Leave the croissant alone

Being an insufferable purist

There are few things in life that give me a physical reaction but, since you asked - they are, in no particular order: the opening, honking notes of Black Eyed Peas’ ‘I’ve Got a Feeling’ appearing unannounced on the radio or, worse, the dance floor; the endless stream of people starting their Instagram captions with POV (it’s a video: everything’s a POV) and lastly, croissants being anything but their lovely pure, buttery, unadorned selves. Halved and filled with things, like ham or cheese or salad  - just surely never the original intention when invented by Mr. Croissant. Or perhaps with some meringue on top, sacrilegiously blow-torched to hide the real prize underneath. Or stuffed with a Nutella style filling and dotted with chocolate…sprinkles? The French weep. 

Bear with me: I know I sound like an elitist knob. My point is that croissants are a wonder in themselves - a lovingly laborious combination of flour, butter and air culminating in a layered coil of crispy, flaky joy that feels both light and indulgent all in one chomp. Or tear. God, don’t you love the tear? When somehow the golden outer layer convinces a doughy interior to come with, ideally with just a little bit extra tagging along to the party, leaving an arc of that outside shell for later consumption. Shards of beautiful brown egg-washed crumb littering the plate. 

I can live with you spreading a little (extra) butter on top, and even a touch of jam. Perhaps there’s a strong coffee there too. Hell, if you wanted to spread some chocolate on there, I’d raise an eyebrow but ultimately bite my tongue. The problem, for me, arises when we start to stuff and fill and halve the thing. With a knife! Everyone knows the croissant was meant only to be manhandled like the tear ‘n’ share of your dreams.

It started by becoming the substitute for bread in sandwiches - an innocent first misstep, potentially forgivable. I’d argue the croissant doesn’t have the structural fortitude to stand up to any sort of serious fillings, nor does it provide the textural contrast for something soft such as bloody EGG AND CRESS as spotted recently in a south London café (visual evidence below, necessary for an outraged text to Victoria). 

Then came the cronut a decade ago. I see where you were coming from, Dominique Ansel, I really do. In the era of excess that saw the rise of the freakshake - separate email to follow - it just seems to me that frying laminated dough is one thing, but then stuffing it with flavoured cream and glazing it with more sweet icing is… too much. I’m not talking about health here, enjoy your damn food, but taste wise, where’s the nuance? Where’s the balance? It’s all just endlessly, boringly sweet. Then the cruffin. The croffle. Now, the crookie. We must be stopped. 

You are - if you’ve managed to stick around this long - reading this rant from someone who always leans towards the salty-sweet dessert, one with a savoury twist, like the ice cream with olive oil and salt in Venice that I won’t stop banging on about. So, not the cro-[insert baked good name here]’s target audience, perhaps. I’m not on TikTok, where the crookie is living its best life as the hashtag du jour; I didn’t queue at 7am for hours in New York to try the cronut, nor am I hating on those that did. I simply believe that the croissant - and the doughnut, the muffin, the waffle - is a wonderful thing within its own right. Tested again and again over time to achieve a harmony of sweet, salt, soft, crunchy. So, please, can we leave it alone? 

Yours in full expectation of disagreement, 

Hannah x