Paris's wonder road: Rue Sainte-Marthe
Forking off from the bustling thoroughfare of Boulevard de la Villette, before you reach the summertime-stuffed Canal St Martin, lies a colourful bounty of vibrantly-licked window fronts along the Rue Sainte-Marthe, home to crafters, creatives, cafés and caves.
A Parisian Balamory, the sound of car engines forgotten on the boulevard and replaced by the irrevocably charming 19th-century buildings that follow the gently tumbling street down. An early morning slumber persists - on Tuesday and Friday mornings the market-goers trundle through the colourful streets and the mosaic-scattered walls, in eager anticipation for Marché Belleville chaos.
On a Saturday morning, the heavenly scent of pain au levain lingers as Secousse Boulangerie unbolts its teal-splashed shutters and scribbles that day’s bakes in white chalk across the panes. Operating to its own rhythm, forget the early mornings; this bakery opens at 11am on a Saturday and 4pm on other days.
Indeed, the quiet calm trickles on throughout the day until the tree-shaded square of Place Sainte Marthe fills with a steady flow of happy-hour hunters at bar La Sardine. What begins as a mere handful of tables and chairs scattered outside culminates in a wild brigade of Parisians spilling over to the neighbouring Molo Molo. A pint or two later and dinner takes the form of a smoked salmon, samphire and goat cheese sarrasin-base crêpe, a caramel-soaked galette and a mug of cider at the yellow-fronted Breton-special, Armorix. A cocktail at the collage-covered Dixième Degré - a vision of wild wallpaper, coloured tiles, lamps and re-used road signs - rounds up the night nicely.
Up the road Mulino Mulè’s blue-cupped front glistens. Chef Federica Massaro knocks up various shaped pasta using wheat grains cultivated in Italy in the on-site mill - making the dinky restaurant that much cosier - as wafts of cacio e pepe escape onto the terrace. Its sister deli, LaTête Dans LesOlives, is found at number two. Here, a mahogany exterior dotted with graffiti, sprawling yellow lettering and a glass front gives way to nocellara olive oil stored in litre tin vessels, jars of tapenades and sauces and crates of Sicilian lemons.
It’s not the only gourmet épicerie on the block. Doubling up as an aperitivo station and cave à vin is Lemme Lemme. Somewhat smaller, somewhat less manicured. Ricotta salata, more varieties of parmigiana reggiano and pecorino than one could imagine and oodles of cured meats fill the fridge haphazardly. A bottle of wine from Station La Cave next door and you’ve got yourself a feast.
Station La Cave is a vision: the cellar walls are crowded with metal racks of vibrantly-tinged macerations, wines crafted from grapes hand-picked at the foot of Vaucluse’s Mount Ventoux and bottles of bubbly whites flavoured with hints of dandelion and elderflower. The relatively empty space - save a scattering of amber perspex stools - is soon filled with wine fiends and a gargle of merry drinkers. Where Station is canal-side, La Cave à Michel is Belleville-side; straddling Rue Sainte-Marthe in a natural wine embrace. It’s a project pampered by the helmed Tischenko brothers - previously at Galopin - who traded their seven-course tasting menu bistro for a wine cellar. A teal countertop, tiled walls, wooden tables and low-strung ball lamps soften the somewhat rustic black and blue-brushed exterior. Maxime is out in front popping the corks to the reds and the rosé and Romain is in the back knocking up plates of “bombinette”: mozzarella topped with tuna butter, ceviche doused in fig oil, white asparagus with sabayon. A gargantuan menu in relation to the minuscule kitchen; the space jammed by regulars nibbling on tapas and dolling out the wine; the curbside forming into a standing bar.
The problem comes with not what to eat but where to eat. It’s rare to find an entire street crammed with such an umpteen of relatively nonchalant-looking, five-star-reviewed kitchens. Mana Léon serves homestyle Thai dishes in a jam-packed, fourteen-seater bolt hole and Rouge Do, a few blocks down, is an equally small, Vietnamese cantina, entirely family-run with Thierry Heinz in the kitchen. Ushered in through the brushed red doors, bag a stool by the window, ask for the chef’s special and indulge in a bafflingly delicious labour of love. Bánh cuốn (a Vietnamese steamed pancake) is topped with fried shallots, a sweet and sour mushroom broth arrives in a steaming bowl and the non-negotiable bún bò is a saucy trove of vermicelli noodles, soy-soaked tofu and mandolin sliced veg.
Paving a more decadent path is the brainchild bistro of journalist and actor, Ruben Curiel and Sophie-Marie Larrouy. Art history and psychology majors, Camille Bacou and Cassandre Beguin Billecocy, are in the kitchen. Mahogany tables, burgundy leather-topped chairs, metal shelves topped with singular bottles of natural wine, ceramic vases filled with a colour-pop posy and a golden-hued lighting adorn the space. When collabs aren’t sizzling, take the recent ajar x La Sardine union for the Fête de la Musique, ajar doles out elevated classics: outrageously decadent smoked eel pie is dripped in a spiced pickle and mustard seed oil and tarama is topped with a black oil and hazelnut crunch. ajar, much like the fleet of its neigbours, sums up Rue Sainte-Marthe deliciously: creative, vibrant and paving a path of its own.
Hannah Rees-Middleton
Wild swimming. Natural wine. Excellent exhibitions. And glorious country walks. These are a few of our editor Hannah Rees-Middleton’s favourite things. Whether she’s bouncing around Mexico, paddling through the Kenwood Ladies’ Pond or ogling another mound of butter at a fabulous supper club, Hannah is always in the midst of something cool. A consummate planner, a lover of beautiful things, a traveller never without a camera and a deck of cards. Hannah is many things (including the perfect resource for perfect travel tips).
