If I were hit by a meteor tomorrow, and then to my complete surprise and amazement were immediately reincarnated as a croissant...
...I would choose to rematerialize as a Madison Park Bakery almond croissant. That's because, if my new life as a French pastry is going to last only about an hour or so before I'm lustily consumed (and perhaps then reincarnated as, say, an aardvark), I would want to spend that hour on earth as the very best of my ilk.
Madison Park Bakery's almond croissants are that good. Let's put it this way...soon after trying my first such croissant, I had the opportunity to compare it with some formidable competition: an almond croissant from the world-renown Tartine bakery in San Francisco.
It wasn't even close. The Tartine version was disappointedly average: chewy, little if any crispy crunch, uninspired filling, a bit dry overall and just possibly a tad on the stale side, (sure, it's possible that the fancy foods shop I bought it from, rather than from Tartine directly, sold me a day-old? If so, may you be reincarnated as a limp, overcooked asparagus spear!)
In delicious contrast, head chef, Provence-born Cecilia Lystad's croissant is more like the Platonic ideal (not that almond croissants were a thing during Plato's lifetime, otherwise we might find them carved in marble relief on the Parthenon's facade): crunchy on the outside, clearly laminated layers (I think that's the correct term) on the inside--nothing like the croissant-impostering ponderous, dry sponges you might encounter, say at Oakland Airport late on a Sunday night. Poor Oakland...maybe you'll be reincarnated as Paris?
And just the right amount of butteriness, sweetness, yeastiness. The generous amount of frangipane filling is delightfully jammy and tastes freshly-made, probably of almonds bakery-ground early this morning.
What's more, this here dang croissant is paradoxically light and quite filling at the same time (don't forget, this is a supernatural confection--only the baker knows its secrets). While the pastry was half gone in about the amount of time it takes to say "yum!" I wouldn't attempt to eat the whole thing in one go. Half will satisfy you, unless you are a total gourmand or goinfre (look it up). Make a heroically disciplined attempt to save some for an after-dinner treat. Ancient disciplines such as Ayurveda, for instance, maintain we should cover all the major taste bases--including "sweet"--as part of every meal.
I can only claim I've scratched the surface of Madison Park Bakery's other offerings (whenever I step in, the devil in my ear aggressively whispers "get the almond croissant, you fool!"), though the chocolate licorice cookie was nice in a subtle "adult" way, and their apricot-almond pastry was like the croissant reincarnated as an accomplished piece of folk art--almost too pretty to eat.
As is their pistachio cream tartlet. Because I'm an artist (painter mostly), and a prime way I enjoy life is through the lens of appreciation for striking color juxtapositions, I would be happy to fossilize this tartlet and keep it forever on my countertop--what gets me is that minor key combination of whimsical pistachio green swirls married to the cool red of the fresh raspberries and fragrant raspberry coulis filling. Obviously created by a chef who has a sophisticated eye for subtle color harmony!
Then there's her take on the French classic Gâteau au Chocolat. Imagine if a dark brown cow were able to produce milk the color of a shot of espresso macchiato, and that dusky chocolate milk were then hand-churned into dark chocolate butter...that's my best description of the main layer of this deep, dark and dense gâteau. It's meant for those who are in it for the chocolate and not so much the cake.
That said, in the spirit of full disclosure, I'm an outlier among patisserie patrons: unlike most Americans, I don't really have a sweet tooth. And prefer to keep my teeth from going wiggly. My vote is always for intensity of flavor rather than sugariness. My ideal of a chocolate cake would contain not only no white flour, but also hardly any sweetener. But then, you're reading the ravings of someone who eats straight 100% cacao baking chocolate without grimacing in the least from the bitterness. Embrace and explore the bitterness, I say. Knowing is appreciating--could help explain the growing popularity of Italian amari, which I also enjoy.
Hey chef, you can't please everyone. And shouldn't try, lest risk diluting what you do best. So keep doing it. Be inventive in a way that foremost pleases you. Bake for your own tastebuds and secondarily for your fans, not for your detractors. Judging by the lineup of eager seekers of excellent French patisserie and cuisine, my prediction (and I bet you a lifetime supply of your almond croissant about this!) is that if you stick to your guns you will not only deepen the loyalty of your core base of fans, but also grow that core market.
Bon appétit! read more