Croissant Confidential: Tales from the Bristol Frontline
A Croissant Connoisseur’s Cautionary Tale
Every now and then, life throws you a curveball, not a health scare or a parking fine, but something truly soul-jarring… like being banned from photographing a baker and his croissant!
So there I was, in a bakery in Bristol… Camera in hand, shoes dusted with the usual scattering of flour, heart brimming with hope… when I was ever-so-politely told not to take photos. Let that sink in. Me asked not to photograph… a bakery.
That’s like asking a sommelier not to sniff the wine. Or telling David Attenborough to stop whispering at meerkats. I’ve taken photos in bakeries across Paris, Tokyo, Brooklyn, rural Tasmania and obscure Alpine towns where people still trade sourdough starters like currency. Never a problem. But no… here, in dear old Bristol, I was a “disruption” to their staff…
The bakery in question shall remain nameless. But its name rhymes with ‘Pharaux’. You connect the dots…
To be fair, they make a pain au chocolat that could bring a tear to the eye of a Parisian grandmother. But let’s talk irony for a moment. Their Instagram feed? Practically a tribute to their entire staff; floury action shots, latte foam close-ups, probably one of Sandra from finance holding a croissant like it’s the Olympic torch. But apparently, if they photograph it, it’s content. If I do it, it’s corporate espionage.
And look, I don’t throw the word obsessed around lightly. I trained at Ferrandi, arguably the best pastry school on Earth. I’ve had the honour (and mild trauma) of working alongside some of the most revered bakers on the planet. I even landed a spot on The Great British Bake Off, beating tens of thousands of bakers armed with little more than a rolling pin and a healthy fear of Paul Hollywood’s stare.
Let’s just say, this wasn’t my first laminated rodeo.
I’ve travelled across continents to find the perfect kouign-amann. I’ve wandered down foggy backstreets in Kyoto on the scent of a promising almond croissant. My Instagram? It’s basically a shrine to bread; with the occasional cameo from a pain suisse or a smugly proofed batard. I once diagnosed a bakery’s butter leakage issue via FaceTime from a tent in Morocco. True story.
So yes, I take croissants and anything pastry, very seriously. Some people climb mountains for the view; I climb layers of laminated dough in pursuit of spiritual enlightenment.
Which is why I genuinely respect the pastry chef at ‘Pharaux’. Truly. The responsibility! The daily grind of mixing, proofing, shaping, chilling, laminating, proofing again, baking, and trying not to scream when a customer asks if their croissant is gluten-free. It’s a noble calling.
And Bristol, to its sugary core, understands the pastry gospel. The people here treat eating a pain au rasin like a competitive sport. I’ve watched dainty grandmothers demolish three mille-feuilles before the morning rush. I once overheard two suited businessmen having an intense conversation about chocolate origin, not stocks, not sport, chocolate. It was beautiful.
Bristol’s pastry chefs have their own underground network, secretive, passionate and flaky in the best possible way. One even confessed to me; “I don’t make croissants at my place… but when I visit my friends, it’s pastry Armageddon.” You love to see it.
And the range? Sublime. Pain au chocolat on every corner. Brioche mousseline that’s basically butter-wearing a tuxedo. Madeleines worthy of Proust’s tears. Financiers that blur the line between cake and cookie with devastating elegance. And yes, those infuriatingly photogenic macarons. Even the salted caramels are having a moment. A chewy, glorious moment.
Bristol doesn’t just enjoy Viennoiseries, it worships them. This is a city powered by butter, driven by sugar and spiritually guided by laminated dough.
So here’s my final word to ‘Pharaux’ (and anyone else hiding behind the “no photos please” curtain): if your croissants are solid, they’ll speak for themselves. If they’re not, no camera ban will save you. Either way, let the croissant guy take his photo. I’ve eaten more of them than most people have had hot dinners.
Bristol, you’re flaky, golden and totally irresistible; just like a perfect croissant. Just… smile for the camera, yeah?
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Chris Geiger, Author of The Cancer Survivors Club.
Daily Dose of Disbelief!
Bsky: @chrisgeiger.com
Bsky: @thecancersurvivorsclub.com
Bsky: @dailydoseofdisbelief.com
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