Eclipse: the obscuring of the light from one celestial body by the passage of another between it and the observer

I had a favourite croissant.

Of course  I have favourite pastries, I worked in one of the best continental bake houses in Melbourne – AVIV– for a decade. Of course my favourite croissant was their’s when I was working there, because I was lucky enough to have a super fresh one every day.

Fresh pastry, straight from the oven. Swoon. Not much can beat that.

Going back a couple of years, when some workmates told me of their unsociably early morning trips to Lune Croissanterie in Elwood – just for a croissant – I was a little,”meh”.

You can’t impress me with your bakery treats. I have seen them all. I have witnessed the best, I have tasted the best and I have Italian blood, so when I say something’s the best – it is the best. Or let’s not even talk.

And besides, even if I were interested, I am a northsider now, a trip to Elwood, unless it’s to the beach is a firm left swipe. Nope.

And then it happened, Lune moved to the *right side of the river, the side where shit gets real, the side of the river where a humble pastry can win a nobel prize if packaged right – the northsiide.

I watched as the papers reported the phenomena, as the people followed the buttery trail. I saw the crazies in their pajamas on Rose Street that first weekend it opened. I scoffed and nay-ed as they all went on about it. (Because that is what Melbourne people do – you either become a pilgrim for a food craze, or you become a scoffer and nay-er; either way you must pick a side)

Nay, nay, nay, nay, I won’t line up…for a croissant…for  a pastry…for a flaky, puffy, butterball. The French wouldn’t line up. Nope. Nay, nay, no thanks.

But then one day I was riding my bike down Rose Street, Fitzroy. The street was quiet and the sun was shining. And there it was…Lune Croissantarie.

Can we just take a minute to think about how wonderful the word ‘croissantarie’ is.

There was no line, no fanfare, no celestial movement of any kind.

Just a bakery.

(Obvs not just a bakery.)

And I was just a girl. Standing on a street. Asking a pastry treat to love her.

 

From the outside it looked so serious, like a television studio or NASA. From the inside, even more serious. A Laboratory. A Lune-atic’s Lair. A huge open space with a glassed off bakery smack bang in the centre. Operations completely transparent, which has almost become the norm for Melbourne dining.

Behind the glass a couple of bakers were folding pastry, ever so gently, into spherical packages. Another baker cleaned around them. All wearing white. It was hypnotic.

To the right of the glasshouse was a barista, in front of a machine – marooned in the asylum. Scattered about the place were a few customers eating, drinking coffee, crumbs resting on their chins from their fare de Lune. It was eerie, and exciting.

I bought 2 traditional croissants. It set me back around $10.

 

The verdict: Really, really fucking good. Crispy shell, fluffy, bouncy inards, rolled and layered and perfectly flavoured. Fresh. Celestial.

I mean, I could think of plenty of other things to spend 10 or so dollars on that would last longer, like a live gig, or a shopping centre massage, or a plant, or a cheap bottle of wine or an entire Monday.

All that said and done, I scoff no more. The memories of my old favourite anything have been shadowed by the delicate force of the Lune-acy that has been sweeping our fair city.

I surrender.

I have a new favourite croissant.