The Cronut Experience

The Cronut Experience - Saturday, 1/17/15

A horrible nightmare involving my daughter and the rumbling of an enormous garbage truck rolling down my narrow street coupled to have me wide awake shortly after six on a morning which I fully intended to use to sleep in. Being fresh to New York, I decided I needed to take advantage of this opportunity. I'm fully embracing this adventure, and my plan is to experience as much as I can and say "yes" to everything. How could I start this weekend off right? Did I want to take in the glory of the Statue of Liberty? Perhaps enjoy the grandeur of the Empire State Building? Or should I go patriotic and somber and visit the 9/11 memorial?

Those are all excellent ideas that can wait. I'm going to pastry school. I need a Cronut.

Dominique Ansel is a French pastry chef that is single handedly elevating the art to a cultural phenomenon. His creation, the trademarked Cronut, might be the first pastry to become a legitimate media sensation. His donut-croissant hybrid is made of a laminated dough filled with a flavored pastry cream, then fried and topped with sugar and a glaze. He selects just one flavor to prepare each month, and the demand for this luscious bit of deliciousness is so high that each morning his Soho bakery has the proverbial line of eager customers literally waiting down the block. They make the Cronuts 24/7 to meet the demand and they sell out daily.

My decision to grab one (okay, two--that's the limit) on this particular Saturday morning was a rash one. I did not think to check the temperature until I had arrived at the bakery, where I grabbed a spot near the front of the line. 18 degrees, according to my phone. I had a little over an hour to wait outside. Not a problem.

Except it was fucking freezing.

I am a person that normally "doesn't get cold." Me and Queen Elsa. The cold never bothered me anyway. But this was legitimately frigid. I tugged my winter Patriots beanie firmly down over my ears, and yanked the strings of my hoodie tight until I must have resembled Kenny from South Park. I read a little bit of a novel on my phone, switching hands every couple of minutes so each one, clad in my thin gloves, could seek solace in a slightly warmer pocket of my overcoat. The brisk temperature and bone chilling breezes didn't deter the crowd, however, as dozens of patrons quickly assembled in line behind me.

Shortly after 7 AM the bakery security guard (there's a position I never thought existed) came out to set up a sign marking the official front of the line. Shortly after that another employee came out and attempted to thin the throng by offering a ticket that would allow the bearer to return with little to no wait between nine and ten. A Cronut FastPass, so to speak. One guy in front of me took advantage, but it seemed that most of us would hold fast. I knew I would.

Between 7:15 and 7:30 I became too cold to focus on reading, so I put my phone away. I wondered if I was starting to lose feeling in my fingers and toes, and I considered getting my phone back out to Google "frostbite." But I held off. The friendly kitchen employee returned and passed out hand warmers to everyone. Ten or fifteen minutes later, she and another fellow rolled out a little cart to sell coffee. Cash only, and it was a simple pot of brewed stuff for the truly desperate. I passed. They sold a few, went inside, and returned yet again a bit later with a tray of free hot chocolate samples for all of us. The tiny little plastic cup was still warm, agonizingly small, and without a doubt the best hot chocolate I have ever had in my life. It was as silky and rich as a liquified truffle. Okay, this wait is going to be worth it.

7:45. I have chatted with the guy behind me, who gives me his business card. He's a professional line sitter. I should have guessed, since he was savvy enough to bring his own chair. He charges $25 an hour ($10 for each subsequent half hour) to wait in line for essentially anything in New York--Saturday Night Live tickets, first day limited edition Nikes, new Apple stuff, you name it. He was very friendly and explained that this morning he had been hired to pick up four Cronuts for one person. My quick math shows that this will cost the buyer at least $35 (plus the $20 and tax cost of the four pastries themselves), since the guy will have to purchase two and then hop back into line to get two more. He's just happy that today's line is only 50 people deep so far, as opposed to the usual 70-80 by this hour. Luckily, the sign out front explains that the Cronut is not meant to be served warm, due to the pastry cream filling. Good to know, since mine will need to survive trekking several cold blocks back to my apartment. Not to worry. Chef Ansel says that they have a shelf life of eight hours.

A few minutes later, the pair of bakery employees return with more goodies. This time it's a basket of tiny little madeleines about the size of a quarter, one free for each of us. I don't even consider savoring it or waiting, but I pop it into my mouth immediately. It's lightly dusted with sugar and it's a tiny, absurdly good little puffy cloud of a treat.

Eight o'clock finally strikes and the patrons are herded inside almost immediately, in groups of twelve, each dozen delineated by the head of the group wielding a baguette to hold as a marking baton. Perfect. I hustle inside where there is no nonsense, and I don't even consider any of Chef Ansel's other wares today--all of which look absolutely flawless. My nose and mouth are so frozen that I can barely speak, "Two Cronuts, please," is probably easy enough to discern. I have little feeling in my gloved hand as I awkwardly sign the check and pay. I'm handed a cute little box and I'm on my way in under a minute.

At home, I brew a fresh pot of dark French roast coffee and get myself set up. Anything hyped this much usually fails to live up to such lofty expectations.

The Cronut delivers.

The first thing I notice during a bite is the incredible richness of flavor--the luscious, subtle pastry cream and the sweet but not cloying glaze. Then the rest of that bite gives you the perfect texture: the slightly crispy exterior, with the flaky, croissant-like layers inside, filled with that creamy goodness. Believe the hype. The Cronut is most certainly a unique and utterly worthwhile pastry experience. I'm not going to freeze my ass off to grab one every weekend, but I am very happy that I did today.