The Croissant We Were Taught to Call “The Best”

Today, at my bakery, I was preparing to send off a tray of croissants. Standing in front of the tray, looking at them, a thought came to me. Someone once asked me —
Once a supermarket owner came to see me. He asked if I could help his bakery department make "the best croissant on the market." I didn't answer immediately. I asked him, "What do you mean by 'the best'?" He said, "Like the ones I had in Paris. The inside has a honeycomb structure, and the outside is very flaky, very crisp."

The moment "the best" had been decided, I understood something. The world's image of the "best croissant" had already been defined. To make that kind of "standard perfection" takes more than a baker's hands. It also requires: a precisely controlled working environment, butter formulated specifically for laminating, and machines that stabilize every step of the process. Without those, you're already out of the "best" competition.

The question was never whether you could do it. The question was: have you entered that system? How are standards established? In the end, everyone chases the same standard. It's simple. If you truly want to make the market's so-called "best croissant" — send your baker to the professional butter supplier. They'll be happy to teach you: use their butter, their machines, their system. Step by step, you'll produce a completely correct croissant. Correct enough that every one looks the same. So don't ask why the market's "best" all look alike. The answer was written from the start. You only made it.

Once you enter the system, there's another thing to consider. When you use their butter and follow their methods, you become locked in. You don't control pricing. When the supplier raises prices, you have to accept it. You've already become dependent. Your customers have grown used to that predefined "best." You can't change; you can only continue. So you think you're making croissants, but you're actually sustaining a system.

My croissants — the ones we make today — have no professional laminating butter, no additives, no machines. Just flour, butter, and a wooden rolling pin. After a few days they stop being flaky and light. But that's okay. I only need a cup of hot chocolate, or a cup of coffee, and I gently dip one in. Let it absorb a little warmth. Then it comes back to life. Not in a flaky way, but in another way.

So if one day you come here, look at my croissants, and ask, "What's wrong with them?" it may not be their fault. They simply weren't made according to that prewritten answer. They were allowed to be themselves.