The café faced Église St. Martin, which we’d just explored. We had noted the glories of this Gothic church: its two organs, stunning altar, and vaulted ceilings. We dropped some change in its donation box, and then we sought nourishment at a café across the street.

I had my eye on a pastry I’d seen displayed in a case. St. Honoré, it was called. I rehearsed the words silently: “Bonjour, madame! Je voudrais une pâtisserie St. Honore, s’il vous plait.”

Miraculously, the server understood me. Miraculously, there was a slice of cake left. It was delicious, so beautiful to look at that a Dutch customer at the next table ordered one herself. Based on our shared love of pastries, we struck up a conversation and exchanged contact information.

Later on, I looked up the pastry, and learned that it’s named for the French patron saint of bakers, St. Honore. Only in France would there be a patron saint of bakers and a pastry named for him.

St. Martin. St. Honore. Two saints … and a pastry.