For this tour, I visited the pâtisseries and boulangeries best known for exceptional croissants au beurre, with the thinking that the croissants aux amandes would be equally impressive.  In general this held true, though there were a few surprises along the way.  I started this journey without a sweet tooth and by the end, finished a few pounds heavier.  Warning: this is not a post for dieters.

Jean Millet, 103 rue Saint-Dominique, 7e

Instead of showering their almond croissants with powdered sugar, Jean Millet coats each croissant aux amandes in sugar creating a sweet yet distinctly crunchy clear shell of glaze.  The blackened ends are approach burnt, perhaps due to the addition of sugar before being placed in the oven.  Sections of the sugar glaze that broke away from the shell appear a frosted white.  The center of the croissant is golden brown with clearly defined ridges running across.  The croissant has a horizontal slice splitting it in half where it was lined with a light layer of frangipane.  But since the sugar shell turned solid, the croissant remained crispy — not a as a result of a flakey texture, rather of hardened sugar.    It was very sweet and tasted strongly of rum.  The inside did have some air pockets but the layering mainly compressed into the frangipane producing a dense interior.

This was essentially a candied croissant.  It was very sweet, and very flavorful.  The dominant flavor and scent was of rum, followed by caramel and sugar.  Some parts of the inside between the sugar coating and frangipane developed a texture very similar to rum-soaked raisins.  Almost like a “croissant fritter,” the French cousin of an American apple fritter.

Laurent Duchêne, 2, Rue Wurtz, 13e

Though flat in appearance, croissant aux amandes from Laurent Duchêne cannot be overlooked.  After sliced horizontally and lined not with frangipane but with a clear sugar-almond spread, these pastries are abundantly topped with toasted almonds and powdered sugar.  Rings of layers were still visible, though significantly covered by the powdered sugar.  The thinness of the almonst filling causes the croissant to lose its texture, becoming soggy towards the middle.  This pastry is best eaten with a fork and knife.  The only parts of the croissant aux amandes that remain crispy are those which did not make contact with the filling, mainly the outer surface and ends.  The flavor is of sweet sugar tasting slightly of caramel, with light notes of almond on the finish.

Despite not being the most attractive, this was one of the better croissant aux amandes.  The lack of frangipane definitely helped.  Even though these were very sweet, the exterior of the shell remained crispy and the toasted flavor helped to balance the sweetness of the sugary almond filling.  Overall they were pretty well-balanced.  My only complaint is the soggyness that resulted in the interior from the liquid filling.  If that could somehow be cut in half, these would be outstanding.

Aux Castelblangeois, 168 rue Saint-Honoré, 1e

The croissants aux amandes from Aux Castelblangeois take the form of a shell with a vertical cut splitting it nearly in half.  This is where the croissant was filled with frangipane.  The croissant was just barely dusted with powdered sugar making the appearance dark brown and gold with sparse specks of white powdered sugar.  The almond slices garnishing the top had been cut in half.  The flavor tasted strongly of almonds and only slightly of sugar and vanilla.  The frangipane was not evenly distributed — three quarters of it was on the left side of the crossant.  This preserved the cavernous interior as well as the flakey texture, while still adding an element of almond and sugar.

When I first saw this croissant I laughed at its unshapely and lazy appearance, particularly with the vertical slice that suggested its maker was trying to save as much time as possible.  Then I tasted it and was pleasantly surprised.  This croissant was not overly sweet, tasted like almonds, and still resembled the texture of a croissant.  It seems that the vertical slice preserved the texture of the croissant’s interior leaving it hollow and crispy.  The one part I did not like about this croissant was the thick pile of frangipane that did bunch together on one side — it was essentially all almond with no croissant, much like biting into a piece of soft marzipane.  But the flavor was not cloying throughout, and would have paired nicely with unsweetened coffee.

Boulanger Julien, 85 rue Saint Dominique, 7e

These croissant aux amandes resemble a twisted paper pouch a parisian pâtisserie  might give to hold its pastries.  Either that or a very fatty fish.  The exterior has clearly visible layers, with fanning on one end of the pastry.  The colors are light to dark brown, completely covered in white powdered sugar.  Garnishing the top are a handful of thinly toasted almonds bound by a paper-thin spread of frangipane.  This croissant was split horizontally and again spread with a very thin layer of frangipane.  This croissant was crispy and shattered on my table with each bite.  Despite being filled with frangipane and cut in half, the inside remained cavernous and was not soggy.

This croissant aux amandes is proof that frangipane does not have to be the enemy.  Despite being layered two times with this almond paste, the texture remained crispy and the croissant did not lose its shape or texture.  The ends of this croissant were the best part as they had little to no frangipane  yet still tasted of sugar and almonds.  The ends were also the crispiest part.  The flavor tasted very strongly of almonds leaving my palate with the flavor of vanilla for quite some time afterwards.  What most impressed me about this croissant was how even despite the almond-ization it still resembled a croissant — many many layers of delicate crispy pastry crisping and making a mess with each bite.  This was delicious.

Thierry Renard, 113 bis Boulevard de l’Hôpital, 4e

Croissants aux amandes at Thierry Renard come in the shape of an arrow, and are heavy, flat, and spongy.  The surface is covered by a strip of custard which develops a more chewy texture when baked in the oven.  The entire pastry is covered with powdered sugar and toasted almonds.  The smell is of vanilla, likely due to the custard sitting on the surface.  The inside texture is of cake, with no clearly identifiable layering.  Breaking off a piece releases powdered sugar into the air; there are no flakes that fall off.

This is another croissant that was completely destroyed by spreading a wet custard on top of a delicate structure.  The end result was a messy heap of sugar, bread, and custard that didn’t even resemble a croissant.  The flavor was overwhelmingly sweet and of vanilla.  The only part of this croissant that tasted like almond were the pieces of almond up top; otherwise this would be a vanilla custard cake.

