El Piano: Granada, España

(Have I been a sufficiently dilatory blogger today? Here is the cue for all those in the congregation to intone a communal aye.)

Although Spain is perhaps more amenable to jamon-lovers than happy-pig-petters, all chances of happy meal times are not lost. Granada’s El Piano is non-negotiable pit stop for any itinerant, particularly one perennially courting the flighty mistress that is tasty vegan eats.

Situated a few blocks away from my host’s piso, El Piano predictably became a regular haunt throughout my 100ish hours in sun-soaked Granada. On first visit I was fleeing 34° (Celsius) heat, thus necessitating a beverage and some sort of teeth-rotting pastry. The organic sparkling elderflower soda was particularly memorable, but be warned that the ginger version (purchased on a later visit) packs an astringent wallop. Ya-howza.

The above photo solely triggers memories of decadent why-can’t-there-be-more frosting; all other brownie gustatory particulars have evaded me.

El Piano is known for their take-out, evidenced by the handsome display case stuffed with a global rainbow of of entrées and pastries. The pictured employee congenially listened to my stumbling Spanish, midway through revealing his perfect English with a twitching smile instantly rebuffed by a nervous giggle of relief (mine). Granada locals largely snub the use of English, Ugly Americans take note.

In this spectacularly unappetizing photo, we have milky upchuck smeared on a veggie patty, leaning on two indiscriminate tiers of ball-y mush, moated by a dingy yellow, viscous goop. This photographic platitude may not riotously pique the senses, but beauty is oft’ a mendacious bastard in the culinary lens. I was voraciously lapping up every last sporkful of my tzatziki-smeared burger, chili sin carne, unidentified onion balls, and yellow daal. The onion balls of mysterious moniker were a popular item amongst fellow diners—a repeated order on my third visit, no less.

In an effort to sample (and maliciously photograph) as many El Piano picks as possible, I bought this sugar-free brownie for the road, or more specifically, a hot bench in a tree-lined plaza a few streets parallel. Moist, saccharine, and seed-speckled, the pastry likely employed dates and fruits as its primary source of sweetness.

The piano that started it all, I presume.

And now for the loathed wrap-up compendium, which I hereby transform into phrases lazily punctuated by exclamation marks:

Economical! All gluten-free! Gnarly beverage selection! Vegan groceries! Take-away! International vegan cuisine! …El Piano!

El Piano

c/Gran Capitan, 7 Bajo

18002 Granada, Spain

Vegana en Granada (España)

Hoy en día sólo: MuffinTopped en español burdo!

Sorbete de fruta de la pasión: cremoso y delicioso!

Otra forma de fruta de la pasión: el té. Me encantaba la amplia selección de las hojas de té en el mercado al aire libre.

Paella? Obviamente. Grande? Sí. Vegana? Por supuesto que no.

La Catedral de Granada

Algunas fotos de La Alhambra famosa…

Y más fotos de Granada en toda su belleza…

La evidencia de una guerra wikipedia

Políglotas, espero que apreciaran el cambio temporal de idioma; yo casi nunca hablo el español.

Para mañana: un mensaje (en inglés!) con respecto a la restaurante vegana El Piano.

Japanese Delights at Osaka-Ya

“Hidden gem” is a term as cliché as they come, but Sacramento’s Osaka-Ya cannot help but assimilate into that very category. Known amongst local shoppers for its exquisite mochi and (weekend-only) bento boxes, this Japanese bakery and grocery store is what one might call a below-the-radar tradition. Hipster hoopla or no, I can only attest that this place is well worth a multitude of visits.

From their storefront service window owners peddle Gunther’s Freeze, a Sacramento-famous fruit slushie, as well as made-to-order shaved ice. I have honestly sampled neither, but in a city where the temps are wont to climb to a devilish 105 Fahrenheit, syrup-covered frozen water is almost too easy a sell.

