I went cereal-less to work after my boss announced she would provide breakfast for our departmental meeting. I assumed bagels and cream cheese. She proved me wrong with a mysterious white pastry box. I should have given her more credit.
She placed the pastry box next to my cubicle. I anxiously but slowly lifted the lid and peered inside.
A colorful fruit tart sat on a golden doily beaming at me. Her glossy kiwi slices and berries were perched on a mountain of vanilla crème. She was so stunning she appeared almost artificial.
The banana chocolate chip muffin (clearly jealous) puffed out his perfectly tanned chest. He was robust but playful with bunches of banana and gooey dark chocolate chips.
The raspberry turnover flirted with me. A sticky avalanche of ruby red syrup caramelized to perfection at the base of her airy and flakey layers.
And then there were the croissants. Sitting patiently in the corner, they appeared ordinary, almost dull. They where the strong silent type (my favorite) and confidently glitz-free. They had the perfect ratio of butter to sweetness and they knew it.
I had no choice but create a sampler plate. I assembled half of a croissant, a sliver of the fruit tart and a piece of the muffin on my plate. A coworker had snagged the raspberry turnover. I had been lucky enough to bring in a home brewed European roast coffee, which paired perfectly. I believe in magic when things like that happen.
The meeting had started but as far as I was concerned the agenda had gone out the window. I heard my boss saying something about the marketing plan, but she was drowned out by the bustling Paris cafe noise and accordion music in my head.
I was focused on another plan, to find out where these bites of goodness came from. (off a plane from Paris?) When the meeting ended I snagged the business card next to the pastry box and tucked it safely in my pocket. The rest of the day I did my best to focus on work and not the leftover pastries still sitting in the box.
My mother was in town two weeks later and treated me to breakfast. As I drove through the restaurant parking lot scanning for parking spaces, my eye caught a sign across the street. A ray of light broke through the clouds and shone down onto a sign that matched the artwork from the business card. It was the bakery. Familiar accordion music played in my head.
I asked my mother to get out of the car and put our name in for breakfast while I parked. I was on a mission. For once I had hoped that there was a long wait for a table.
I sped across the street and parked outside of the bakery. It was small but adequate store. A round-bodied man greeted me instantly in a heavy French accent. œBonjour Mademoiselle, is theyrre anysing I can do get forre you? I gazed, wide eyed at the gems in the glass cases most of them recognizable from the day of my meeting.
I dorkily joked that I wanted one of everything. I went on to explain about my boss and the meeting and the perfectly-paired coffee and how amazing I thought they were, and, and, and¦ He nodded understandably (perhaps he gets this often?) while he filled a bleach-white bakery bag with a vanilla crème and golden raisin tart, a chocolate crème tart, a dark chocolate, almond and cranberry scone, a buttery croissant and a small loaf of oat covered pumpernickel bread. I paid, thanked him and promised I would be back.
Wielding dual pastry bags, I proudly met my mother at the restaurant just in time to be seated for breakfast. Knowing me for all of my 26 years, there was no need to explain how I acquired two bags of pastries while parking the car.
We perused the menu as I carefully dunked chunks of my (obviously not off of the menu) scone into my coffee. I focused on melting the chocolate chips without over-saturating the scone, doing my best to avoid getting sandy bits bit of sediment in my coffee cup. This was happiness.
My mother mentioned that the waitress was curiously eying my bags of goodies. At first I felt bad, but then I felt no need to offer an explanation. I’m sure she just wanted a bite for herself.
Check out this from-the streets-of-Paris bakery for yourself¦
Strawberry Bakery
365 Lancaster Ave
Frazer, PA 19355
Phone: 610.644.8484
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