Frédéric Comyn, 27 rue Friant, 14e

After having read about Frédéric Comyn from Chez Pim‘s post on the best croissant in paris, I decided it wouldn’t be a ridiculous assumption to make that their croissants aux amandes be fantastic as well.  I decided wrong.  Frédéric Comyn’s croissant aux amandes is not the most shapely; it is more like a heap of croissant parts and almonds piled together and buried in powdered sugar.  Some parts of the croissant were a very dark brown, almost burnt, while others a pale yellow.  This almond croissant, thankfully, was not filled with frangipane; rather everything was baked together giving the interior a chance at not being wet.  The surface was not crispy; rather, it was hard in certain places from having dried out in the oven.  The inside was moist and dense; there were no visible bubbles or holes.  The scent was of maple syrup, which when combined with the flavor of the very sweet, bread-like interior texture, reminded me of pancakes.

The almond croissants at Frédéric are overlooked and not given nearly so much attention as the regular croissants.  They almost appeared to be an afterthought lacking form, balance, and flavor.  Is it too much to ask for an almond croissant that resembles a croissant?  This was more like a sweet and soft bread pudding.  It was cloying.  There was no visible layering, and the airiness that makes a croissant unique was nonexistent.  Stick with the regular croissants.

Le Quartier du Pain, 74 rue Saint-Charles, 15e

This croissant aux amandes was flat and wide, loaded with toasted almond slices and powdered sugar.  The weight was heavy, and a clear lateral slice was visible where this pastry had been filled with frangipane.  The pastry was not crispy, and was wet due to the filling of frangipane.  Pieces of either end break off like cake.  It’s possible to see that at one point the croissant aux amandes had layers, but they were so compacted together that they had little to no effect.  The color was uniformly light brown, even on the bottom which was the exact same color as the surface.  The entire pastry was very greasy.  The taste was of frangipane and slightly of vanilla, sweet, and cold from the frangipane paste.

I honestly don’t understand how anyone could sell a soggy croissant with a straight face.  Croissants should never be filled with anything, let alone a thick paste like frangipane — it completely destroys the texture and turns a once light and crispy piece of art into a dense and soggy cake with no life.  The only thing crispy on this pastry was the toasted almond; but the inside was so wet I’m pretty sure I could have rung the entire pastry out and gotten drop of water and grease.  It almost seems as if this was sitting at the bottom of a large pile of almond croissants all morning; but that still doesn’t excuse the lateral incision and stuffing of frangipane, which is unforgivable.  I also found the croissant very sweet, as if I was eating spoonfuls of frangipane directly.  No good.

Au Levain du Marais, 28 Blvd Beaumarchais, 11e

The Croissant aux Amandes from Au Levain du Marais look, feel, and taste more like cake than croissants.  In fact, the first identifiable characteristic is a horizontal slice going through the middle of each croissant, like a layer cake, where a layer of frangipane was spread with a knife.  The croissant was covered with a large spoonful of powdered sugar.  The color was mostly amber with patches of dark brown hidden underneath the white sugar.  Aside from a few tiny pieces on each end, this was not a crispy croissant, and aside from the fact that at one point the layers were folded, had little to do with a croissant.  This seemed more like an almond cake.

The inside was moderately greasy, though it was hard to tell whether this was caused by the large amounts of frangipane or the pastry itself.  Due to its custard-like density, the frangipane tasted much colder than the rest of the croissant, and stuck to the thin layers of pastry forming indistinguishable layers of pastry and cream making uncoiling impossible.  The inside tasted like crème brûlée since the frangipane was more like a vanilla crème than almond paste, with the toasted caramel flavor coming from the top layer of the crust.  The flavor was sweet; but not cloying, and there was little trace of salt.

I didn’t like this almond croissant so much as I did the regular butter croissant.  For me it was too soft, tasted too much of vanilla, lacked a crispy shell, had too dense of an interior, and had too much powdered sugar on the outside.  I don’t think frangipane is an ingredient that belongs inside croissants since it’s too heavy and creamy to enjoy what makes a croissant so delicious in the first place: its light, fluffy, airy, and delicate texture that tastes slightly of toasted butter.

Philipe Gosselin, 125 Rue Saint-Honoré, 1e

Gosselin’s croissants aux amandes are flat, wide, and dense.  Black ridges surround the edges, just crossing over into burnt territory.  The entire croissant is covered with powdered sugar, which stuck out profoundly against the black regions of this pastry.  The surface was very crispy, but only for a thin layer which quickly changed to wet.  This was a messy croissant.  There was no noticible layering inside the croissant, the interior more like a bread pudding of cannelé with a spongy texture.  There were few visible bubbles at the very bottom.  The inside was moderately greasy, and the frangipane could have been scooped out with a spoon.  There was no uncoiling as I pulled off a piece, the inside was too dense and wet for that.  The top of the croissant was garnished with a single almond slice.  The flavor was overwhelmingly of vanilla, and was very sweet.  Pieces of the edges had a very strong burnt flavor.

The first thing that struck me about this croissant aux amandes was how flat and wide it was.  I’ve seen similar things, but they usually involve baking cookies at high altitudes — these croissants were squished — too dense !  The smell of vanilla was very pleasant, except the taste too strong and way too sweet.  Where was the almond flavor?  But above all that, these were left too long in the oven; I found the burnt flavor too overwhelming and could not finish this.

At the end of my adventure, the thing that struck me as most interesting was the diversity of textures and flavors I encountered.  With a butter croissant, there’s a fictitious ideal of the perfect pastry for which all bakers strive to reproduce.  There are no such guidelines for almond croissants: some are airy cakes, others more like dense bread pudding with abundant custard.  Some even have brittle candied shells.  The nice thing about these pastries is that they all do keep quite better than regular croissants, making for an excellent mid-afternoon snack.

Related Posts:

• A Croissant Tour of Paris
• A Baguette Tour of Paris
• Tapas Molecular Bar Revisited
• Ladurée
• Pierre Hermé

One stereotype, however, was so spot-on it was comical: I cannot count the number of Parisians I’ve seen racing around the city with groceries on one arm and a bitten baguette under the other.  The French love their bread.  And they should!  With the arguable exception of Tokyo, Paris has the finest bread in the world.  Fine boulangeries are to France as Starbucks is to America.  They’re everywhere.

Think about it:  a baguette is the perfect accompaniment for any course.  It goes with confiture and butter for breakfast, with a “jambon fromage” sandwich for lunch, in a small bowl to the side of a glass of red wine with dinner, or with a cheese board as a snack.

