Everyone can remember where they were on Friday, May 10, 2013, the day the Cronut was introduced (or “C Day” as devotees call it). Like the rest of the nation, I was dazzled by the concept of a doughnut made from croissant-like dough. Being something of a foodie, I just had to be one of the first to try it and report on it for my baked goods blog, Bread Reckoning.
I bade my family farewell for what I thought would be a morning spent waiting in line for the hit delicacy. However, when I arrived in Soho, the line outside Dominique Ansel Bakery was far longer than I expected. I traveled down the queue, hoping at each corner I would find the end—but it stretched on and on. One less determined than I may have given up, but I was dead set on getting that Cronut.
I walked on and on, finally reaching the end of the line alongside Route 276 just outside King of Prussia, Pennsylvania. I took my place behind my fellow pastry-enthusiasts. We shuffled forward a few steps every so often.
As the days turned into weeks, it became apparent that an ad hoc society had formed among the throng, the hierarchy of which was dictated by one’s position in line. Being toward the end, I was pitilessly harassed by those ahead of me. I was the lowest of the low until more people showed up and took spots behind me in the slowly shambling horde. Once I had people beneath me to inflict my frustration and wrath upon, things began to look up.
I tried in vain to send messages to my family by tying notes to raccoons and pigeons, but I received no confirmation they were ever received. “Sarah must be in high school by now,” I thought while trudging through knee-deep snow near Trenton.
I eventually ceased speculating about my loved ones, who had certainly forgotten about me. The memories only brought pain and sadness, and I needed to be steadfast in my mission, without the distraction of ruminating on the life I had left behind.
As the line grew long behind me with late-comers, and as some toward the front were picked off by famine, disease or interfactional violence, my standing began to improve. I adopted the moniker of The Coyote, as I wore the pelt of a dead coyote I’d found. Those beneath me quivered in fear when I turned to face them, and prostrated themselves in gratitude when I passed down morsels for them to fight over. I was a stern but fair leader, much as my liege Archduke Rusty Muffler had been to me.
I wish I had more interesting tales to spin regarding my slow sojourn, but as you know, waiting in lines is mostly a dull affair. There was some excitement in the summer of 2016 when my clan executed a successful coup against the house above us, the Knights of the Median Strip. Many were lost on both sides during those bloody days, but in the end my kinsmen and I won out, significantly improving our position in line.
On the dawn of the third day of the seventh month of the eleventh year, my quarry came into view: I spied the sign for Dominique's up ahead. Those who had already entered the hallowed bakery and received their bounty walked past, sparing not one glance to us as they clutched their wax paper bags and wept, hurrying off to devour their sacrament in private ritualistic ecstasy.
My time came at last. The tiny bell on the door heralded my arrival. I trudged to the counter and dumped a pile of rumpled bills and change onto the counter. Before I knew it, the bag was in my hand and I fled with my prize. I secreted myself to a trash-strewn alley and opened the bag, inhaling the intensely sweet aroma of my warm Cronut. This was it: The moment I had waited over a decade for. I had given up everything for this. I took a bite, chewing slowly with my remaining teeth…
And it was okay. It was basically a puffy doughnut. This icing was sort of sliding off, likely because it was applied when the Cronut was still too warm. It was smaller than it had looked in the pictures I’d seen, and flatter, too—maybe the delicate matrix of interior dough had collapsed some? I admit it’s possible I may have built it up in my mind just a bit.
I ate most of the thing and tossed the rest to an appreciative rat. It was time to head home at last. I made my way toward White Plains, hoping my family would take me back and that there was still a place for me at the Circuit City where I used to work.