It has come quite curiously to this in no-airs Narberth, stepchild of the Main Line, the front-porch borough so long disdained in the leafier, more moneyed townships of Montgomery County: A patisserie francaise has come to town.
     Not a franchise, mind you. Not a defrost-and-bake place or Au Bon Pain. No, the genuine item, the work product of one Patrick Rurange, schooled in the pastry shops of Lyon, and his lovely, willowy wife, Isabelle.
     One may stroll now at 7 most mornings — as one might to a coffee shop on Rittenhouse Square — and take out a cup of dark-roast coffee and a freshly baked croissant — or if you dare, a crackling-sweet lemon turnover.
     Or should you desire — it being the season for such things — you might choose an exquisite, gold gift box of the lush chocolate truffles ($8.75 a quarter pound) that Rurange rolls by hand.
     It requires, of course, a suspension of old beliefs: One well-heeled matron, I’m told, declined to buy the chocolates upon spotting “Narberth, Pa.” embossed on the box lid.
     Le Petit Mitron (The Little Baker’s Boy) has been open two months. But even I can’t believe it: three blocks from my door, a vision of Paris in May-berry’s centre-ville.
     It sparkles under a snappy navy-blue awning, right next door to Ricklin’s Hardware store, beside the framing gallery that’s looking for a new tenant, across from the SEPTA station — a patisserie, of all things, in the place they used to call Hungrytown.
     It is as if someone kissed the old children’s shoe shop that once occupied the space and turned it into a prince.
     Come take a peak inside. The walls are spare in a faux-distressed sort of way. But the gleaming, glass- hooded cases are filled, rank on rank, with all manner of croissants and cat-tongue cookies, rich chocolate- plated operas, with pearly pear tarts, doughy raisin Danish, and cakes — gorgeous, pricey, airy cakes! (The Black Forest, it turns out, is stuffed with a cloud of whipped cream, $30.00 for the eight-serving size.)

     Rurange bakes the croissants — which are also sold to La Colombe and La Cigale in the city — at his wholesale bakery downstairs at Opus 251 on 18th Street.
     Then after working half the night, he heads to the Narberth shop at dawn to make the chocolates and bake the cakes and desserts. (The couple live with their two children in nearby Belmont Hills.)
     Generally, there has been a warm embrace. But there have been cool shoulders: Narberth is caught between identities at the moment and, on questions of style (not to mention a patisserie), you will not find unanimous consent. “Did they get the wrong zip code?” wondered a haircutter at Colleen’s Family Hairstyling, startled at the patisserie’s prices. (Over the photo shop nearby there’s a wholesale kosher bakery that sells workaday croissants, $9 the dozen.)
     But the fact is that while Narberth (19072) is still down-home, it has also become suddenly desirable. The scrappy Italian-Irish enclave of yore is now a refuge for bourgeois urban emigres — architects, sociologists and, yes, striving journalists.
      The number of registered Democrats has soared, rattling once-solid Republican control. The liquor store boasts an up-market “Narberth Room.” A gourmet shop stocks whiskey-soaked Irish farmstead cheeses.
     And now, a patisserie.
     But no cafe-table seating, borough zoners have ruled.
     They say parking is too tight.
      A few months of juggling cappuccino and chocolate tarts avec l’orange, of course, may occasion a change of heart.

"infood" by Rick Nichols
Inquirer Magizine, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
February 3, 2002 - Photography by Michael Bryant