So I spent my time in Paris keeping a small journal for noting particularly interesting experiences on the carb front.  While the quality of most boulangeries is excellent, there are some which have baguettes that stand out in particular.  Of the nine places below, four were so exceptional that I was really pressed to find anything to complain about.  They’re listed first. The other boulangeries are excellent as well, but only visit them if time permits after having tried the first few.  Enjoy!

Thierry Renard, 113 bis Boulevard de l’Hôpital, 4e

Renard’s baguettes are, in one word: beautiful.  The pre-baking flour placed on the surface spreads around the tear-shaped crevasses making the baguette look like it’s wrapped in a snow-colored cage of rustic powder.  Not only is this effect visually appealing, it also means the texture and flavor change depending on which part of the baguette is eaten first.  The sides of this baguette are the softest part, with a texture like a toasted marshmallow: a thin crisp at first giving way to a springy center.  The top is the most crispy part, particularly the dark brown ridges surrounding the tear-shaped fissures.  This baguette is plump looking and, were it not for the different textures on the surface, it would appear rather cylindrical — it is nearly as tall as it is wide.  When I ripped a piece off and bit in, a small puff of white flour floated like magic.  My tongue picked up on the dry texture of the powder first: a very rustic flavor.  The baguette leaves behind small crumbs and lots of powder.  The exceptionally moinst interior has clearly visible glutens with some bubbles being very large and others quite small.  The flavor has the tiniest hint of toasted bread, so little that with some bites it was undetectable.  The dough has a neutral, lightly salted flavor: neither tasting sour, nor of whole wheat.

This is the best baguette I’ve had in Paris, as well as the most interesting.  Each bite tasted unique because of the infinitly different combinations of flour and crisp, making the baguette practically its own diverse meal.  It’s also stunning: the first baguette I’ve seen that is both white and gold with a snow-colored cage of flour wrapping around the light brown baguette.  The flavor was neutral enough that it could be eaten with anything, though I enjoyed it best with salted butter.  Renard is truly a master baker.

Laurent Duchêne, 2, Rue Wurtz, 13e

Very plain in appearance, the light brown baguettes from Laurent Duchêne have no frills.  There is no flour dusting whatsoever and there are no fancy shaped stencil-like cutouts, as seen at Thierry Renard.  The baguette is pure in appearance with several crispy ridges stiching the top of the bread.  The ridges were very dry and crispy, even hard, providing a strong structural support.  The edges were also sharp and pointy.  But despite a dry crust, the inside was paradoxically as moist as possible.  Tearing off pieces produced a loud crackling sound quickly giving way to the soft interior.  The inside was fully of randomly sized bubbles, some quite large, forming a honeycomb of soft bread.  Even though the crust was dry and crispy, it wasn’t terribly thick, and so there was excellent balance between the slightly salty interior and the thin and toasty exterior.  The flavor was neutral, as a baguette should taste, slightly leaning towards salty.

This baguette was outstanding.  The pieces of the shell were so sharp you could probably use them as small weapons.  Breaking off my first piece likely woke my neighbors.  Being a person who does not crave the just-before-burnt flavor of bread, I still loved this baguette because the crust, while toasted, was thin and non-offensive.  It was a beautiful balance.  The flavor could sway towards sweet or savory; but, is best enjoyed by itself since its taste is so pure.  It was a bit of a trip to get here, and was worth every minute.

Au Levain du Marais, 28, Blvd Beaumarchais, 11e

Au Levain du Marais’ baguettes are light brown with canvass-colored parts creeping through the tears where the bread expanded in the oven.  Flour can be found on the edges and ends, parts of the bread where the oven rise was minimal.  This bread is not springy; but rather, has a texture similar to swedish memory foam, each squeeze would take a few seconds to come back.  What’s interesting about this bread’s shape is that the ends are significantly taller than the middle, like a Boeing 747.  I’m not sure what causes this; but it was it was evident on all the baguettes.  The outside was very crispy, in fact a tear off caused continual cracking for several seconds after the tear was finished, like rice krispies.  This left a large mess; a good thing for a baguette, I think.

The weight was fairly light on the inside; this was not a dense baguette.  The air bubbles were very think and for the most part seemed uniformly distributed with the exception of a few large air pockets towards the center.  The inside was soft, having a slightly grayish color, perhaps indicative of the type(s) of flour used.  The flavor was pure and clean: the water’s flavor could not be tasted.  It did taste, however, slightly whole grain which when, combined with the color, makes me suspect that a mixture of whole grain was used in the flour mixture.  This baguette is not sweet, has a hint of salt, and would pair well with with both sweet and savory.  It was delicious in all respects.

Aux Castelblangeois, 168 rue Saint Honoré, 1e

This baguette looked more like a giant pretzel than a baguette, with shades of dark brown giving way to slits of gold.  The crust was very crispy; but since it was relatively thin, its flavor was not dominating.  Little to no flour was sifted on the surface before baking making the flavor taste of pure bread.  This was fairly messy to break resulting in hundreds of small crumbs littering my plate.  When squeezed the baguette demonstrated a delayed rebound indicating the freshness of the interior.  The inside was exceptionally moist with small bubbles and nets of gluten stretching across the interior.  The flavor tasted ever so slightly of cornmeal, even though this was not an ingredient.

I really like these baguettes for both their texture and simplicity.  The lack of sifted flour on the surface makes their use very versatile for both sweet and savory.  The dark brown color really makes these baguettes distinct.  It’s paradoxical how they can be baked so thoroughly yet have not the faintest flavor of toasted bread.  The interior is not light and fluffy, rather substantive and supportive, a quality I prefer in my baguettes when eaten with butter.  These exhibit an excellent balance of crust and interior with neither part tasting more strongly than the other.

Stohrer, 51, Rue Montorgueil, 2e

Stohrer’s baguettes are thin and cylindrical, minimally puffing towards the middle.  These baguettes are so thin that two can fit in a single baguette bag.  They’re plain in appearance with very little visible flour on the surface.  There is a central fissure running through the entire center of the croissant.  The texture is crispy and springy, perhaps from the small, uniformly distributed creating a bounce on the inside.  The inside was dense and moist, though it smelled slightly of yeast.  Breaking off a piece produced a mess of small flakes of toast.  The flavor was of toasted bread, dominated by the crust.

