SpiceLines

and just 10 days to enjoy all the deliciousness that Paris has to offer, why work up a sweat? With luck there’ll be other trips.

La Patisserie des Reves, 93 rue du Bac, Paris 75007. Telephone: +33 (0)1 42 84 00 82.

Pastry-loving bloggers have raved about the way Philippe Conticini’s Paris boutique resembles a 21-century laboratory. But for me, the “touch me not” glass bell jars gave this pretty-in-pink atelier the air of a naughty fairy’s honey trap for greedy girls. The fanciful tart au citron with a meringue cap, imprisoned under one of those climate-controlled domes, might as well be labeled “Eat Me.” The question is, what will happen if you do?

I can tell you: You will instantly gain 5 pounds. But you will be very, very happy that you indulged.

Conticini has made a specialty of re-imagining traditional French patisserie. His Paris-Brest, par example, takes the familiar pastry circle filled with hazelnut crème—it was first created in 1891 to celebrate the Paris-Brest-Paris bicycle race, hence the “wheel”—and transforms it into a ring of six petits rondes de pate a choux filled with rich praline-infused crème. Wicked enough, but there’s also a sticky river of liquid praline running through it as well. It’s overkill, of course, but Le Figaro voted Conticini’s Paris-Brest Le Meilleur de Paris in 2010.

The downside: The danger that you will consume those tens of thousands of calories all by yourself.

I also tried the small—everything comes in large and individual sizes—tarte au citron. The tender, not too buttery crust was filled with two layers of luscious lemon curd between which was sandwiched a surprise layer of sugared crumbs, effectively interrupting (in a surprisingly nice way) the usual ocean of sweet-tart filling.

But it was the plain and simple madeleine that won my heart. So tender, so moist, so melt-in-the-mouth, so….big. Continini’s super-sized madeleine is more fit for dipping into a giant’s teacup than for what I imagine to have been Proust's delicate tisane. But every crumb of this 4-inch-long monster is delicious. And you genuinely can’t eat more than one.

Sadaharu Aoki, 35 rue de Vaugirard, 75006 Paris. Telephone: +33 (0)1 45 44 48 90

I made the mistake of visiting Sadaharu Aoki’s rue Vaugirard patisserie on a sweltering September afternoon. All was cool and calm inside, and I breezed along the narrow pastry case surveying the gateaux, many of which feature macha green tea in one form or another. I chose two—the much-praised Zen, and Bamboo, a beautiful jade-green affair dusted with powdered sugar. Then I added four macarons, purely in the interest of research of course.

Helas! By the time I returned to our hotel, the gateaux had separated, tops and bottoms sliding to different sides of the box. But I closed my eyes and nibbled. It didn’t matter a bit as both were utterly delicious.

Biting into Zen, a plain vanilla-colored rectangle topped with a macaron au the vert was like diving into cloud-like layers of sesame and white chocolate crème, at least one of them infused with cognac, only to meet a bit of resistance when arriving at a thin, crackly layer of green tea-flavored biscuit dacquoise. You’ve hit bottom, wonderfully, when you reach a crisp layer of sesame pate sucre.

Bamboo ran a close second—seven or eight layers of macha green tea crème and dark chocolate ganache alternating with biscuit jaconde, which tasted like a whiskey- soaked sponge. Heavenly, and like the other, so rich that it should be shared.

The green tea macarons had an appealingly subtle flavor, but the pink rose-scented morsel was too much of a good thing—like eating flowers. My favorite: a mauve macaron tasting mysteriously of essence of violets. It was just right—one I’d order again any day.

Good to know: The Port Royal boutique, one of four in Paris, has a long counter where you can sit down and nibble these delicate confections on the spot. No more deconstructed gateaux.

Pierre Herme, 72 rue Bonaparte, Paris 75006. Telephone: +33 (0)1 43 54 47 77.

Volumes have been written about Pierre Herme’s incredible macarons, some of them right here on SpiceLines. To wit: “Eating an Herme macaron is not unlike falling into a deep, luxuriously soft feather bed. When you bite into it, the shell dissolves like a cloud, melting instantly into the voluptuous filling…”

Not much has changed since that first visit to the rue Bonaparte boutique. As before, there was a long line snaking out of the door, although this time the Tuesday afternoon shoppers looked a bit bedraggled. A gawky woman with unruly hair and horn-rimmed glasses hesitated over which macarons would make the best gift for a friend. The vendeuse was gracious, recommending first one and then another, until her customer got up the nerve to take the plunge.

When my turn came, no dithering was allowed. The maestro must have been having a minimalist day because the flavors were much more restrained than I remembered. Instead of Ispahan, there was simply Infiniment Rose, a rose-flavored macaron without lychee and raspberry. No Mutini with coconut and milk chocolate ganache either.

But I can’t complain. Once I’d adjusted to the simpler flavors, I found that the macarons were still cloud-like and every bit as irresistible. Here are the ones I took home:

Mogador: Milk chocolate ganache infused with tropical passion fruit. Heaven in two bites.

Infiniment Rose: Essence of rose and rose petals but not too perfume-y. Delicate. Would have been delicious with a pot of Ceylon tea—if I’d been able to wait.

Caramel au Buerre Sale: Buttery salted caramel, the confection of the moment, in macaron disguise. Deeper, richer and more addictive than his earlier version, Caramel a Fleur de Sel.

Infiniment Chocolat: Pure chocolate ganache, made with smooth, very desireable Venezuelan Porcelana. If you love chocolate….

Infiniment Café: Light coffee-flavored filling in a pale café au lait-colored shell. More like the aroma than the taste of coffee.

Infiniment Chocolat Sur del Lago: A luxurious dark chocolate ganache made with cacao from Venezuela's tropical lowlands. Beautiful gold flecked shell, perfect for an elegant tea party—or just for yourself.

No question: Pierre Herme is still king of the macaron.