A cronut has to be one of the most indulgent ‘breakfast at your desks’ I’ve had so far, perfect for a fragile morning after a few too many white wine spritzers the night before.
I only found out quite recently that a café right by my office sells these marvelous creations which I have been dying to try since the Dominique Ansel Bakery in New York sent the world into a frenzy by creating (and trademarking) the cronut last year.
The bakery’s namesake launched this croissant-doughnut hybrid on May 10 2013 and it soon became the most virally talked about dessert item in history.
My first ever cronut I ate today was a stodgey, sweet, heavy pastry which really hit the spot. It was greasy to touch as a doughnut should be and on top of this amalgamation of pastry was an extra thick layer of salted caramel, dusted with pistachio.
Looking at photographs of the original cronut, I think this version is more doughnut that croissant and has a much denser bite, with the layers only just visible. But with this amount of sugar in the morning? Who’s really complaining?
I picked up the cronut from Masters Sandwich Bar on Great Portland Street for a steep £3. Now I’m not delusional, I know this is London, where I’m lucky if a morning croissant costs £2.50 and my lunch costs less than a tenner, but considering that three quid converts into over $5 ($5.11 to be precise), that’s more than Ansel was selling them for at the height of their popularity when people were queuing for them at the crack of dawn.
Of course I’m saving on the cost of a flight to New York, but I would have still thought it would have been less than the original. I know I should be working out the cost of inflation to back-up this argument, but this isn’t a news story, it’s a blog post about a piece of pastry, and more importantly I’m not a mathematician, but a writer with a hangover.