Some claim Stohrer invented the baba au rhum.  Being as famous as this place was, I was curious to see how non-sweet baked goods tasted.  While possibly the best baker in the immediate area, I wasn’t blown away by the flavor.  But the texture was particularly interesting.  Since the baguettes did have such a small diameter, half of each bite was crust: too much for me, but perhaps perfect for others.  The smell of yeast also threw me off a little.

Boulanger Julien, 85 rue Saint Dominique, 7e

The plump baguettes from boulanger Julien had a nice appearance of both rustic and modern — sifted with flour to make them visually interesting yet loaded with fissures bound tightly by the glutens revealing that this is indeed a pastry hundreds of years old.  The outside was very light with colors ranging from cream to light tan.  The baguette was soft to the squeeze and slightly mailable.  Pieces broke off very cleanly with minimal to no flakes left on my table; the breakage was also silent.  The inside was filled with uniformly distributed air pockets of small to medium size with notable density.  The flavor was nutty, similar to chestnut, with a distinct vegetal taste on the finish yet neither salty nor sweet.  The sifted flour dusting the surface was fairly thick, making each bite taste first of flour, then of the baguette itself.

This baguette had a lot of potential. My biggest complaint was the texture which was a little soft.  I think my first one was slightly undercooked as the inside remained very chewy and the outside shell lacking crisp.  The second was a bit more crispy.  The most interesting part was the vegetal flavor that would have paired really nicely with salted beurre de bordier.  When I broke off my first piece the smell was strongly of chestnut and potato.  Really interesting.

Frédéric Comyn, 27 rue Friant, 14e

Located at the last stop of the 4 subway line at Porte d’Orléans, Frédéric Comyn is officially at the outskirts of the city.  I heard about Frédéric Comyn from Chez Pim‘s post on the best croissant in paris.  It’s easy to walk by this pâtesserie; there are no signs and the well-lit display counter and cash register makes it look a bit like au bon pain.  Well, at least I missed it the first time.  When I asked for a baguette ancienne the woman told me there were no more left.  Then her friend came to the rescue, “I think some just came out of the oven.”  That was all I needed to hear.

Frédéric Comyn’s baguettes are nearly perfect cylindars: in most parts, they’re as tall as they are wide.  There is a single fissure that traverses the top revealing a lighter colored interior.  The top golden-colored surface has moon-like craters with patches of dark brown; the bottom is white with flour.  The texture is a lot like a plain New York bagel: a thin and tight shell that doesn’t crisp very much when squeezed.  There is some rebound; but if squeezed too firmly, the shape will stick.  Inside is a little sticky which might explain why there was little rebound when squeezed.  When I tore off a piece I was able to twist the baguette without it breaking until I pulled hard enough that a piece tore off: this was not a crispy baguette.  The flavor was light with little to no toasted flavor.  There was no sourness or whole grain flavor in the dough, the flavor was as basic and simple as possible.

I like a thin crispy crust on my baguettes and so I found these a little too crust-less; though these could very well be the perfect baguettes for those who dislike the flavor of toast.  The interior actually seemed a touch undercooked as it was slightly sticky to the touch.  Though chewy, the density of this bread worked nicely with salt and the best butter in the world; then again with that butter, anything is delicious.

Le Quartier du Pain, 74 rue Saint-Charles, 15e

Hiding a few blocks behind the Eiffel Tower lies the best bread in the 15th, found at Le Quartier du Pain.  This small corner shop bakes fresh bread throughout the day, so it’s no longer necessary to wake up at the crack of dawn to eat something hot.  The first thing that struck me about Le Quartier du Pain’s baguettes were the tear-shaped crevasses lining the surface.  Each symmetric crevass has a crispy ridge along its sides which, when torn apart, produces a crackle similar to wood burning at a campfire.  These baguettes are very crispy.  In fact, when I was squeezing the baguette on my 30 minute trip back home, I realized there was essentially no spring or rebound to its texture.  The crispy crust makes squeezing this bread a risk: too hard and you’ll shatter it right then and there.  Inside is a light grey-brown with randomly distributed bubbles of small to medium size.  The crust is very significant here, and its flavor of toasted bread dominates each bite.  This is not a baguette for the Japanese those who do not like crust.  The flavor and smell is slightly sour, and the inside borderline chewy.  It is wet and moist, perhaps because this crust locks in the moisture so well.

I really enjoyed this baguette with butter and salt.  I’m not sure if I would use it with cheese or cured meats due to its significant crust; but with simple garnishes it’s predominately toasty flavor is delicious.  The skill of the bakery comes across very clearly in this bread’s incredible uniform crust and texture — it is both crispy and soft, without being dry or heavy.  I can only imagine what this would taste like hot.

Philipe Gosselin, 125 Rue Saint-Honoré, 1e

The baguettes here were rated the best in the city in a 1996 survey by Le Grand Prix de la Baguette de Tradition Française de la Ville de Paris, which Gosselin still proudly displays on each of its product bags.  A lot has changed since then.  These baguettes anciennes are easily distinguished by their gold to dark yellow exterior, with visible traces of flower on the surface.  The underside is a darker color, a rich brown, and is the most crisp part of the baguette.  The texture is springy, so much so that during my walk home I probably lost a few surface crumbs from the fun I had squeezing it.  After breaking, the baguette kept pretty clean with minimal crumbs and fracturing.  Since the bottom was significantly more dry than the top, breaking off a piece was a tear for the top half and a crisp for the bottom.  There was no crackle sound; the crust was not very dry.  The inside of this baguette has a nice distribution of randomly sized iridescent bubbles, indicating a high moisture content.  This baguette was fresh.  The texture of the interior was very similar to latex in both color and its slight transparency.  The first flavor that struck me was the cholorinated water used to make the baguette, clearly not filtered.  This baguette was fairly light on the tongue, not salty, and slighty sweet.  The surface flour left a powdery texture on both my hands and in my mouth after each bite.

