L'Epicerie Bistrot à Tartines was one of those places where I used to frequently hang out with my friends for an afternoon snack or a casual Sunday meal. I would often get - I'm sure you could guess by the name - a tartine with either a cider or a coffee. And sometimes, maybe more than a few times, I would go for my guilty pleasure, the café bon bon, which is a tiny, potent, French coffee with just a dash of condensed milk. Of course, no one could ever go to the Bistrot à Tartines without hitting up the desserts. If you sit inside, you can't help but see them and stare at the obscene pile with mood lighting that for any dessert fiend would feel all but the same as stumbling upon a trove of lost, pirate treasure. What fortune. What bounty. And I want it all. But you can't, because life doesn't work that way. So you'll eventually settle for one dish, telling yourself that you'll come back soon and get that fruit tart and soon again for that pie. And yet, that pie and tart will always be strangers, all because of three words and ten little bites: that. chocolate. cake.