La Grande Épicerie de Paris is the culinary jewel of Le Bon Marché. It welcomes guests on rue de Sèvres in the 7th arrondissement, and on rue de Passy in the 16th. Here, a curated world of French and international fare unfolds alongside artisan food counters, fresh market finds, an exceptional cellar, and intimate dining spaces. Everyday staples meet rare delicacies and handcrafted specialties.
Must we condemn the bourgeois pleasures we cannot bring ourselves to renounce? Is there not a certain quiet satisfaction in a Parisian life spent crossing paths, from early Saturday morning, with lovers, snobs, weekend revolutionaries, the falsely modest, and genuine epicures?
It rained last week, heralding the first autumn chill. No matter: I slipped into the Auguste N°233 cardigan, knotted my Juggler N°846 Moismont scarf, and set off well prepared. Down Rue de Varenne, then onto Rue du Bac, I drew near to this comedy of good manners, where everyday vanities delight the uninitiated. But you, who see only the smoked, the glazed, the cloying, the sour, and a wallet holed like Emmental cheese … Do you also see the wondrous ballet of shopping baskets? There was a time when I believed only museums held the memory of taste. Know now that a Saturday morning amid these aisles reveals just as much. No one is held captive at La Grande Épicerie, yet we find it terribly hard to leave.
I entered the stage from the second floor. Among the extras. From the top of the escalators, the curtain rose on the day’s production. At the bread counter, an elderly gentleman scrutinized the baguettes at length. A discerning gourmet? He asked, "The crustiest one, please. My wife liked them that way." Behind me swept Laetitia Casta. An omen. Tonight, I would finally watch Le Crime du 3ème étage. In the spice aisle, a young cook opened jars one by one, his face revealing all the journeys he had yet to make. He held out a dark jar: "The tonka bean. Just one, grated over cream or hot chocolate? It smells of vanilla, almond, summer hay … Careful, you need very little. It’s all in the measure. And this: Hungarian smoked paprika. People think it’s merely smoke. But taste closely—there is a true fire underneath."
A man thundered against the commodification of pleasure, then, moist-lipped, inquired about white truffles. "Ham—is it still moral?" "And flying, then?" "Just let me dine!" Behind them, an impassive slicer dropped his cut like an autumn leaf. An aisle away: "These biscuits still exist!"—a mother recapturing lost time. "Pauline! I ran into my shrink in the whisky section. We both pretended to look for water." Diego had just materialized from behind a pyramid of panettones. "Diego, I’m done. Shall we slip away before the curtain call? Coffee at the Square des Missions Étrangères?"
I have always loved these places where we betray ourselves unawares, through our quirks and our modesty, our snobberies and our longings, our hypocrisies and our loyalties, our petty miseries and our Saturday baskets. That is surely why I love La Grande Épicerie so much. Until next Saturday, my darling troupe!
FOOTNOTES
To watch: Le Crime du 3e étage, a detective comedy by Rémi Bezançon, theatrical release March 11, 2026, starring Laetitia Casta, Gilles Lellouche, and Guillaume Gallienne.