Although the trays of mochi/manju are not labeled, the Osaka-Ya staff are more than happy to explain each unique variety in articulate detail. With the prodigious aid of the strapping young gentleman on counter duty, I chose four varieties of mochi for sampling: two with smooth an (sweet red bean paste), one plum-flavored with chunky an, and a 4-pack of smooth peanut butter-filled mochi. The exorbitant use of plastic-wrap and Styrofoam did little to assuage my ever-rising consumer guilt; in a deep state of mens rea, I offered up a “Forgive me Earth Spirit, for I have sinned” as the overhead exit bell echoed its soft jangle behind me.

Although cursed by a beyond-dismal photo shoot, the mochi exceeded all expectations. Mochi is one of those magical foods that rigidly interlocks with my natural taste preferences; if unbridled, I could have effortlessly effected a permanent disappearance of the three an-filled mochi in a matter of minutes. Instead, I summoned my last iota of restraint and endeavored a reasonable prolonging of each morsel’s mastication. What pure indulgence in bean-filled sweeties I savored! What gluttony I withheld to allow a few hours between each tasting!

In stark contrast, the peanut butter mochi were an unfortunate combination of East meets West, resulting in what I like to dub “con-fusion” cuisine. The smooth peanut butter innards evoked a suspiciously close resemblance to the Jiff-sweet, hydrogenated oil variety; t’was vastly unsuitable to this “natural only please” pb enthusiast. In blunt fairness, the mochi acted as a copacetic shell, albeit a bit homely in pop of flavor. I finished the unfortunate foursome only by by peeling off the mochi gold and donating the peanut butter facsimile to my all-too-obliging pooch.

These purchased soba noodles will soon act as my main accomplice in the creation of ze’ all-time favorite comfort food: Kabocha Noodles with Peanut Sauce.

Japanese snacks and kitchen foodstuffs galore!

Is Osaka-Ya comparable to the Japanese Wall-Mart that is Mitsuwa? Egregiously no, but what it lacks in size it makes up for with foul peanut butter mochi. Oh, I kid! I endorse this place all the more for its modest yet high-quality grocery selection, hand-beaten mochi, and superlative customer service.

If you require more persuadin’, Osaka-Ya is approximately 4 hops, 3 skips, and one road-length jump from the fabulous gourmet doughnut shop that is Doughbot Doughnuts. If that doesn’t hold some level of sway, I haven’t the foggiest what will.

Osaka-Ya

2215 10th St
Sacramento, CA 95818

Saturn Cafe, Santa Cruz

Photo Credit: Melissa Huston (the sister)

Have you ever declared a “home base” during vacation? The place in which you ploop your fundament, communally commiserate over first world problems, and de-stress from the micromanaged schedule of Touristy Things? The Huston annual summer pilgrimage to Santa Cruz chose Saturn Cafe as that very spot. Direction time?  Brainstorm the route in conjunction with its relation to Saturn Cafe. Hunger stabs? We’ve got your apropos “space-age vegetarian diner” ri’heyuh.

Lest you doubt my sincerity, one week of Santa Cruz’in included 4 seraphic visits to Saturn Cafe. Vacation: we know the meaning of the word.

This, curious and salivating reader, is the Jalapeño Burger, extolled by our waiter as his favorite item on the menu; he possess the smarts, that fellow. The menu description verbatim: “Griller patty topped with jack cheese, spicy chipotle and buffalo sauce, beer battered jalapeño bottle caps, lettuce, tomato, and red onion with your choice of side.” Vegan subs? Follow Your Heart mozz/tofu spread for the cheese and Veganaise in the mayo sauce.

Everything in this champion of a burger was boxing it out for that winning glory punch. The chipotle mayo smothered all in a flavorful spicy din, the beer-battered jalapeños cranked up the heat a few (or ten) notches, and the (vastly under-appreciated) FYH acted as the creamy ice to the fire. This equalizes the toddler and 20-something in the culinary gods’ eyes, for no mortal (wo)man can finish said burger without globs of mayo and burger squeeze-off spattered on all contingent surfaces.

The Buck Rogers burger has all the snazzy accoutrements of the Jalapeño except, obviously, the beer-battered jalepeño bottle caps. The creamy tofu spread (recommended by the waiter) was so wonderfully addictive that I might consider a Plankton-esque life of criminal exploits to acquire the secret recipe.

