Having been the gluttonous (or glutinous?) beneficiary of Melbourne’s burgeoning nouvelle-obsession with croissants – despite a long history of French patisseries in the cultural capital of Australia well before the 2010s – it seemed only appropriate to sample as many as calorically possible during 48 recent hours in Paris.
Living within a rolling pin’s length of two excellent almond croissant sources in Fitzroy has afforded moi a somewhat focused – and jaded – palette.
So, with a baseline to compare against, as well as to reduce the severity of the unavoidable impending cholesterol spike, I dedicated my Parisian search to the frangipane-filled variety.
Across those 48 hours, here’s what happened:
Almond croissant #1
Saturday, 5.28pm, Rue du Faubourg Saint-Martin, 10ème
I barely made it out my front door before zeroing in on target #1. But, with the overpowering taste of baked eggs and absence of visible pastry, this homage to a flattened cow pat was definitely not sunny side up. Plop!
Score: 1.5 out of 5.
Almond croissant #2:
Sunday, 9.34am, Rue du Faubourg Saint-Denis, 10ème
I had higher hopes a couple blocks further afield the next day. However, sat on by Babar the Elephant and combining the structural crunch of a wet, butter-soaked sponge with the weak waft of almond essence circa the era of Louis XVI, edition #2 left nothing but regret and a grease stain on my shirt. Pathètique.
Score: 1 out of 5.
Failed attempt at almond croissant #3:
Monday, 11.36am, Rue Yves Toudic, 10ème (consumed 11.44am, Quai de Valmy, Canal Saint-Martin)
Desperation (and withdrawals after inadvertently allowing 26 hours to pass without so much as a waft of flaky relief) set in. A google search revealed a “must-do” patisserie stop nearby, and so, after I narrowly avoided being flattened à la croissant #2 by a truck that dared use the intersection for its true purpose – unlike the salivating queue of English-speaking tourists snaking its way into the middle of the street – I stood before a burgeoning display of baked goods that was, alas, lacking in the almond department.
A fig tart made for a snap substitution. Keen to escape the crowds, I hurried a few blocks over to the nearby canal’s edge to consume my stash under ominously dark skies, legs dangled over the murky water.
My solitude was short-lived. Like the sudden appearance of tourists a towel’s width away on an empty Aussie beach, within five minutes on the 300-metre stretch of empty cement, six separate groups, each bearing identical, distinctive blue paper packets, sat within day-old-croissant-hurling range.
Luckily, having devoured the spectacular fig tart in 12 seconds (leaving 4:48 to eat a refreshingly sugar-free spinach and goats’ cheese “mini-pavé”, I took it as a sign to move on before my sugar levels dropped precipitously low.
Score: 4.5 out of 5. It would have received the full 5 points had it actually been an almond croissant.
Actual almond croissant #3
Monday, 12:57pm, Rue Pernelle, 4ème (consumed 3.22pm, accompanied by peach-pistachio tart)
Realising I’d limited my search to the 10ème, it was time to go further afield. It made little difference. This slim-line edition turned out to be so due to its lack of frangipane filling. Further research revealed that a rumoured loophole in French false advertising laws means merely sprinkling slivered almonds on top allows said “croissant amande” to be anointed as such.
Score: 1 out of 5.
Note: the 1 refers to how many bites I took before turning my attention to its side dish of tart.
Verdict
While four pastries does not a valid sample size make, until further Francophilian research can be undertaken, I’d say the amandine laurels rest comfortably in Melbourne.
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