Chouquette's Canelé

You're looking at that picture and thinking about canelés, thinking to yourself that this post seems familiar. It should. Since I started Whiskey And Soba, I have pushed hard for you to go try La Patisserie Chouquette's canelés and I see no reason to stop pushing now. For over two years, these have remained my favorite French pastry in a shop full of remarkable French pastries. But why? you wonder to yourself. How could this oversized thimble be his favorite in a shop full of cakes and eclairs and macarons?

The exterior, crunchy, caramelized—but not burnt—thanks to the beeswax brushed copper molds Chouquette uses. Cracked open, they're a pale yellow, the filling soft and custardy. Slightly sweet, with hints of rum and vanilla. Or, on occasion, lemon and thyme. They're basically tiny cakes made of crepe batter (though I'm sure the French would take exception with that statement).

So many pastries scream their flavors; there's no ignoring the butter of a croissant or the black sesame filling of a Paris-Brest. The canelé is the subtle, seductive mistress of Bordeaux. Perhaps that's why I like them so much—I don't have much of a sweet tooth. The only dessert I have ever truly loved, I think, is tiramisu. Yet I cannot go into Chouquette without getting one of these. In an ideal world, I would eat one of these every day with my breakfast, but unfortunately, I don't live close enough to do that.

The next time I leave Union Loafers and walk over to Chouquette, I better not see any canelés left. I am requiring that you buy one with every purchase you make there—you should leave with a Darkness in one hand and a canelé in the other.

You can thank me in the comments below when you see how right I am.