Have I lionized these fries yet? They deserve top honors on that Food Network show “The Best Thing I’ve Ever Ate”: thin, crisp, zesty, never overly-salted, and served in a mountain’s share. Consider me the fry vulture swooping onto family member’s plates for scraps, no matter the size of her freshly inhaled fry portion.

Decent vegan brunch is a dining anomaly so Saturn Cafe was already clouding my eyes with puffy hearts at the thought of a non-oatmeal breakfast entrée. My facial expressions resembled full-blown anime upon first bite of this piquant breakfast burrito. Stuffed generously with tofu scramble, home fries, and soyrizo, this brekie burrito was… well… it was enough that it was. The supporting ensemble cast of pico de gallo (wholly ignored for its putrid connection to fresh tomatoes), guac, and tofu spread became dipping sauces to rev up the yum factor. yyyyyyUM.

It is the perennial weltschmerz of humanity that one cannot eat the above milkshake each and every day. My best-case-death-scenario would feature a prolonged drowning in an Olympic-sized pool of this peanut butter* chocolate shake. Disney writers take heed, for this is a non-gruesome and conveniently inoffensive way to dispose of the pesky villain at the PG tale’s end .

Awards, I bequeath them all to you, Saturn Cafe. Star-studded plaquards shall read “Most Choco-phoric,” “Decadent Dessert of the Year,” and “Everything Right in a Milkshake.” There’s a reason this shake is my blog header, y’all.

Saturn Cafe has just the right proportions of cute, kook, and kitsch to back up my hearty recommendation. Supporting facts shall be henceforth cited in no particular order:

1. One of the waiters was spotted with an “I’m the motha’ flippin’ rhymenocerous” tee. Instant crush.

2. The pink velour booths feature tables befitted with protective plastic to showcase various space paraphernalia including vintage Pez dispensers and galaxy imaging amongst other tchotchkes.

3. Waiters bat nary an eyelash at the term “vegan,” with rampant suggestions on the best menu veganization methods.

4. The vibe is chichi caj with a diverse mix of college kids, families, and tourists.

5. All entrees are under $10, which is an absolute steal considering the superior ingredients and all-too-ubiquitous vegan tax.

Most salient of all: who cannot fall in love with a restaurant that befixes smiley face stickers to their salt shakers?! Heartless grinches, ye who mutter I.

*The peanut butter is a few coins extra, but any pb-chocolate diehard would haughtily sneer at the mere suggestion of its absence.

Saturn Cafe

145 Laurel Street
Santa Cruz, CA 95060-4498

Vegan in the Streets of Berlin

Oh rarity indeed in which the world-wide availability of animal-free victuals needn’t require a solid grasp (let alone a desperate clutch) of the language, hours pored over HappyCow, and/or an unacceptable quantity of tender discs. With my dunderhead German competency and mondocheap budget, Berlin recklessly indulged my lackadaisical nature. Friends and I aimlessly meandered ‘cross both the gentrified and gloomy boroughs of Berlin and still there were vegan purchases aplenty. Albeit, the comestibles were typically fried or otherwise low on the nutrition-meter, but Berlin still shined to the moon as a vegan eats bonanza.

No white lies though: my utilitarian restaurant research print-outs held pocket priority just over a map and just under a mid-afternoon snack. After all, what import do passports and other document mumbo-jumbo hold when one’s belly rancorously YAWPS its discontent?! Pro tip: for maximum ease of food-locating, map out the closest veg-friendly places closest to the room, hostel, or cardboard box you’re using as shelter.

Upon declaring lunch defeat to the über-decadence and exorbitance of KaDeWe‘s food department, the shimmering orchestral cue gradually heightened as the camera slowly panned over to a glowing Wittenbergplatz market across the square. And then: a decidedly non-diegeitic clash of cymbals. Quick edit to an extreme close-up of our group’s exclaims of gaiety and consoled appetites. Credits role and… lunch was served.

After a thorough scouring of the market’s offerings and a laughable pronunciation of the term “veganer“, falafel won the hour. This street food classic was tinged of the hippie persuasion with its tomato-sauce rice filling, austere lettuce mix, and homemade chickpea balls crammed into a fragile tortilla; no tahini sauce to my minor chagrin. Gritty nom shot was nonnegotiable.

