I wanted to tell you about this canelé

I ascend the stairs of Curtin House and and this is Cookie and that is The Toff In Town and this is Dot Comme and the P.A.M Store and Metropolis which is closed for Sunday and now this is Reina which is newly opened and Sibling Architecture and I see the DOT COMME COLLECTION and now I come upon Saloon which I enter apprehensively. 

Inside Saloon I ask for the canelé, which she procures with tongs from the stainless steel kitchenette and she places it gingerly inside a paper bag which is marked with white stitching and writing which is difficult to read, and I look at the other canelés and they appear larger in the light of the day, which is drifting, insofar as light drifts, into Saloon through the lightwell windows, and she proffers me the paper bag, into which she has deftly placed the canelé and which now contains the canelé, the paper bag marked with Bar Thom’s writing, so presumably Thom’s writing, and his stitching and his canelé. ‘Is that everything or would you like to try something else?’ She asks. And I look down and notice that there is a menu which is marked with a childish script in crayon which says Bar Thom and on the paper, printed in type script is a description of the canelé, but below it is the description of a chocolate cookie with rosemary and rye, and immediately I think well, I must exhaust this menu, and so I say: ‘Yes please, I would like to try the cookie.’ She repeats her previous process with the tongs and the paper bag and she again proffers me a second paper bag which now contains Thom’s cookie. So I thank her and I pay for the canelé and the rosemary and rye cookie, and I leave Saloon and I descend the stairs of Curtin House. 

Later I am outside the Curtin House in the street, I find a seat in the street and I sit down to eat the canelé. From my first look into the open bag I can glimpse the majesty of the canelé, and though it is small it seems to loom within the paper confines, and as I produce it from the bag it appears to shimmer, the sheen of that candied exterior is honeyed by the daylight. First it is placed gently in the hand and then it is raised to the mouth, and so I eat the canelé. There is a pleasant aroma, rum in the nose, and on the tongue it is sweet but not cloying, with my confection between my hand and mouth I try to savour the gentle custard of the interior, enclosed in this sugared carapace, as it melts quickly away upon contact with my own warmth. How melodious is the song of the canelé, playing out inside my head, as I finish my treat, well, I sit in the sublime afternoon and I am rendered silent for a moment, I am at peace. Later, I sample the cookie. It is robust, technically impressive. However, the cookie appears conscious of itself, from the rye make-up, and the inclusion of a somewhat arcane herb, it seems that the thought behind the cookie was to justify its being there by rarifying its contents. Bar Thom is capable of baking an exceptional cookie, I believe that it should follow the lead of the canelé, to be the thing in itself, and in itself a wonderful thing, and so I say ‘no!’ ornament. 

(one)

The author eating the canelé.

The author eating the cookie.