Emily In France Exclusive 🇫🇷 5 Things to Eat in Paris this Spring

From the desk of an expat.

Three years into my time living in France, one of my many part-time gigs was as a behind-the-scenes worker at a then-fledgling wine tasting company. One of my fellow interns was a new arrival to France from Maryland, and I remember one slower afternoon ensconced in nostalgia, as we made a long list of all the things we missed from the U.S.

Oreos. Public bathrooms. Customer service. Jolly Ranchers.

“Asparagus!” she added, wistfully, and I faltered. We had asparagus in France – and plenty of it. It just happened to be January.

France’s food system is far less seasonally-driven than it was when I first moved here, eighteen years ago. Back then, the chanterelle mushrooms I saw just yesterday at my local covered market would be unthinkable in late March, and I would have to wait until April to pounce on the first strawberries imported from Spain. Despite a bit of erosion with regards to the seasons, however, the fact remains: Most of the time, in France, you can tell the season just by looking at the primeur – or, for that matter, the poissonnier.

I always love seeing the first scallops in fall and the first bitter dandelion greens in winter. And of course, the moment tomato season begins, I basically skip to the market. But I have to admit… spring has never been my favorite season. I’ve always found the mulchy aromas and unpredictable weather more anxiety-inducing than hopeful, flooding me with the strange feeling that I’m running out of time. (For what, I have no idea.) It isn't helped by the fact that saying goodbye to winter means saying goodbye to some of my favorite French foods, from potimarron (kabocha squash) to panais (parsnip) to Mont d’Or cheese.

But of course, there are loads of newcomers on the horizon, some of which have already started to appear at the market where I run my market tours and on some of my favorite market streets in Paris. Given the wealth of new produce, here are the five Parisian spring foods I’m most excited about.

1. Leek-Vinaigrette

Leek-vinaigrette has become a bit of a touchstone, for me, seeing as I’ve spent much of this year testing classic bistros for work. (Tough life, I know.) I never tire of this traditional dish, with the tender, sweet allium paired with the zingiest of mustard vinaigrettes.

To be quite fair, leeks are pretty ubiquitous all year long, in France, their bright green hue offering a touch of color amidst the white of cauliflower and celeriac. But spring brings the new leeks so tender you can even eat the dark green tops, which I slow-cook in broth until they become a tender, flavorful condiment perfect for jazzing up a sandwich. And when I dine out in spring, leek-vinaigrette becomes even more of a staple.

This year, I sampled the leek-vinaigrette at Brasserie Lipp, a storied favorite of Ernest Hemingway’s. This fairly classic approach to the dish featured sweet, yielding leeks topped with a gribiche-style boiled egg topping, crunchy croutons, and loads of fresh herbs. And they definitely didn't skimp on the grainy moutarde à l’ancienne.

Leek-vinaigrette takes on a totally different look at Cloche, where it’s somewhat of a signature appetizer. Here, they're arranged in a puddle of sesame-spiked vinaigrette and oil infused with the allium funk of the green tops. The finishing touches include crunchy toasted hazelnuts and a generous dose of anisey chervil.

Bistro des Lettres also put a more unique spin on the classic, with each bite of tender, sweet leek wrapped in crisp, briny nori. A garnish of salmon roe added a lovely pop of brightness.

But my favorite leek-vinaigrette in Paris is the maximalist version at the brasseries from the Nouvelle Garde group like Brasserie Bellanger, Brasserie Dubillot, and Brasserie des Prés. At each of these neo-brasseries, a plate of deeply charred leeks is topped with an intensely mustardy vinaigrette, deeply toasty breadcrumbs, generous chunks of hazelnuts, and a handful of bitter leaves.

2. Fresh Goat Cheeses

Did you know that goat cheese is seasonal?

Goats can be a bit finicky when it comes to their lactation cycles, forcing farmers who want to produce chèvre all year long to trick them into thinking it’s spring using artificial lighting or synthetic hormones. It’s not a bad thing necessarily, but I get particularly excited about eating goat cheese when it’s truly in season, beginning in late March or early April. And I’m especially excited this year, seeing as one of my favorites has just become France’s 47th AOP cheese.

Mothais sur Feuille is a goat cheese from western French Poitou, named after the chestnut leaf upon which it’s aged. This leaf helps to balance out the acidity of its beautifully wrinkled white rind, which conceals a fluffy, almost marshmallowy texture. The cheese’s flavor is far milder than that of most American goats, governed by a lovely sweet cream aroma tinged with hazelnut notes.

But Mothais sur Feuille is far from the only fresh goat cheese worth tasting this season.