financier patisserie is in lower manhattan down in the wall street area. it has several branches , one on stone street, another on cedar street. where is stone street and cedar street you ask ? beats me. i am sense-of-direction challenged and so am most comfortable conducting my life above houston street where the streets start with the number 1 and go up , with numbered avenues cleanly bisecting the streets so sensibly designed by the early city planners into an easy numbered grid for spatially dyslexic new yorkers like me. whenever someone mentions an address down in the wall street area , i shudder because i know that since i do not have the homing skills of a bat that i will get lost in that unruly tangle of little old new york streets with archaic names like john street, mary street, vesey street, nassau street …… worst of all, none of these streets are perpendicular to anything ! so i would need to have a gps chip implanted in my forehead to navigate and find pastry shops down at the lower tip of manhattan. fortunately for me, a friend of mine was foolish enough to rent an apt. in a high rise right across the street from financier, thus sparing me the ordeal of wandering around looking for this place like columbus looking for india.
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My destination was Financier Patisserie on Stone Street. I had no idea that this wonderful street existed — packed with restaurants that have tables lined up on the street. Perfect for lunch on a sunny day.
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Financier, Crosby Connection, Pio Maya, and Yakitori Taisho
Last Wednesday I split a 12-slice cake from Financier with Nick in exchange for a guitar pedal. As gluttonous as I am, you might be surprised to learn that I've never split a full-sized cake before. Seriously. With my chef's knife in hand, I sliced that sucker down the middle like a doctor performing open heart surgery...really badly..
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If that doesn't look amazing than my name is James Collingsworth Pinkerton the Third. Oh man...Gruyere cheese on a brioche bread encasing a lovely ham.
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This is my ideal breakfast. Coffee and something so covered in nuts and sugar you aren't even sure what it is. Oh or the little muffinskypoo in the back that is stout and plump at the same time. Check out how insanely long my hair is.
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Guilty. I had to go back! I love it! And it is in my neighborhood. You would go if it were a 5 minutes walk from you...or you would be a crazy gufferpuff. So today I had a small mochaccino, which I have since decided, is not the way to go. The way to go is to get a large coffee with milk and sugar because they are virtually the same. They steam the milk in the regular coffees.
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The only good thing about Indian Bread Co. is that there wasn't very much of it, so I had ample room for dessert. Visions of sugar plum fairies danced through my head and I skipped to the subway. Oh what place is worthy of my calories? I decided it was time for the Financier show down. I headed down to Financier right away. There were fire trucks in the street. My heart stopped, oh god...don't let it be...not my new best friend! A little closer...phew...it wasn't. I whispered a little hail mary on my way past for whatever the real reason was and thanked the heavens my little shop was safe.
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Good food in the financial district...c'est impossible! As I walked down there, I imagined some little shop stuffed into the bottom of some corporate office. But no! Stone street (a few blocks south of wall street) is a cobblestone street like a freaking excerpt from the wizard of oz, or a transplant from Europe! I practically ran to the window, oh please, oh please, oh please, let it be good! I opened the door and I was flooded with cinnamon, couples sipping coffee, banana chocolate tarts ( I pointed and narrowed by gaze, I will be back for you). I was overwhelmed and I got the coffee cake because it was bigger than the muffins. $2.00 way better prices than Balthazar or The City Bakery.
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I don't usually complain about much, do I? Or have unfavorable things to say? When I complain about becoming a monsterous blob-creature resulting from massive pastry consumption and subsequently taking advantage of my newfound corpulence to stomp around on children, puppies and other things people hold dear to them (cellphones, prosthetic legs, cheesy poofs), I'm just jokin'. I think. [stomps]...Yup, my stomping power has not reached the ability to kill organisms larger than small bugs.
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I feel more full right now than I did yesterday, which is kind of amazing. Why? Welllll, sit back, grab some unhealthy easy-to-munch-on foodstuffs, and I'll tell you the story of "Walking Around A Few Miles And Eating Along The Way With My Friend Jason Because Why Else Would We Walk For Miles? Hint: Not For Exercise."
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This morning I considered waking up at 6:45 AM to pick up some desserts for my mum at Financier since I'm going home tonight...and also to get myself a little brekkie. After my alarm went off, one look at my clock while staring at the surrounding dim walls (not helped by the Financial District's cubicle-filled towers and rain clouds of condensed H20 doom) told me that waking up was unfavorable. Also, I was tired. After half-consciously setting my alarm to go off in 30 minutes, I went back to sleep.
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I was still licking my lips over a lunch special at Ise (hearty Japanese winter food: fried scallops accompanied by a dollop of hot mustard, poached tilefish with yam paste, rice balls with fermented soybeans and sashimi garnished with fresh ginger) when I realized that I hadn’t yet bought pastries for Christmas morning. I’d heard that a French pastry shop had opened up two weeks ago nearby, and set about finding it at once.
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