A vendor’s sign be-fixed with the scrawl “homemade mango sorbet” swiftly foreshadowed the dessert course selection. Ladled into a plastic cup from the depths of a wooden ice cream maker, the sorbet’s texture can only be (positively!) described as gloopy. With an unmatched flavor bravado of sweet mango, this closing end to my market haul was an auspicious culinary augury of meals yet undiscovered.

Egads! I shall not even attempt to atone for this photo’s sins. As you look askance at its yellow-tinged illustration, I assure you this parsley-packed falafel was dynamite, stupendous, or whichever hyperbolic expression suits ya’ fancy. The grain base (specifics cower away into the corners of my memory) formed the sands of the marinara moat. Eventually all three dish elements copiously mud-wrestled as I do profess to an ardent penchant for food mixing.

This delicious home-cooked meal was largely crafted by my talented and altruistic vegan CouchSurfing host. Praises be sung to your name, Katharina, for your contributions to my first homemade falafel. And in Berlin, no less.

Photo Credit: Rachel Minier

We have a (name woefully forgotten) Asian place to thank for this steaming delicious mess (alternate picture here) of vegetable medley inundated in creamy peanut sauce. Details are hazy, but I do remember the prices were dirt-cheap without the dirt, with my entree plus mango juice deducting roundabouts €4 from my cash stores. High-fives were gallantly exchanged all-around as we left the establishment in search of more Touristy Culture. Myself? I was dreaming about the destination of our next meal, as per yooj for this food-obsessed blogger. Vegan vittles across the continents, Imma getcha.

Caramello, Berlin

Berlin staves off the threat of vegan picketing with a deluge of dairy-free ice cream options, but I can only vouch for the sole one I visited: Caramello. This bitty little shop offers organic ice creams and sorbets, even boasting a few soy-based flavors. All scoops are a mere €1 so indulge your inner ice cream monster to the point of crapulence. But let’s not be feckless, folks: only adopt an ice cream regimen with the express consent of your physician.

I mimed with the aid of my pathetic German that I wished to purchase the zwei soy-based flavors du jour: peanut and hazelnut. Dreamy-creamy and boldly flavored, these made for some seriously satisfyingly licking. No post-ordering regrets in this exterior patio-land of perky fluorescent cushions.

Solemn, learnéd tip: if you are considering to soy-shake or not to soy-shake at Caramello, simply scrounge a few coins from your pockets and give in to the former. Such soy-shake regret ate my heart cold on the U-Bahn trip back to my room. No toothy smiles peppered those postprandial hours.

I mentioned yesterday that Caramello is a small foot-trek from Vöner: der Vegetarische Döner. Facts have not changed.

Caramello

Wühlischstraße 32
10245 Berlin, Germany (Bahn stop: Frankfurter Tor)

Gracias Madre, San Francisco

Although I’m no stranger to vegan Mexican delights in humble Sac town, I still get wet (in the… mouth) over the thought of San Francisco-based Gracias Madre and its sumptuous vegan Mexican food. When a restaurant boasts the Tres Grande—quality ingredients, authentic dishes, and flawless execution—what else can be nit-picked? Thank the vegan food gods my recent visa appointment at the San Francisco French consulate gave me sufficient grounds to visit this mouth-watering establishment.

My mom and I purportedly split the ensalada de caesar, but upon first pepita-sprinkled forkful there was every indication I would steal her allotted portion. Crunchy romaine leaves were thoroughly coated by a sinfully cashew-based dressing that would make all other dressings hang their heads in sullen shame. It’s a creamy, tangy hug in salad dressing form, as ludicrous a description that may stand. As if this excellent Caesar needed more embellishment, ripe avocado chunks were happily scattered throughout.

I postulate that the enchiladas con mole were simply not designed for my tastebuds, rather genetically geared toward more inclining taste receptacles. There was nothing inherently wrong with the dish except for, well, let me divulge my mental notes of distaste: gummy mushrooms, a sauce that goaded my taste buds to pass, and a slightly grainy cashew sauce drizzle. Option A: mole sauces are definitively not my jam. Option B: Gracias Madre’s mole requires a smidge of tinkering. (Possibly Unrelated) Option C: You earn the title of milquetoast if you decline a glass of the best-imbibed-yet horchata (picture-left).

