Flakey

Author’s Note: I’m heading to Eagle River soon, Dear Readers.  See you on August 20.

And now…

I thought I was too old to fall in love again.  But it turns out, there’s no fool like an old fool.

I am in love.  No.  Make that obsessed.

And the object of my affection?

A small French pastry called a canelé.

You can read the above Wikipedia article or just take my word for it.

Ooh la la!

Not too sweet with an exterior that is dark brown and crunchy and an interior that stays soft and custardy.

This way French pastry madness lies.

It all started here.  Petrossian Bakery in New York City.  I went in strictly as a by-stander. My sister-in-law Mary Lu, an expert in all choses chocolats, had a favorite cookie she wanted to buy there.

As I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, I stood idly by as she was making her choice.  But then I saw it.

Petrossian only bakes a dozen a day and it looked so tempting.  And at $2.50, it was easily the most reasonable purchase in Manhattan.

C’est si bon.

And when I came back to Chicago, I went searching for my new amour.

I made a rendez-vous to meet them again at La Boulangerie on Belmont and Floriole on Webster.

They were comme Çi comme Ça.  (Sorry about the capital “C.”  If I add the cedille, I get the cap.)

They would do but they didn’t measure up to their Frenchified cousins in NYC.

I was très désolée.

And then I went to Seattle.

(Photo by TBF)

Chamber of Commerce Sidebar:  Please note the sky.  It was CLOUDLESS.  The weather was spectacular for our entire visit.  Locals tell me that they put out the rumor that their beloved Emerald City is always rainy because they don’t want more tourons like me moving there.  It’s already the fastest-growing city in the U.S.

Anyway, Seattle is a fabulous food town and I thought I’d try my West Coast luck.

Et Voilà!

Crumble and Flake.

Their canelés- made only on weekends- were as good if not better than their Big Apple rivals.

And lest you think I was swooning in Seattle toute seule, I can assure you that TBF found his jam, as well.

Similar to a twice-baked almond croissant, these beauties “start with the bakery’s regular buttery croissant, split open and brushed with orange flower syrup and then they are filled and topped with rich pistachio cream.”

When we went back for an encore on Sunday, TBF swore to me that this was the best thing he had ever had in his mouth.

EVER.

To be honest, I have always had a love-hate relationship with the French.  I love their language, Colette, their clothes, their food and Alan Delon.

I hate their war record- Petain, Vichy, collabos– and their history of anti-Semitism.

(Although on July 16, President Emmanuel Macron did give a fiery speech in Paris saying “France would cede no ground to messages of hate, and we will cede no ground to anti-Zionism for it is a mere reinvention on anti-Semitism.”  Bravo.)

But the future for canalés and moi?

Looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.