I have two great loves in my life. My husband, James, is my first love and priority, and it’s Valentine’s Day, so I can’t wait to spoil him. Which brings me to my second love, a love we both share: food.

It’s not by chance that we’re spending a day dedicated to love in Paris, a city of romance but also a place where it seems every shop is an enticing eatery, every market a gastronomic delight.

I wake up on Valentine’s Day and gaze around our tiny hotel room. We're positioned on the edge of Paris's Latin Quarter.

Notre Dame Cathedral is in the north, across the River Seine. We're not central, but I haven't chosen this place to be close to the Champs Élysées.

My husband wakes and his eyes go wide as I excitedly wave a piece of paper in front of his face. My surprise is a self-guided food tour I've put together with help from the internet.

I show him the printed map of Paris, complete with neat squiggles and notes in the margin. I’ve circled four destinations: Rue Mouffetard Market, Pascal Gosnet Boucherie, the Pantheon, and La Gueuze Brasserie on Rue Seufflot.

I issue stern instructions: he has to wear comfortable shoes, and the only sustenance he's allowed at hotel breakfast is coffee.

We plot a course, mouthing the unfamiliar names of the streets as we slurp down bitter Parisian brew.

We’re late to hit the pavement, but soon enough we're striding the busy footpaths, stomachs rumbling, and like two eager treasure hunters following the scent of gold we navigate the broad avenues as we search for our first destination.

My husband looks mournful as we pass boulangeries (bakeries) and cafes; I've underestimated the distance, and it's close to noon by the time we arrive at Rue Mouffetard market.

We enter at the base of a long, cobbled street, lined with food stalls and shops on both sides, continuing uphill towards the Pantheon. As we stroll our eyes light up.

It’s hard to avert our gaze from enticing window displays crammed with wine bottles, handmade chocolates and pungent cheese.

I stop to examine a pyramid of chocolate teddy bears through a window. They’re made by the award-winning chocolatier Patrice Champon.

As I drool, James appears at my side; he’s bought me one (for later).

But when I stop at another captivating chocolate shop I hear a distinct growling, like an angry bear.

Bemused, I look at the chocolate teddy in my hand but this growling comes from the man beside me. My husband is giving me a look that tells me it's time to find food of substance. I soothe him with my plan for lunch: a baguette and spit-roasted chicken.

Noticing a queue nearby, we join 10 customers waiting in line at a local boulangerie.

The French passed a law to help customers distinguish between bakeries. A boulangerie is only entitled to label itself ‘artisan’ if everything's baked fresh

A queue is always a good sign; I don't mind passing the time salivating over the pastry display. I see fluffy pain au chocolate, brioches and flaky croissants. The lady behind the counter asks for my order.

I realise I’d nearly forgotten one of my golden rules. No matter how hungry I am, in Paris, I will only buy bread baked, from scratch, in-store.

The French are serious about bread, and with the increase in baking from frozen, they passed a law to help customers distinguish between bakeries. A boulangerie is only entitled to label itself artisan if everything's baked fresh. Hastily I scan the shop.

I'm relieved to read “artisan” stencilled on the window and I order a baguette from the now-scowling shop assistant.

Lunch will be served as soon as we buy our chicken. This leads us to the second stop on our itinerary.

Heading further up Rue Mouffetard we reach the rotisserie at Pascal Gosnet Boucherie (butcher), as featured in the film Amelie, and immediately we see the famous spit-roasted chickens out front.

My mouth waters as the aroma fills my nostrils and I see a roasting pan filled with potatoes. The pan lies beneath the turning chickens, catching the fatty goodness.

Money changes hands at lightning speed. Chicken and potatoes are bagged. Two starving people now speed along the cobbled streets, heading for destination three. The dome of the Pantheon comes into view. We finally emerge into an open square, awed by a row of impressive Roman columns.

My plan is to find somewhere to sit and enjoy the amazing monument in front of us. Motivated by hunger, we swiftly locate a wooden bench.

Tearing off chicken and stuffing it into crusty baguette, in moments I’m gulping down mouthfuls of deliciousness. I’m supposed to explain the history of the Pantheon – a neo-classical church – and how it contains the remains of distinguished French citizens, but it’s probably not the best conversation topic when devouring a hearty lunch.

The bread and chicken are both crisp on the outside, soft in the middle. The potatoes have a crusty edge, herby and salty.

Hunger satisfied, it's now early afternoon. We head towards our fourth and final destination, conveniently located a stone's throw from the Pantheon on Rue Seufflot.

No, we’re not after more food so soon. It's time to quench our thirst.

When we arrive at La Gueuze Brasserie we’re greeted by a friendly waiter who leads us to a free window table.

My husband squeezes my arm and points to the Eiffel Tower in the distance. We exchange smiles.

I chose this place for its drinks and soon we are handed a menu listing more than 150 beers.

James rubs his chin as he scans, wondering what to order. I've come prepared with some recommendations and I order us two champagne beers. After all, we’re in Paris. With full stomachs and a lazy afternoon ahead, we raise our glasses.

I then learn that James has his own surprise for me. Tomorrow he’s booked lunch at La Cuisine at Le Royal Monceau, a Michelin starred restaurant.

I think I’ll skip hotel breakfast again.