On this transition punctuated by jubilant hand clapping, the refried black beans deserved exclamation marks, humble manservants, internet fanboys, et al. So creamy and jam-packed with flavor, my mom and I were raving mad over these black boys (racist?) days after our meal. I prostate myself before the beans makers in that I might some angel-singing-filled day recreate said deliciousity.

As a spicephile it pains me to utter these words, but in honesty’s ugly name I must: the greens were spicy beyond necessary. I detected a slight note of sesame oil applied with a far too generous hand. Needless to say, my spice wimp of a mother was not a fan of these in taco-form.

My mom seemed to moderately enjoy her taco plate consisting of customizable fillings, in this case roasted poblano chiles and onions, sautéed greens, and an errant (soon remedied by a ingratiating busboy chap) eggplant filling. I repeat: my mom sang praises to the Holy Beans, but little else. Telling.

Aptly christened “Be Love Farm Peach Cobbler,” the mother and I giddily spoon-dug through each comforting nook of peachy-SO-keen goodness, squabbling over the last morsels of cinnamon-sugared, buttery pastry. Mother and I alike raved to the ingratiating waitstaff over this superstar of a dessert as we savored the scoop of perfectly perfect Dulche de Leche. KISS was this dessert’s modus operandi as well as my offering of gratitude for its enhancement of my gustatory palate.

I also appreciated Gracias Madre’s vibrant ambiance, which swiftly nixed the usual “green whitey hippie” fare for a more grown-up, upscale vibe. The moody track lighting and austere wooden chairs would not be unwelcome in my future home. Not to mention, all of the wait staff were laudably gregarious. I’m far too jaundiced by the clusterfuck of human cruelty to ever adopt such a cheery outlook; to the unflappably sunny, I extend my sincere felicitations.

In short: We loved. We cobbler’d. We patted our satiated bellies in relaxed contentment. Gracias, mi madre!

Gracias Madre

2211 Mission Street
San Francisco, CA 94110-1811

Doughbot Donuts

Just a quick word-vomit today as I’m soon off to fluff a few chickens’ feathers and rub lazy, cantankerous pigs’ hairy bellies; that’s right, I am one enthusiastic ticket holder to Animal Place’s Music in the Meadows and you best believe I’m as agog to attend this fine festivity as I was to… hasty segue please… Doughbot Donuts‘ Grand Opening! This new Sacramentan gourmet doughnut shop (akin to Voodoo Doughnuts) is heading off local restaurant buzz with recent (compliment-laden) articles appearing in Midtown Monthly and The Sacramento Bee among others.

[Update: I didn't finish this post in time, but we have triumphantly returned!  Animals mooed! I cooed. Exclamatory prating and melt-ya-vegan-heart goat pics for an inevitably put-off post.]

Tragically our first attempt to visit said establishment was met with a cold trickle of dread as we drove past Doughbot’s “SOLD OUT” sign in Voldemort’s own scrawl; I shed free-flowing doughnut tears that unfortuitous morn’. However, the re-do Grand Opening (a.k.a the next butt-crack of dawn) proved far more efficacious as we procured an entire boxful of vegan maple and apple fritter doughnuts as well as doughnut hole samples: exultant sugar-coma victory.

How can one resist such a sexy killing (< technical term) of pastries? The obvious response being NO, NEVER, OPTION IS INVALID.

The contemptuous monster in me wants to innocently place a box of these affixed with a sign “For Vegans Only” in a random office break room and heartily engage in vicious schadenfreude. Let omnivores suffer that deep psychological/gustatory torture of inhaling the sweet smell of fried pastry without release by doughnut mastication. Just let them.

I clearly harbor some unhealthy spite towards years of uneatable (and tantalizingly gratis) “normal” donuts teasing me to utter madness. You hit me with the smell of deliciousness embodied and then I’m not allowed to sever the smell’s source with my molars? Be warned that the Emily claws are a’comin’.

