A Pastry Wedding

In a society powered by a collective obsession with novelty desserts, it’s only natural to flood the streets when word of a new treat breaks. The marriage of two desserts is no exception; it’s an occasion that warrants hours of waiting in line, whether it be for a cronut, brookie, cake pop, or cruffin. No New Yorker wants to miss the wedding.

When an empty Sunday presented itself, we made our way uptown in pursuit of confection’s latest fad: the crookie. The union of the croissant and the cookie was a grand one, as evidenced by the line that greeted us when we turned onto 32nd Street. Upon entering the bakery 45 minutes later, the aroma of chocolate and butter perfumed us. It twirled through the shop as we claimed four worn leather armchairs nestled in a far corner.

Two crookies walked down the aisle to our table, lattés at their side. Steam billowed from the pastry as I tore off a piece, golden flakes scattering. Gooey chocolate dripped down my forearm with the first bite. Warm cookie dough swaddled in a buttery croissant crust melted in my mouth, chased by sips of silky almond latté.

Sweeter than an overhyped hybrid dessert is an aimless Sunday with nowhere to be but a midtown bakery. We ordered breakfast burritos and debriefed the dates, nights out, and mishaps of the weekend. The sun sailed from eleven, to one, to four as we sunk deeper into our chairs, volume rising with each cup of coffee and passing hour.