What do you get when you marry a French baker to a Vietnamese cook, and then plunk them down just outside the limits of Little Saigon, in an unpretentious space in a surprisingly empty stretch of Edinger? You get crackly, fresh baguettes baked twice a day (without the rice flour so common in Little Saigon). You get pains aux raisins so ethereally light the fruit seems held together by good luck. And you get the best macarons west of Bordeaux. Lest anyone think this is just a French bakery, it sells bánh mì on its baguette (just a few types—this is not a bánh mì shop) and pâté chaud that are as light as pillows, particularly when they first come out of the oven. $