These animal-friendly doughnuts had that same infatuating smell and allowed for some orgasmic doughnut catharsis. While the apple fritter was not exactly how I remembered those of my early days, I’d eat two or three more if you put them within chomping distance. The maple doughnut duly deserved a sonnet written in its honor.

Doughbot wants you to check them out Wednesdays-Mondays 5 am- noon! But only in the non-sexist, ogling-free form.

Join me as I stalk their Facebook page for the day’s flavors offerings and other alerts. Recent vegan offerings have included Chai, Glazed, Vanilla Bean, Maple “Bacon,” Coconut Maple, Pink Lemonade, The Dude (modeled after El Duderino’s famous White Russian!),  PB&J, and countless more. As I contemplate that list I’m struck with the inevitable realization that I am an inestimable dodo head for visiting this magical place no more than once. Don’t repeat my cheapskate mistake!

Doughbot Donuts

2226 10th Street
Sacramento CA 95818

Amplitude Bio Loot

I become far too giddy when visiting foreign grocery stores and, if given the option, will happily meander around the aisles with the dedication of a warrior, willing to sacrifice hours, euros, and self-esteem in the noble quest of vegan yumz. This shan’t shock the tail feathers off those who’ve read my previous love letter to grocery shopping.

I was thus all too chuffed to visit central Cannes’ only health food store Amplitude Bio, which stocks a decent number of vegan essentials: tofu, soy yogurt (that kicks North American soygurt tush), seitan, grains, whole wheat breads, expensive fair-trade chocolate, and other organic blow-money products. Immediately the chocolate-centric items pulled me into their gravitational force, zinging me to and fro betwixt aisles until it pinged me toward check-out. Four products sneakily stowed away into my reusable shopping bag (from left to right): TwiBio chocolate bars, Bio Bis chocolate sandwich cookies, Chocolinette pâte à tartiner, and 5-grain Biscuits Biologiques.

Chocolinette pâte à tartiner

If I contact the makers of this wondrous chocolate hazelnut/cashew spread, prostrated low in humble deference, will they grant me access to said wunderkind spread in my home town? I burn, I pine, I perish.

Nutella comparisons are bound to be conceived, but as I recall from my hazy vegetarian memories Nutella is a whole ‘nother animal. Boasting a pronounced “nut taste” and a far less creamy viscosity, Chocolinette is assured to please tasters of the dark chocoholic variety. I’m a closet agnostic, but perhaps this faux-Nutella is proof of heaven? Heaven of the taste buds, surely.

5 Grain Biscuits Biologiques

Little is to be said about these organic crackers that boast a plethora of healthful Free’s and Without’s: sugar-free, salt-free, milk-free, without artificial flavorings, without colorants, without hydrogenated oils, and on and on with the health-mania. Confide in me, organic biscuits, has your self-worth been adequately boosted?

Upon first bite the word “cardboard” immediately swooshed around my noggin, but I have honestly never chomped upon a board to confidently advertise the semblance. I’ll instead run wild with some other pejorative adjectives: flavor-devoid, tooth-cracking stiff, chalky, and decidedly non-addictive. I propose next time marketers affix another Without to the outer box: “without reason to buy.”

However, when fully doused in Its Holiness Chocolinette, the biscuits’ lackings were swiftly overlooked. Lordy, how much I want these drool-worthy photos to magically apparate a jar or two into my gleefully outstretched fingers.

TwiBio chocolate bars

These are solid little chocolate bars more akin to the (much-so overrated) NutriGrain bars of US ubiquity. Fruit-flavored options abound, but I’m a ravenous chocolate dino through and through. Although they offer little “healthfulness” besides their whole grain exterior,  you could certainly do worse with your 2 pm nosh. I’m adamantly anti-food guilt, especially when chocolate butts into the equation. If TwiBio bars were a few centimeters longer (resisting overused sexual joke, oh I resist), I would count these as a regular snacking indulgence.

