Postcard From Paris

London reigns supreme as the capital of afternoon tea, with its multi-tiered feast of scones and clotted cream, finger sandwiches and cakes. However, if one allows the term "tea-time" a certain flexibility-if one is willing to skip the scones, that is, in favor of a more seasonal treat such as rhubarb tart, or pistachio clafoutis-Paris will certainly contend. The one downfall of the French tea service is that a dribble of milk will only be granted to the most charmante of tea-sippers, as the Parisians take their tea, much like their afternoon coffee, black.

The most iconic of the Parisian salon de thes (tea rooms) is Laduree, the sort of place you might go with your grandmother if she lived in the 16th arrondissement (the Upper East Side of Paris) with a small dog. The fin-de-siecle decor attracts a particular mix of ladies in fur coats smoking cigarette upon cigarette, cardigan-clad young children dissecting millefeuilles with their fingers, and tourists. Although a floral-scented religieuse might seem like a delightful afternoon treat, it invariably will not taste as good as it looks, and when teamed with a hot chocolate about as viscous as mud, it will render you positively ill.

Smaller and more idiosyncratic tearooms are apt to provide better teatimes. La Loire dans la Theière (the dormouse in the teapot), is vaguely Alice-in-Wonderland themed and located in the Marais. Its walls are plastered with posters from bygone art exhibitions, and the brown leather armchairs worn to perfection. Your gaze inevitably will float toward a sideboard decked with freshly baked desserts, ranging from chestnut crumb cake to tarte tatin to a towering lemon meringue pie. "Le crumble" (an interesting example of "franglais") is an addictive salty apple crisp.

The last time you flew Air France, you may have noticed the flight attendant's offer of either a sweet or salty snack with your beverage. You will be faced with the same decision at the Loire and may well opt for one of their excellent quiches, otherwise known as tartes salees (salted tarts). Another tea room offering tarte salee, though only until 2:30 p.m. sharp-the French are notoriously strict about meal times-is Mamie Gateaux in the 7th arrondissement. The Mamie Gateaux rendition is notably more quiche-like than the Loire's, with a pristinely ridged buttery crust and a higher crust-to-filling ratio.

Order one generous wedge-shaped serving of the cumin-bacon or goat's cheese-zucchini tart between two. You might even share the set menu, which includes a glass of wine and a slice of cake, for about $15. The menu, printed on graph paper, changes daily, but the wooden church chairs, complete with hymnal holders, lend a timeless appeal. It doubles as a brocante (antique shop), presenting a small selection of collectible jam jars, various permutations on the whisk and antique molds for madeleines and the like. Thus, you can have your cake and keep the mold. Sadly, none of the beautifully colored, mismatched coffee bowls that line the room on a high shelf are for sale.