These baguettes have a beautifully symmetrical appearance on the outside, and the flour certainly makes them appear more rustic.  My biggest gripe with this baguette was that sometimes the taste of tap water is too strong.   Chlorinated water has no place in the flavor profiles of a baguette.

Related Posts:

• A Croissant Tour of Paris
• Croissants aux Amandes
• Le Bristol
• Ladurée Revisited
• Next: Paris 1906

My tasting methods were efficient: there were no left overs. (I don’t want to talk about the health sacrifice I gave to complete this delicious study.) I tried to keep things as consistent as possible by visiting all the bakeries before 10am; nearly 50 of them, in fact. If it was raining, I returned when it was sunny. I visited each bakery at least twice.

So, listed below are the five bakeries I believe to have the best croissants in Paris. They are in no particular order.

Laurent Duchêne, 2, Rue Wurtz, 13e

These croissants are big and bulky; yet, light and airy.  Thick, dark caramel bands wrap this pastry with blisters of tan revealing just how thin each layer is.  A side view immediately shows that despite the croissant’s bulk, it was still composed of thousands of paper thin layers.  The croissant was sturdy; though, squeezing the exterior would have broken the shell rather than spring back.  There was a very strong scent of toasted butter.  This croissant was very messy, and tearing off segments resulted in a distinct crackling sound.  Despite the shell’s dryness, however, the inside was cavernous and moist with spiral-shaped webs revealing the inverse of the piece I’d torn out.  The flavor was salty with a hint of sweet towards the end, followed by toasted butter.

This is one of the best croissants I’ve ever tasted.  Almost hard to tell whether it was salty or sweet since the two flavors were in perfect balance.  The shell had structure and protected the croissant’s shape despite my 30-minute journey home through the Paris subway system.  My guess is the firm shell locked in moisture allowing the croissant to stay fresh throughout the entire morning.  The inside was a nice mix between a hollow cave and a honeycomb, ensuring that the crust’s texture was crispy and pronounced; but not dominant.  The ends of this croissant were blunt, making each bite texturally equal: there was no bad bite.

Thierry Renard, 131 bis Boulevard de l’Hôpital, 4e

Thierry Renard won the Concours du Meilleur Croissant, Ville de Paris 2008, for having the best croissant in Paris.  It’s easy to see the elements that make this croissant so impressionable: it’s ultra-light with thin flaking layers, has an airy soft interior with a rich flavor of butter, and smells lightly toasted.  The exterior is diamond-shaped with one side slightly more pronounced as a boomerang.  The color is a light brown with random strips of shiny dark brown showing where the pastry was glazed with butter.  The consistency is fluffy and the pastry looks more like it was rolled than folded: it’s very round.  The thin and crispy shell holds together pretty well as flakes do not brush off easily.  When broken, however, make sure you have a napkin underneath to catch the thin small pieces that come off.  Inside is sort of like a collection of flower petals: the glutunous webs stretch across the ringed interior, each waiting to be pulled out and enjoyed.  The texture was chewy, and the inside tasted of buttered dough with a slightly sweet, rich butter aftertaste.

These croissants were very enjoyable; but they could have been even more enjoyable had they been cooked just a bit longer to eliminate the doughy interior.  This croissant’s outer shell is a very good balance between ultra-thin and slightly thicker, bringing the best of both worlds into a single pastry: thin enough to flake yet thick enough to absorb maximal butter.  The interior was beautiful, and the thin mesh of butter scented rings gave the croissant substance, while still keeping it feathery and texturally interesting.

Frédéric Comyn, 27 rue Friant, 14e

I read about Frédéric Comyn from Chez Pim, who says this is the best croissant in Paris.  It also happened to win the Concours du Meilleur Croissant, Ville de Paris 2007. Pretty strong recommendations.  Strong enough that despite the terrible weather I trecked out to the last stop on the 4, Porte d’Orléans, to taste for myself.  Sure was worth it.  This croissant has a very distinct spherical appearance; it is nearly as tall as it is wide.  Its center arcs upwards like a crescent instead of sideways, lifting off of the table.  It is quite tall, and perfectly symmetrical.  The surface is shiny with copper and bronze tones.  A view from the side reveals a spiral with hundreds of fine layers.  The outer shell is slightly thicker than paper which gives it a crispiness that is almost moist, since there is more volume to absorb butter.  Dispite the thicker shell, this croissant is not greasy.  When it fractures, it leaves behind large pieces with thick flakes.  This was not a delicate croissant; rather, it was substantive and strong.  The interior is cavernous with large webs of pastry stretching between sides of the outer shell.  The flavor is of salt and toasted butter.  The outside surface tastes sweet in some parts, as if it was lightly brushed with butter containing a hint of sugar.

This croissant was wonderfully different: hundreds of light layers thick enough to absorb butter without feeling greasy.  The salting was significant making this pastry perfectly straddle the line between savory and sweet.  The inside was hollow with pronounced layering.  This bold croissant needs absolutely nothing else to be enjoyed, no confiture, no coffee … nothing; it can stand completely on its own.  Maybe it’s a good thing Frédéric Comyn is a bit out of the way.  Otherwise, I’d be 500 lbs.

Le Quartier du Pain, 74 rue Saint-Charles, 15e

I learned about Le Quartier du Pain from my bible Paris est à Nous – Paris Gourmandises guidebook which says that Le Quartier du Pain has the best croissants in the city.  It’s certainly possible.  The diamond-shaped croissants here have an inflated appearance, and are slightly larger than average.  However while large, they are still essentially weightless since these croissants are light and airy.  The first thing I noticed were the hundreds of layers clearly visible on the surface, some were shiny and brown, others were matte and bronze colored.  The croissant had a very strong smell of toasted butter, the 30 minute subway back to my apartment holding this bag was torture.  It’s hard to call the shell of this croissant crispy since it’s ultra thin, I think flakey is a better word — much like the brown skin that surrounds an onion.  Because of the ultra thin shell, this croissant did not shatter but flaked all over the place: it was very messy.  One edge of the croissant was minimally frayed; but since the croissant was uniformly thin it didn’t add any additional textural element to the exterior.  The inside is chewy and fluffy, and pulling a piece does not uncoil the croissant rather tugs at the surface from the inside — that’s how thin this is.  The flavor is of butter, but not overly toasted or salted.  This would be excellent company with a coffee.

