuse me? . . .

It amused me quite well. While most patisseries feel like any blueberries, as long as they aren’t moldy, make the cut for a tart, Hugo & Victor actually gives a ****. The berries were at the absolute peak of ripeness. The tart shell was, a bit surprisingly, rather tame. On the 0-10 scale, where 0 is cardboard and 10 is so massively intense that you wouldn’t even taste the fruit, I’d give this around a 2, perhaps a 3. The texture was top-notch, but I would have liked a little more character to it – to each their own, I suppose. The crème and berry filling were more-or-less unnoticeable to my taste buds, but they did mix up the texture nicely. And, true to form with Hugo & Victor, the sugar content was minimal.

It’s hard to explain the experience of a Hugo & Victor fruit tart. I’ve had the blueberry, strawberry, and grapefruit – all a number of times, and the vibe is the same. I always think, “Oh, this is what a tart is supposed to be.” Before refined sugar became widely available, I’m pretty sure the olden-timey tartes were much closer to this than they are to the sticky sweet blobs you can find at every corner shop in the city. H&V makes it all about the fruit, its flavors and the texture of the elements, rather than letting it come off as a leaden glob of flavored sucrose. Not to say that the latter isn’t fun. There are definitely some messy, sticky little treats I’ve come to love in Paris, but when I’m looking for something elemental and refreshing, Hugo & Victor is the only place I know where you can find it.

I also love how photogenic these H&V tartes are. This blueberry one is actually the Plain Jane of the pack, if you can believe it. When I finally debut the strawberry one for you, months down the road, prepare to be floored. It’s unreal . . .

And please take note, pastry chefs and students. Sometimes less is more. Well-composed minimalism can be just as impressive, if not more so, than some wild composition with fancy sugar garnishes and the like . . .

So, yes, do snag a Victor Myrtille tarte next time you’re wandering down Boulevard Raspail. It would probably be interesting to grab a conventional blueberry tarte “part” from a regular shop, right before or right after. Then you’ll get a little taste of what I mean when I talk about the world of difference between the two. Neither approach is better – just different. Where would your tastes lie?

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