Bio Bis chocolate sandwich cookies

Put bluntly, these little chocolate cream cookies were a minor disappointment. I’m not in a mood conducive to word-frenzy so I’ll simply commend the silky dark chocolate cream and disparage the surrounding B+ vanilla cookies. As long as we’re riding the insult train, the cream:cookie ratio was severely skewed in favor of the latter: needless to say (but I will out of spite), vastly unacceptable! I resorted to prying upon a cookie and either tossing the worthless naked half indiscriminately into the trash receptacle or alternatively lapping up the prized chocolate cream all dignified-like. Still, these cookies are worth a purchase when in France if only because vegan sandwich cookies are grouped with legends of unicorns and Big Foot (“Grand Pied?”). You might dig ‘em and who am I to coddle you with my fickle food summations?

Amplitude Bio

3 Rue Léopold Bucquet
06400 Cannes, France

Vegan in Cannes: Sorbet

If I had my druthers, I’d sup upon creamy, saccharine sorbet as oft as sunshine, euros, and appetite allowed. To be fair, I can’t recall any other period in which this trio of stipulations aligned all destiny-like to make my 4 months abroad in Cannes continually punctured by glacier (=ice cream shop) visits. While European glaciers certainly boast their fair share of dairy-filled ice cream, sorbets are also in promised-land-abundance; this is no America in which one must watch friends lap up dripping cones of Baskin Robbins while you, the token vegan, glumly eye-strain for a lone sorbet in the gargantuan tubs. European sorbet options abound so when you’ve bemoaned a substandard food day (or week or month or…), it’s a relatively cheap way—at most €3 for a scoop—to stretch out your stomach and delight in the human invention of processed sugar.

Cannes is not a vegan wonderland as I’ve opined many a time before, but you’re sure to be bombarded with sorbet options galore. I’ll review my two favorite vegan-friendly glaciers below: Barbarac and Vilfeu Pere Et Fils Glacier.

Barbarac can account for most of my dining euros spent in Cannes because I’m staunchly pro-sorbet as snack, lunch, dinner, dessert, CHUCKED INTO MY GULLET, whatever. This chain has a dizzying array of fruit-based flavors and I’ve indulged in a fair number, those most memorable being banana, mango, coconut, chocolate (!!), strawberry, and guava. A friend leaped off the bridge of safe ordering when she pointed at the tub of watermelon; said friend soon declared it vile and my lick of solidarity confirmed it. I still wish I had scourged up the moxie to order blackcurrant; some-more-adventurous-day, perhaps.

Do as Emilys do and combine mango and coconut on a sugar cone; I’m trying to craft an apt description but I think tastebud orgy just about does it. That coconut sorbet, she be my sorbet hussy-for-hire. Is that nonsensical? I think MoFo has been footling my word-combinin’ dexterity.

St. Tropez and Cannes house Barbarac’s two locations and I admit that the St. Tropez-ians packed a significantly more impresive wallop of a scoop than the Cannois. And that St.Tropez-procured cone aforepictured? Two flavors (the trusty mango and coconut) for €4 and one frugal belly full for hours to come.

Barbarac (Click for pictures of the Cannes and St. Tropez locations.)

4 Rue Félix Fauré

06400 Cannes, France

Vilfeu Glacier is not your typical French glacier in that its proprietors seem to harbor some misplaced affinity towards kitschy 50s retro diner paraphenalia. I’d scoff but that television beaming out mah boi Marty McFly rights all aesthetic wrongs. I’ll flow along, ice cream parlor proudly window-advertising soy shakes.

This soy chocolate shake was probably not worth its prohibitive price tag, at least €7 if memory don’t trip. I demand my shakes thick and creamy so this frothy concoction with a liquid viscosity was a semi-bummer. Still, the atypical chocolate flavor was lustily and there is simply no other place in Cannes to get dairy-free ice cream. Vegan ice cream monopoly much?

Photo Credit: Esther Sokolow (with friend Laura Wade looking all cute)

Final gripe: Vilfeu suffers from an inexplicable chair famine. When ordering, promptly send a friend on chair-duty to pounce tiger-style upon one of the two outdoor tables or those of the scant few inside. What am I saying? This is Cannes and if you’re contemplating ice cream, it’s obvs beach weather. Ignore cross-walks when traveling beachside and, please, keep all ice cream sand-free while you take in the Mediterranean big ol’ blue wet thing.

Vilfeu Pere Et Fils Glacier

9 Rue Montaigne

06400 Cannes, France