Decisions, decisions

I was supposed to be in line for one of the newly offered sandwiches at Boule, the posh patissier on La Cienega Boulevard in Los Angeles, but I kept getting distracted.

There was the array of ice creams and sorbets, every bit as beautiful as those at Berthillon on the Ile St. Louis in Paris. Tahitian vanilla bean, pistachio, a melon ice, Chino strawberry, Venezuelan chocolate.

There was the Japanese iron teapot glazed with white, like a knobbly pine cone under the snow.

Glass cases to my left held perfect little chocolates in exotic flavors, shimmering fruit pates, croissants and other morning pastries.

And then there were the eclairs. Long slender ones, each topped with a stripe of sugary glaze and a sliver of chocolate. Would I have the Catalan cream, the coffee or the lavender for dessert? Maybe all three.

Suddenly the sandwich line parted, and the English rocker with indigo tattoos unfurling over his arms stepped aside. I could finally see the short menu and have a gander at the actual sandwiches under glass.

The presence of actual customers seemed to unnerve the staff. And that line is never going to move in a timely manner if you can’t see what’s being offered until you get right up to the counter. Because there were still a few people behind me, I felt I had to hurry up and order something -- anything -- and just picked without fully reading through Boule’s “sandwich collection.”

I also asked for a large bottle of Perrier, but like the customer from hell, a few minutes later I changed my order to Meyer lemon soda when I noticed the French lemonade and artisanal sodas lined up in the case.

“A napkin?” I pleaded, and was handed two minute, thin squares of paper, which didn’t look as if they’d do the trick at all. “Something bigger?” I asked. The server pulled some paper towels out of a wall-mounted holder and slowly, slowly took them over to a corner of the counter, cut them in half with scissors and handed me two more squares exactly like the first.

How can you be out of napkins when you’re serving sandwiches and ice cream?

We were soon installed outside with our sodas and sandwiches at a silvery metal cafe table jammed in with half a dozen others. The chairs were comfortable at least -- Philippe Starck’s Louis Ghost chairs in clear polycarbonate. And the people-watching was entertaining.

But I don’t know quite what to make of the sandwiches. Pastry chef Michelle Myers, who owns the restaurant Sona across the street with her husband and chef, David, makes desserts with the craftsmanship of a fine jeweler. Her sandwiches, though, are curiously rustic, heavy on the bread.

The ciabatta (flattened “slipper” bread) sandwiched with heirloom tomatoes, tapenade and sliced ricotta salata (Italy’s answer to feta) with a little frisee and a lemon-shallot vinaigrette had everything going for it. Her BLT -- an eccentric version that sounds very tony and includes lardons, a tomato compote rather than sliced tomatoes, herb aioli and romaine on spongy focaccia -- might not do it for hard-core BLT fanatics. I loved the curry aioli in the curry chicken sandwich, but again, there’s too much bread, and the chicken is rather dry. And only a vegetarian could get something going with the gummy herbed goat cheese with toasted almonds, sliced golden beets and green beans on nut bread. I ended up eating mine open face. Why? Too much bread.

But also because those eclairs beckoned, each with a cool pastry cream filling and a stripe of glaze. In the end, I couldn’t decide which was better, the Tahitian vanilla bean eclair or the Catalan cream.

Another taste-off may be required.

*

Boule

Where: 420 N. La Cienega Blvd., L.A.

When: Open 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. Mondays through Saturdays and 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Sundays. Street parking.

Cost: sandwiches, $8

Info: (310) 289-9977