A tiny bolthole of a restaurant on the Rue Sainte-Marthe; Mana Léon serves only a handful of hungry customers on its dozen or so tables. Exposed brick walls are decorated with antique oil paintings in gilded-gold frames off-shot by a central hanging Thai-designed lamp radiating a golden glow. On the menu? Crispy, perfectly bronzed nems accompanied by a homemade nuoc mam sauce, a green curry is braised in a rich coconut broth and dessert takes the form of sticky rice topped with honey-soaked mango. If you can't cadge a table, get it to go and wander down to the Canal St Martin. 

A bread and wine vault tucked away on the quiet calm of the rue Sainte-Marthe. Valentin Orgeas and Alexis Bourre lead the charge of the vibrantly-painted, bold-blue storefront. Sourdough loaves – perfectly bronzed on the exterior, fluffy and doughy on the interior – are made from peasant, wheat flour, raisin scones are made ever-so slighty sour with the addition of a milk kefir and olive-oil doused focaccia comes stuffed with fiery jalapeños and black olives. The slightly rogue opening hours are excused due to the stellar offering of natural wines to pair with each of the loaves. 

Nothing about Armorix is quiet: from its bright yellow facade, its whacky interiors cluttered with shells and knick-knacks and its cluster of high/low tables that draw in an eager crowed. This Sainte-Marthe hangout serves a taste of Brittany: buckwheat (a gluten-free flour) is one of the three ingredients to make its infamous crêpes base. The filling varies from simple to the slightly absurd – salmon, samphire and cream is our go-to – and is rounded off by a honey or caramel-soaked galette. Deliciously good, remarkably simply. Don't miss the happy-hour, where Carnac-caught oysters are served for one euro a piece between seven and eight pm. 

An Italian deli becomes our go-to épicerie when wandering down the Rue Sainte-Marthe. No fuss interiors, save a couple of oak tables for the in-house aperitif and wine tasting, give way to shelves stacked with wine bottles, fridges full of Italian soda and a counter stacked with cheese, fresh ravioli and kilos of cured meats.