Since my arrival in Paris, I have eaten numerous croissants. Early morning, late afternoon; in my breakfast pastry basket or on goûter plate, in my picnic hampers; sometimes I ate them with some marmalade: raspberry, black berry, strawberry, sometimes with miel and beurre, but more frequently just by itself; my croissants have various hierarchies: noble as Pierre Hermes, Landuree, Secco…or some anonymous boulangerie happened to be on my way.
I appreciated croissant for it gives me good energy for beginning each brand-new day, for souvenir, for the delight divine so accessible.
I believe each croissant have a unique soul, an identity , that has been embodied with beurre and farrine.
The regular croissant from Pierre Hermes—one of my favorite croissant in Paris. However, I have been lack of admiration for Monsieur Hermes’s reputation before I met this little puffy beauty. I even failed to appreciate it at the very beginning , but each bite moved my appreciation to a new level, finally sublime. The feuilletage is refined and elegant, the inside is warm, moist, while the classic shape implies a modest attitude, an understated loftiness. A small creature of prodigious mastery.
Lovely croissant hinted by slight sweetness.
Another bijou from Pierre Hermes.