'Try me. Test me. Taste me." A tempting incantation from Vianne Rocher's irresistible shop in Chocolat. Sensual Vianne Rocher, who blows into an isolated French village with a magical ability to know what kind of sweets people most desire: sugared almonds, florentines, chocolate curls, pains d'Θpices, marzipan fruits, all washed down with steaming cups of chocolate. Just try to read this chocolate truffle of a book without a box of them at your side.

"I sell dreams, small comforts, sweet harmless temptations to bring down a multitude of saints crash-crash-crashing amongst the hazels and nougatines," says Vianne. And there are dreams of love, magic and the south of France, spun as Vianne repairs the lives of a host of hurt villagers with her confections.

She's a single mother, a gypsy descended from a long line of white witches, who dares to open a chocolate shop in a conservative Catholic town during Lent, across from the church. She attracts the wrath of the local priest when she schedules a chocolate festival for Easter Sunday. This sets the scene for a battle of good versus evil, chocolate versus austerity, love versus fear.

That the author, Joanne Harris, was born in her grandparents' confectionery shop in France, and that her great-grandmother was a witch and healer, add a dimension of believability to the book. It's not new to mix magical realism and food, but it works for me. And the book is much better than the film.

Chocolat, Black Swan, £6.99 in UK