I very much liked this croissant for its texture, weight, and smell.  It has significant body on the inside, so for those who seek something crispy this is not going to fit the bill.  I found the flavor gentle, which would be perfect if eating this pastry with a hot beverage or confiture.  The only thing to be aware of is that it is greasy: eating with several napkins is obligatory, unless you are next to a sink to constantly wash your hands.  But this croissant may be the single most masterful pastry I’ve seen in terms of skill — there is no other croissant whose layers are so cleary detectable and thin.  It is truly a work of art.

Au Levain du Marais, 28, Blvd Beaumarchais

I first read about the croissants at Au Levain du Marais from David Lebowitz, who says that this is the best croissant in Paris.  Frankly, it might very well be.  The croissants from Au Levain du Marais are not so crescent shaped as they are diamond shaped.  With the exception of fanned out frills on one end, these croissants are nearly perfectly symmetrical.  The croissants have beautiful broad stripes of pretzel brown and amber that alternate the surface.  Each tip has a beautiful fanning of layers making it clear just how much work actually went into this edible art.  The width gently tapers off at each side, without any striking changes in size.

When I first tried to pull out a piece, I had trouble grabbing hold !  My hands crinkled through the soft and delicately crispy shell, much like crumbling tissue paper used to package gifts.  I realized more care would be necessary, and I began to tear off a piece with as little force as possible, so as not to destroy the texture.  The fanned end was light and crispy but not dry, more like a butter wafer.  This was the first bite of the croissant I took, and my favorite — each part of this croissant has a different texture, and since none of these parts are dry, each is absolutely rife with the flavor of toasted butter with a hint of sugar and salt.  The inside of the middle is very soft with clearly visible layers of rings.  Stretched across these rings were thin webs of soft dough, full of moisture.  This was a very messy croissant to eat, since it shattered all over the plate.  Some parts of the outer shell tasted sweet — hard to tell if they were sitting next to some other sweet pastries or if the shell was lightly brushed with some kind of sugar.  Regardless, absolutely delicious.

It was a bit of a travel for me to get to this bakery; but shortly after finishing this croissant I hopped right back on the subway to get a couple more.  These croissants were wonderful.

Related Posts:

• A Baguette Tour of Paris
• Croissants aux Amandes
• Ladurée Revisited
• Alain Ducasse
• Ladurée

I stood in a brief line at the St. Germain Ladurée amongst my hungry international peers, each waiting to bring home a box of happiness in the form of miniature cookies. There was a very impressive selection of macarons, over seventeen flavors, in fact. In addition to the macarons were rows of colorful tartes and tempting butter-striped pastries. Decisions, decisions. Thankfully, there were several people in front of me and I had time to mentally choose a few of my favorite treats before being served. There was no tasting menu, or any other socially acceptable excuse for satisfying my hunger, so I decided to create my own tasting: two of every macaron, three tartes, a millefeuille, two croissants, and a cannelé. Indeed, I kept it light this time. I decided to take the long way home, carrying my bag in both arms, fearing that the crowds of people on the main street would threaten the textural safety of my delicate delights.

I started with the rose macaron, two rose-colored halves of meringue contrasting against the pure white middle layer. The ganache had an ultra-light texture of whipped cream, making this the lightest macaron I’ve ever lifted. Despite this cookie’s floral flavor, there was no soapiness whatsoever – only a delicate flavor of the scent of rose. Sweet, indeed; but the airiness of the ganache prevented any cloying repercussions. This cookie brought a smile to my face after the first bite, the bright white ganache of the second bite smirking right back at me. What a pleasant way to begin.

Next was the staple pistache, a flavor that rests just in-between one-time inventiveness and daily satisfaction: I’m always in the mood for pistachio macarons. The color was just amid green and brown, hinting at natural pistachio color rather than the commercialized bright green notion of what that color should be. This cookie was only slightly heavier than the rose, perhaps due to the presence of small chips of actual pistachio nut. The ganache was still fluffy, a word that does not seem to exist in the world of Pierre Hermé. The flavor was strikingly similar to the ground pistachio nut, with a small hint of dulce de leche on the aftertaste. There was also a slight mention of salt, which made sure the sweetness would stay within reign. I could eat a lot of these.

Since my first two cookies were stunning, I wanted to follow it up with a flavor I have always hated, just for comparison. It came down to coffee and licorice, the latter of which winning because of its jet-black color and golden-green filling. Sit down for a second, please; because what I’m about to suggest might sound alarming. Ladurée’s licorice macaron is the single most delectable macaron I have ever tasted. I know how it sounds. “But licorice?!” I was a bit startled myself; so much so, in fact, that I later returned and tried a large box of only licorice macarons for confirmation. Confirmed. This flavor is special is because it tastes more like chestnut or almond than licorice, while still maintaining the winter cool fresh aftertaste of licorice. The cookie also smells like licorice. A strange discovery indeed; but, this was hands down delicious. A must for trying, in my book.

It seemed that intuition had been failing me, and I decided to randomly pick the next flavor: pain d’épice. This seasonal gingerbread macaron indeed smells like gingerbread cookies, quickly bringing to mind holiday imagery of turkeys, gravy, cranberry sauce, apple pie, pumpkin, chestnuts, egg nog, stuffing, sweet potatoes pine trees and snow. Unlike gingerbread cookies, however, this macaron left a tingling trail of spiciness, a clue that real ginger was in fact involved. This cookie was not too sweet at all, a characteristic I find pretty frequently in other gingerbread macarons. Also, for some reason, this was the softest of the macarons: I had to use two hands to take it out of the box as the meringue halves were sliding around – a clear sign of extreme freshness.

Praliné was next, and by the specks of brown in the tan colored cookie, I knew this was going to be good. And it was, having a slightly grainy texture – another reminder of the use of actual pralines. The creme center was slightly dense, like a chantilly; but, by no means heavy. It was a little pasty, in fact. For some reason, after finishing this cookie, the only taste left in my mouth was that of fresh pralines — as if I had just taken a handful of the raw nuts and eaten them. Nice.

