Shockingly, in the last year I have sat at a cafe with a coffee and croissant here just once. I wish I could claim it's part of my deeply committed dietary discipline, or even an avoidance of cliché. But actually, it's tough to find a really good croissant in La Rochelle. I've concluded the best way to avoid pastry heartbreak and misfortune is ordering the cleverly disguised day-olds that are rehabilitated with almond paste and re-crisped. Then, one day in the chic-est cafe on the harbor, I saw a croque monsieur croissant.
The croque monsieur is a ridiculously/adorably-named sandwich (translation: "Mr. Crunchy-Bite") that proclaims frenchiness with every decadent ounce of its being. It's like they heard about a grilled cheese and were grudgingly like, "Ok, that does sound pretty good -- but we need to dress it up a bit." Usually on awkwardly large bread, it features ham, cheese, and creamy béchamel sauce. The bread might be dipped in egg, but the cheese and sauce in the sandwich are not enough: it is topped with more cheese, cooked brown and crispy.
Take all that and replace the bread with two halves of croissant. Monsieur made for an excellent second breakfast, its richness complemented by my delightfully bitter little espresso. Cue the pleasant buzz of a busy cafe, the wind and waves of the harbor across the street, the sun slanting across the table.
-Why second breakfast? Two friends from class were coming over to make fresh pasta and turn it into spaghetti carbonara. Bike-related logistics made for a very late start. But we enthusiastically mixed the dough, let it rest, smooshed it out, rolled it with the magical hand-crank machine, and sent it through a final time to be cut. Skinny little strands spilled out from the roller, which we (increasingly tipsily) separated. Bacon sautéed and egg yolks thickened-but-not-scrambled, it was delicious and/or we were starving.
