American Croissants
AMERICAN CROISSANTS – September 18, 2024 – New York City, New York, USA
A cloth version of the French flag hung from Café Marche’s ceiling. Smaller versions of the flag, attached to plastic stirring straws and set in miniature vases, decorated the counter and round tables used by customers sipping coffee. Countless pastries packed the display cases but the ones that got the most attention were labeled “Real French Croissants.” Signs advertised that they were “Made Fresh Daily” and “Flown in from Paris.”
Blanca Gonzalez, the café’s manager, stood behind the croissant case reassuring a skeptical customer who stood at the front of a line that stretched to the door.
“You can’t be serious about those things coming from France,” the frumpy-haired customer said sharply.
“We are serious,” Blanca snapped back.
“What flight were they on?”
“I don’t know. My job is to sell them.”
“How can they possibly stay fresh?”
“All I know is that they are fresh.”
“And how can they only cost $10? The overhead from flying them in would be astronomical.”
“You have to trust what’s on the sign. Now, do you want a croissant or not?”
The customer paid for one croissant and nibbled it critically. By the time she finished and left the store, she had no more questions about authenticity.
Blanca brought up the conversation, and many more like it, the next time she saw Café Marche’s owners, Geno and Barry.
“People are asking a lot of questions. They don’t see how it’s possible the croissants are coming from France.”
“Why not?” Barry asked in only half-surprise.
“For one thing, they should cost more. Ten dollars doesn’t seem like enough to cover the flight over.”
“So people want to pay more?” Geno asked with a laugh. “Who really cares what they say as long as they keep buying them?”
Blanca frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know. It could totally backfire. What if someone found out what was going on and really caused a scene? I could see a video about it going viral. You know how New Yorkers are. They always think someone’s out to get them.”
“Maybe we should cool it with the ‘made in France’ thing,” Barry said cautiously.
“No way! We gotta good thing going,” Geno insisted. “The croissants are easily our top money maker.”
“How about we stop saying they’re flown in every day?”
“But that’s the gimmick. That’s why people show up. No one’s gonna come across town for a regular croissant. And we spent a lot of time getting them just right.”
The raw truth of the matter was that the French croissants they sold were made in the café’s ovens each morning. They were not baked in Paris and rushed onto a jet for a transatlantic flight with Barry and Geno waiting for them at the airport. But both owners were experienced bakers who had spent time studying croissants in France. They knew the recipes and ingredients. When they returned to America, they experimented with what it took to make a croissant taste French. It all came down to the flour. Butter and other ingredients did not matter. Neither did the ovens. With the right French flour, they could make croissants in New York that were indistinguishable from those they made in France.
As for their marketing, Barry and Geno figured they were being a little misleading, but so was every other good advertisement. They were making real French croissants and at least the flour was flown in from Paris.
Geno looked across the counter at Blanca and Barry and pounded his fist. “I say we double down on the whole French thing. If people think they should cost more, let’s raise the price and blame it on higher airfares.”
“What if they ask what flight they came in on?”
“We’ll make a big production out of it. We’ll hire a delivery truck to arrive each morning. We’ll even have them drive back and forth from the airport in case anyone is watching.”
Barry laughed and said, “You can’t be serious about hiring an empty truck to drive around.”
“Why not? And you know what else we should do? Stop making so many croissants every day. We should make a limited number. Say 500. Act like that’s all we get from Paris per day. When we run out, it’ll just make people want them more.”
Barry nodded his head and said, “That’s not a bad idea.”
“And Blanca can tell people they’re transported in special vacuum sealed boxes to keep them fresh.”
At that moment, Geno had what would prove to be his most important idea. He stared at one of the delicate croissants inside a glass counter and said, “And what we really need is something to compare them to. When someone walks in off the street and sees our French croissants, right next to them we should have a different model that looks less . . . well, less French. Then Blanca can point to the French one and say, “Can’t you see the difference?”
Barry laughed again and imitated a customer gawking at the glass case. “Yes, I see. The French one looks so much better. Take my money. Take as much money as I have.”
The café owners and manager got right to work on the changes. Raising the price of a croissant was easy and so was limiting the daily batch size to 500. With a little help from his cousin, Geno found a man with a small box truck willing to drive from JFK airport early each morning with a pretend delivery. Empty, vacuum-sealed containers were carried into the café’s rear kitchen with great ceremony.
The element of Geno’s plan that took the most time to develop was a recipe for an alternative croissant. The owners spent nights in the kitchen perfecting what they called the “American Croissant”. They put sugar in the dough to make it sweeter. They altered the baking time so the American version turned out less flakey and chewier. And the new pastry was larger and easier to spread with butter and jam.
The café placed the American croissants next to their smaller French cousins in the largest display case. Plastic French flags sat side-by-side with American flags. The French croissants were priced at $20 each. The American version only cost $2.50. Anyone who questioned whether the smaller croissants were made in France was encouraged to try both varieties. Anyone who had been to France was quick to certify the authenticity of the more expensive model.
“Oh yes, these were definitely made in Paris. See how flakey and delicate the layers are. You can only get that in a French bakery. Worth every dollar.”
Contrary to the simplest laws of supply and demand, raising the price of the French croissants made them more popular. A new morning ritual took hold in the neighborhood as a line of customers waited for the French croissants to arrive. They cheered for the box truck and shouted for café employees to “hurry up already” and put the croissants out. Each one represented sophisticated taste and an appreciation for the finer things in life. Wall Street bankers sent personal assistants across town for bags full of croissants to impress colleagues and clients. With only 500 per day to go around, nabbing a croissant became more difficult than reserving a table at New York’s best restaurants.
On most mornings, the French croissants were gone by 8:30. Blanca placed a large sign reading “Sold Out” inside the display cabinet and those still in line groaned in disappointment. Rather than walking away, many of them asked for American croissants instead. That supply was unlimited.
A funny and unexpected thing happened. As customers ordered American croissants simply because they were available, they developed a taste for the new creation. The larger and much cheaper pastries were definitely more economical. Price per bite of the French version was ten times that of the American. And more and more people simply liked the taste. Not as sweet as a donut, the American croissants paired well with coffee and hot chocolate. The long morning line at the café continued, but an increasing portion of the early arrivers ignored the French croissants.
Four months after implementing Geno’s plan, the café stopped selling out of French croissants. They reduced the number in a batch from 500 down to 400 and then down to 200 in order to avoid throwing so many away. To make up for their falling price margins, they raised the price of the strongly popular American croissants.
Blanca, Barry, and Geno stood behind their croissant counter one afternoon contemplating their inventory. Plenty of the delicate French versions were still available. Meanwhile, the oven in back worked nonstop to keep up with the demand for the American recipe.
“You know, I haven’t had anyone question the Paris flight thing for a while,” Blanca said matter-of-factly. “Almost like the novelty has worn off.”
“I guess it couldn’t last forever,” Barry replied with a disappointed shrug. “Kind of like fashion. People change what they want to eat the same way they change what they want to wear.”
“I don’t know. We seem to be doing fine with the American croissants,” Geno added. “We’re selling more of those than ever.”
Blanca nodded in agreement. “Very strong. I don’t see that changing any time soon.”
Geno grinned. “I did not see that coming. We created a monster almost by accident. Someday soon, a store in France will put up a sign advertising American croissants.”
Barry was quick to add, “And they’ll claim they were made in New York and flown in every morning.”
Please remember to subscribe for weekly reminders about new stories. You can subscribe by clicking here: Subscribe. You can also follow new content on any Podcast platform or on YouTube. For the full list of stories, return Home.