Harriet Sternstein—occupational therapist, pastry chef, now canine cook—has just opened France’s first bakery for dogs.
8am: The scent of foie gras spills onto the streets from an open door in the 15th arrondissement. Minutes later the aroma mingles with those of biscotti baking, bacon, vegetables, and a hint of peanut butter. The brightly colored store with a big bone-shaped biscuit and tiny coats hanging in the window barely resembles a restaurant, not even a boulangerie.
Mon Bon Chien does not cater to human beings. Its clients are dogs.
Inside, Harriet Sternstein, in a crisp white chef’s jacket, rushes through a list of birthday cake orders, replenishes the stock of biscuits, and answers the phone, which rings off the hook with special orders and interview requests, this one, a Russian television channel. Despite the commotion, she wears a bright smile: “This is a typical morning now.”
Two years ago, Harriet, 46, a former occupational therapist and award-winning pastry chef, astutely combined her two passions—cooking and dogs—and opened France’s first bakery for dogs. In addition to faux diamond-studded collars, clothing and furniture, a grooming service, and a canine perfume called Seduction, her store features plats du jour and seasonally-flavored biscuits: fresh peach and strawberry in the summer; apple and pumpkin in the fall. Cookies cost between 60 cents and one euro, customized birthday cakes around 10 euros.
Harriet, a jovial redhead, decided to move to Paris in the fall of 2001, when the two planes hit her hometown, New York City. She was living in Seattle then, recuperating from the break up of a long relationship. “That day,” she says, “I realized I didn’t want to continue living in the United States.” She had loved Paris since her first trip to Europe during college and decided to find a way to move here.
But Harriet didn’t speak French and despite winning a gold medal for French pastries in the U.S. regional competition and a year-long apprenticeship with the Hilton Hotel International in England, she couldn’t obtain a work permit. After two years, her lawyer finally advised: “Either marry a Frenchman or start your own business.”
Harriet Sternstein chose the latter. Inspired by the success of gourmet dog shops in Seattle and her own success at feeding Sophie Marie, her golden retriever, with all-natural biscuits, she decided to become a canine baker: “I thought that Parisian dog owners, themselves into good food, would embrace the sugar-, salt-, and preservative-free biscuits for their dogs.”
Of the risks involved in starting anew, she says in a typical American manner: “I felt like there was a diving board and I wasn’t sure if there was water to catch me, but I was going to try. The worst that was going to happen is that I would crash!”
France’s famed bureaucracy didn’t fill the pool with water. The French government didn’t know what to make of her project—une boulangerie pour chiens? It took over 6 months for the veterinary medicine officials to meet and discuss her proposal. Harriet had to translate the recipes into French and convince them that there would be no bones and no blood in her cooking. After seven officials met again in Lyon to decide whether she could use animal-based products like milk, eggs, and honey, she was finally granted a permit to open her doggie bakery.
Business was slow at first, and the store initially met incredulity and bemused laughter.
But Harriet managed to attract dog owners with her extroverted sales pitches and her American service-oriented attitude. “My French clients are surprised when I offer to help them try on the clothing or give their dogs a free biscuit.”
Recently, someone walked in and told her it was disgusting to treat dogs like this when so many people were starving. Harriet doesn’t take herself seriously and laughs about feeding foie gras to Diablo, her Yorkshire Terrier, and painting Sophie Marie’s claws (currently pink), but she doesn’t see the store as frivolous. “The world is a hard enough place to live in right now, having a little joy with your animal is not a bad thing,” she says.
In September 2005, the Journal de Dimanche, the biggest Sunday paper, featured Mon Bon Chien, triggering more press. In all, Harriet estimates that over 350 articles, TV and radio shows have featured Mon Bon Chien, in over 17 languages.
As a result, people have flocked to the store, and Harriet jokes about the two and four-legged characters she meets everyday. Recently, two taxis filled with tourists from Hong Kong arrived directly from the airport to visit Mon Bon Chien before heading to the Eiffel tower and the Champs Elysées. One customer visits regularly in a chauffeured limousine; another—a vegan—buys the oatmeal and carob dog biscuits for herself; and then there’s the opera singer whose cocker spaniel’s bark has adopted its owner’s tone. Last Christmas, a woman bought a dozen foie gras biscuits, the store’s staple, and served them to her guests with champagne, telling them after dinner that they were dog biscuits.
To meet the growing international demand for the biscuits, Harriets plans to develop her website. She also wants to perfect her tuna and salmon recipes to eventually appeal to Parisian cats.
10 am. The last batch of about 300 biscuits is ready, the interview with the Russian television is scheduled for the following week, and the first wagging tails enter the store, greeted by Sophie Marie and Diablo. Smiling as always, Harriet stands post behind the glass display, content to have landed on all fours in Paris.
Mon Bon Chien, 12, rue Mademoiselle, Paris 15. M° Commerce. 01 48 28 40 12. www.mon-bon-chien-paris.com