Next up was citron, a brilliant lemon colored yellow that made me wonder what would happen if I took out my blacklight. The coloring was a little exaggerated, and certainly artificial; but the bright flavor of this treat quickly put appearances aside. The flavor was actually a bit sour; but the airiness of the ganache with the sweetness of the meringue made it less offensive. I probably wouldn’t order this macaron by itself; but, it served well as a palate cleanser midway between this extensive cookie tasting.

Continuing with the theme of fruit, framboise was the next victim. The ganache was more like raspberry preserve as in, certainly not airy. The raspberry seeds were left in which made for occasional bursts of texture as well as flavor. I thought this macaron was a little too sweet, the flavor being overwhelmed by the jelly-like consistency of the center. I’ve never seen a cream-based raspberry ganache; but that might be a nice alternative — particularly to make the inside texture lighter and less cloying. That being said, the freshness of this macaron caused it to literally fall apart as I began eating it, the top and bottom halves sliding around between my thumb and index fingers with a single bite for each bite.

Cassis was next, a fruit that, in France, is oddly ubiquitous alongside strawberries and raspberries. The color was a provocative purple, one that clearly stood out among the rest of the colors while not appearing artificial. The flavor was very tart. This was pretty similar to the framboise in that the filling was just too cloying from its preserve-consistency. The flavor was a little too sour and acidic for me, similar to eating a handful of raw cranberries.

I soon realized that it was time to take a break from fruit, and I headed in the opposite direction: chocolate. Ladurée offers two flavors of chocolate, chocolat and chocolat amer (bitter chocolate). I started with chocolat — a macaron that seemed as if someone had secretly snuck a chocolate brownie in between my layers of meringue … too dense! It was a workout even to lift it up, certainly the heaviest of the selection. The flavor was nicely balanced: a blend of sweet cocoa with a touch of salt, a combination that goes very nicely, I thought.

Following the chocolat was chocolat amer, the bitter chocolate version. At first, it was a little challenging to identify the exact differences between these two flavors; but, by the third macaron, they became apparent. The bitter chocolate macaron was much lighter with the ganache having a texture a bit thicker than heavily whipped cream. This macaron was also noticeably less sweet, which would be expected. I’m not sure that I would order any of the chocolate macarons on their own again, mostly because I’m not chocolate-crazed; but if I had to choose between the two … bitter chocolate would be it. It won both texturally, and in terms of flavor.

Fruits rouges was next, a blend of red fruits that was strangely similar to framboise without the seeds with what tasted like a splash of shirley temple (grenadine). If macarons had siblings, this would be the little sister of framboise — most of the flavor with the slight textural difference of being seedless. This was also not sour at all, and was much brighter than the framboise. The texture was jelly-based; but there was such a thin spread, and since there was no tartness, it did not become cloying.

Vanille. Wow. This was, frankly, incredible. Before eating this light cream-colored treat, the first thing that struck me about it were the hundreds of tiny black specks of vanilla beans throughout. That’s always a good sign as it indicates the full vanilla flavor will matriculate, rather than tease. The ganache center was a little heavier than some of the other vanilla macarons I’ve tasted, with a texture somewhat similar to room temperature butter. But this was not at all a bad thing because it provided a sturdy vehicle to carry the rich flavors. The only flaw I can come up with was that some might find this a little too sweet — I did not. Delicious.

I eagerly await the day I enjoy coffee flavored desserts and pastries; because, this certainly was not it. This cafe macaron, indeed tasted like coffee and indeed, I did not like it. The flavor reminded me of the bottom of a poorly stirred cappuccino with sugar — very sweet, almost bearable; but still, coffee. The texture was pleasant though, a spongy grey-brown cream with a slight graininess. The macaron smelled like the real thing — in fact, it scented my entire box of macarons with the smell of coffee beans. At the end of the day, I’m sure there will be people who enjoy this. It just wasn’t for me.

Something about salt and caramel goes together really nicely, and this was certainly the case with my next macaron, caramel au beurre salé, a beautiful marriage of the sweetness of sugar and butter tempered, and made more complex, by the addition of salt. The inside was sticky, similar to dulce de leche, which means that this must be eaten at room temperature or the inside will be too hard. Perhaps I would have liked a little more of a burnt caramel flavor; but I was impressed that this was not cloying.

I was intrigued by what seemed to be a vanilla macaron without the vanilla beans from above; but, contained a light green filling. It smelled a bit of citrus; but certainly not lemon or orange. After giving up on the flavor game, I glanced at the cheat sheet and discovered it to be Fleur d’Oranger, or orange blossom, the product of orange tree leaves producing something very similar to a citrus-scented rosewater. The texture of this ganache was like a light custard — light; but not quite whipped. There was no acidity or sourness at all, and while I wouldn’t necessarily say this had a bright flavor, it was sweet — almost like candied orange rind. It was interesting to try this flavor; but, I’m not too sure I’d go for it a second time … though I certainly would not complain.

Rouge Diva was certainly interesting, a mix of red fruits and gingerbread with the scent of chocolate. To me, this seemed to be trying to do too much at once, particularly because I thought the chocolate scent polluted the warm flavor of gingerbread with the candied sweetness of the fruit. The texture of the ganache was too dense and a bit pasty, which I suspect was due to the presence of chocolate. There was also a slightly carbonated flavor — hard to pinpoint the source, though I’m tempted to blame all things bad about this macaron on the chocolate.

And that sums up the macarons; oh wait, we have two hybrid macaron-tarte varities. Having been thoroughly impressed by what I believe to be Pierre Hermé‘s most expressive creation, the Ispahan, I had high expectations here at Ladurée. But while Ladurée’s Ispahan was a worthy competitor, it did not stand up to its competition down the street at Pierre Hermé. Aside from the subtle differences, such the lack of a sugar dew droplet and the wonderfully fragrant scent of rose, Ladurée’s creation hid the presence of lychee with an overwhelming amount of sugar in the creme center. The macaron component was also a little dry, likely a factor of the tarte having been produced the day before. The presence of rose was also somewhat a secret, something I would have liked to be more conspicuous. Definitely a beautiful creation; it just lacked a bit of luster.

