After eating it, Canadian butter has forever been ruined for us. And, of course, we couldn’t find a place that sells Échiré here. But A didn’t give up, he had a meeting in Montreal yesterday and figured there must be a place in Montreal where he could find some.

A little googling (and a drive to the market from a fellow foodie coworker, who was also recently in France and also going through French butter withdrawal) was all it took—A came home, adorable and victorious, with a little basket of butter in his bag and a Parisian baguette tucked under his arm. We have since had it with dinner, breakfast, and lunch. I don’t want to even think about my cholesterol level right now but man, is it ever worth it.