I suckered down and got a cronut. I’ve been meaning to get one and see what all the fuss is about for a while, but never decided to go for it until one of my coworkers decided to make a bulk order. No waiting in lines, although it meant that it was a little less fresh (I’m assuming). Cronuts, if you have never been on Gawker or another New York (and usually this is manhattan-y) based blog, are a kind pastry that is part donut, part croissant. There are flaky layers filled with cream, fried, and sprinkled with sugar. And like many other edible things in New York, they exploded onto the food scene and started a maelstrom of tweets, posts, and home-replica recipes. And like always, I’m partially disgusted by the media frenzies that we engage in (I think this has to do with having grown up in Manhattan before realizing how much money there was, and then coming to the shocking and depressing discovery of how much money there was) and also more than partially complicit. This is a donut-thingy that costs $5.50 and that people wait in line at wee hours of the morning for and that friends who don’t live in New York want you to bring for them and that tourists carve out a few hours for and that are generally overrated and that you can’t purchase more than two of unless you are on a two-month long waiting list and that I have still wanted to at least try for the past 6 months.
There’s a new flavor every month, so of course you have to try them all. There are fakers out there everywhere and no way can they be that good. Meh. It was fine. Too chewy. Filled with cream (bonus!). But this month was Rasberry Lychee, and the sour flavor it left in my mouth (was it just so that it would be pink for Valentine’s day?) left me a little unsatisfied, tasting instead like sour cranberries. And yet I’m obligated to like it, and still kind of do (of couse, I’m equally obligated to dislike it). I shared mine with my friend who jokingly said that they’ll be just like black-and-white cookies in a year: gross and stale and available at every bagel shop. But he’s wrong; black-and-white cookies are amazing, and easy, and no one is about to wait for them, or bring them to a party. The cronut will be like the yogurt pop-up shop, exploding everywhere like Willy Wonka’s candy bars but without the quirky CEO who just makes chocolate for his love of whimsy. And would we believe him now anyways?
I’ll probably contemplate trying next month’s flavor.