Eric Kayser

Let me set the scene: Erik Kayser’s bakery at 8 Rue Monge, a stone’s throw from Notre Dame. Getting there felt like a pilgrimage as we waded through drenched streets and construction scaffolding. It felt less like a “charming Parisian stroll” and more like an episode of “Wipeout”. Rain lashed down on us, with each icy drop allowing me the opportunity to further regret my decision to leave my umbrella behind this morning. Once inside, though, the vibe shifted from “drowned rat” to “cozy grandma’s kitchen.” Like a broke tourist, I ordered a pain au chocolat (€1.40) and a butter croissant (€1.20). Every other pastry on display was at least €5. Let’s start with the former: flaky, buttery layers that folded with every bite. The chocolate inside, however, was as cold as a Parisian waiter’s stare. Not exactly the molten, gooey core I’d fantasized about. Did they store it in a cryogenic chamber? Still, solid effort. The butter croissant was… fine. It lacked the structural integrity of a freshly baked specimen—think “slightly deflated balloon” rather than “golden, crisp monument to dairy.” A bit like those 20-pack croissants they sell at discount supermarkets. But for €1.20, I’m not mad. It’s the kind of croissant you eat while muttering, “This’ll do,” as rain continues to soak into your socks. Now, the real drama: attempting to eat these under the bakery’s awning. A worker glared at us like we’d personally offended her lineage of French bakers. Ma'am, I’m just trying to enjoy my pastry without becoming one with the Seine. Is this a bakery or a No Loitering PSA? Overall, Erik Kayser’s croissants are a safe bet for the price—reliable, if not life-changing. Just don’t eyeball the €6 cookie croissant unless you’re prepared to mortgage your firstborn and diagnose yourself with diabetes. Pro tip: Go when it’s sunny, avoid the death stares, and maybe remember to ask them to heat your pastries before digging in. Final verdict: A decent croissant experience (8/10), slightly dampened by the weather, scaffolding, and the existential dread of being judged by a woman in an apron. Would I return? Possibly, but I think I’ll stick to getting my croissants from Maison d’Isabelle, which is just a short walk down the road.