Next up was the Charlotte poire et figue, a pear custard tarte topped with slices of fresh fig. I admit, I selected this because of the presence of figs; but was ultimately disappointed. First, the figs lacked sweetness of any kind. While this might have been due to their off-seasonality, I would have liked to see them a little sweeter — a bit of sugar would have gone a long way. As for the rest of this creation, the texture got boring very quickly — it was a monotonous custard from top to bottom with a soft sponge base. Something crispy, perhaps a light tuile, would have been a nice contrast. I also found the flavor too light on the sugar, which became particularly evident since the figs were not candied. After eating this, I took another look at the title which reminded me that this contained pears. Aside from the light green color, where were they? I completely forgot they were included.

I was starting to get a little full, so I took a brief break to get a glass of water and a wedge of bleu d’auvergne. When I came back, the thought of fresh fruit seemed really appealing, directing my stomach towards the macaron pommes caramel, a caramel macaron with slices of baked apple. Unlike the caramel au beurre salé macaron, the flavor of this caramel had a burnt essence, adding a beautiful dimension of flavor to the sweetness of the caramel. The combination of apple and caramel reminded me of a candied apple, with two pieces of macaron so my fingers wouldn’t get all sticky. As a textural contrast, hardened caramel was placed on top adding a crispiness to each bite. This was nicely balanced, both in terms of flavor and texture. While I thought this was the best of the tartes, my only complaint might be the excessive size of the apple slices — the water component of the fruit absorbed a lot of the concentrated flavor of the caramel and meringue. While this did prevent the flavor from being cloying, I would have preferred that the task of temperament be left only to the salt — half-sized or third-sized slices of apple would have done this well.

Last for the miniature tartes was the St. Honoré, a light puff pastry made heavy with caramel and topped with chantilly. Unfortunately, this has an incredibly short shelf-life. By the time I ate it, about 30 minutes later, the pastry had already started to become soggy. The caramel acted as a water-proofing seal against the chantilly; but the pâte à choux was attacked by the inconsistency of the caramel — some parts were runny, others were crispy. This would normally suggest improper storage; but considering I walked home in the cold and ate it immediately after, it likely wasn’t a problem on my end. I was pleasantly surprised when I bit into one of the three small pastry spheres resting on top, each of which was filled with vanilla custard. There was a slight salt and burnt caramel essence, making this flavor nicely balanced; but, I found its textural faults too distracting. I’d like to try this again, at some point.

Oh yes, the millefeuille praliné. Aside from the obvious macarons, I think it warrants a special trip to try this layered cake. Salt, burnt caramel, spongy nut-flavored creme, crispy sheets of pastry — this treat had it all. It was so light and delicate! Thin sheets of chocolate were replaced with praline, a much better alternative. I very, very briefly thought about sharing this with my host family; but, turned that idea down after realizing it would be impossible to divide. Too bad. Despite being at room temperature, the cool creme filling made this pastry feel even lighter than its already apparent weightlessness. Little crisps of caramel, salt, and hardened pastry were scattered throughout — keeping my interest with every bite. Awesome.

Strangely labeled a cannelé, this was more like a cinnamon bun with raisins then a caramelized bread pudding. But names aside, this would be a pleasantly moist and tasty way to begin a day with a cup of coffee. The cinnamon flavor was strong, and complimented the sweetness of the raisins and sugar. Despite being loosely rolled which, increases the surface area and exposure to air, this pastry was not dry at all. I didn’t find this to be anything particularly special, perhaps because it was overcast by the strength of Ladurée’s other delicacies.

Next up was a startlingly large butter croissant with which the butter stripes became apparent after the significant expansion in the oven. I’m not sure why this croissant was so large; I’m pretty sure it had double the calories nutritional contents of other croissants. While it wasn’t greasy or oily, the inside was very dry making it difficult for me to place it on a level playing field for comparison.

The highlight of the croissants, however, was the pain au chocolate amande, which is the most impressive chocolate almond croissant I’ve ever tasted. To start, the almond filling contained morsels of almond, making for a really nice texture. The chocolate was an ultra-thin strip adding a touch of bitterness to the almond without being distracting or dominating. Together, these two fillings tasted very fresh. The croissant itself was light, and despite having a thin strip of filling, I was still able to pull out pieces of the center with my two fingers — something I have never been able to do with any other chocolate almond croissant. It’s safe to say that I will be waking up early one morning, with the ambitious hope of trying one of these hot.

It is now clear to me that Ladurée has the best macarons in the world. Aside from an impressive selection of flavors, most of the cookies are texturally flawless obeying the perfect ratio of ganache to meringue. And while Ladurée did have some experimental flavors, such as pain d’épice and rouge diva, they still remained true to the simple flavors such as pistache, vanille, and chocolat. After sampling both places, I learned of the rumor that when Pierre Hermé left Ladurée he took with him his recipe for Ispahan, which confirmed my strong opinion that Pierre Hermé is clearly the leader when it comes to this tarte. However, in terms of macarons, it was perhaps a good thing as everything Pierre Hermé does wrong with its petits gâteaux, Ladurée does right. I think that Pierre Hermé gets the macaron attention that it does because of the innovativeness of its flavors — which are certainly innovative — they’re just held down by the heaviness and excessive cloying quality of their ganache. That being said, I would take the texturally perfect but simple elegance of Ladurée’s vanilla or licorice macaron to any of Pierre Hermé’s creative flavors, at any time.

And in addition to the macarons, let’s not forget about the millefeuille and chocolate almond croissant which were also spectacular — the millefeuille having a flaky yet creamy texture with a beautiful flavor contrast of salt, praline, and caramel, while the chocolate almond croissant tasted so fresh, genuine, and true-to-description that I was actually taken aback. For anyone on a macaron mecca to Paris, this is an absolute must-stop and, despite prejudices, try the licorice please, and don’t neglect the millefeuille. And for those who pooh-pooh Ladurée’s macarons in favor of the shiny new ones of Pierre Hermé these people are crazy I see where this opinion comes from, and I respect it — good luck with that, I’ll be down the street.

Related Posts:

• Pierre Hermé
• Ladurée Revisited
• Croissants aux Amandes
• A Baguette Tour of Paris
• A Croissant Tour of Paris