The éclair that grates relativity

Last week, whilst consuming a coffee and éclair, I had a debate with a friend about string theory, gravity, and whether everything is made of particles or waves. It was then that a rather charming French friend stopped for a brief chat. And, sure enough, we concluded that French women are definitely made of waves (not that they don’t have good particles too).

It was at that moment that the topic of Dominique Strauss-Kahn’s alleged rape on a New York chambermaid strung up. And it appears that amongst the quagmire of myriad rumours and juicy details that have engulfed the story, one thing stands out: France romanticises sexual predation.

In a country where cafés and patisseries are found on every street corner, it is apparent that sex and politics go together like croissants and coffee. It is why many people had little problem with the reputation of the married former IMF chief and presidential hopeful as a “great seducer”, entrenching many a woman’s gravitational field. France is sexy and proud of it – a country where flirting, seduction and sensuality add a certain spice to the daily dose of joie de vivre.

Feminists say that, to succeed in France, women in politics, business and the media have to put up with “heavy flirting” bordering on harassment. But as my friend pontificated on how France is questioning its self-image as a land of easy sexual give-and-take, where men flirt and women parry and no one makes a fuss about it, my mind ventured into a parallel universe as I could just not get over how underwhelming my chocolate éclair was – I might as well have been eating a pastry filled with liquid poo.

The problem with all those French patisseries that have started to conquer London – Paul, Ladurée, Pierre Hermé – is that they are all overpriced, all incapable of producing a decent éclair. The difference between these patisseries and Greggs is that in the former you expect to find high standards of service and product, as well as originality, flair, and sophistication. But you don’t.

And then there is Dalloyau, located in Paris. Only two and a quarter hours from St Pancras, it’s worth the trip because the French have kept the best for themselves. Their éclairs are brilliant. Just brilliant. The chocolate crazily rich, the pastry delightfully light. As my mind faded during my discussion with my friend and turned towards the lacklusterness of my éclair, I could only gauge that Physics and its Theory of Everything doesn’t have an answer to why so few things are absolutely the best in their class. Everything is supposed to be relative. And yet my taste buds tell me that the only éclairs that stand out, that are without question and unanimously the best of their kind, are those from Dalloyau.