Sweet, Sweet Escape

Sweet, Sweet Escape

From East to West, 5 French bakeries in Louisiana worth the drive

Chris Turner-Neal, Alexandra Kennon, Sam Irwin, Jordan LaHaye Fontenot, and April Hamilton

Much is made of Louisiana’s French culinary influences, its locally owned restaurants, and the chefs who shape their communities. Inspired by the spirit of the road trip, we’ve shifted that enthusiasm to its sweetest center: Louisiana’s locally-owned French bakeries. From New Orleans to Lake Charles, here are five pastry hubs worth exiting I-10 for.

Croissant d’Or

New Orleans

You can tell that Croissant d’Or, on Ursulines between Royal and Chartres, has a solid pedigree: it’s in the former Angelo Brocato’s, and the main door still has tiles indicating the “ladies’ entrance.” Another good sign is the European-inflected handwriting on the menu boards—anyone who writes an f like that knows good pastry. With a large stained-glass window dominating the main room and detailed floral crown molding painted in Eastery pink, yellow, and spring green, the space is welcoming but still a little glamorous—“Is this what it’s like to be French?” As in all well-designed bakeries, the line to order forms alongside a glass case full of intriguing options. Don’t rush your decision: choosing is part of the pleasure. Fruit-topped tarts glossy with syrup, airy meringues, dramatically brittle Napoleons: all this could be yours.

On my last visit, I chose a ham and gruyere crepe with two fried eggs, a pistachio mousse, and, courtesy of my dieting boyfriend, the croissant that came with his ratatouille omelet. Dessert first: the outer chocolate coating of the pistachio mousse was dark and wonderfully shiny, shot with dark green veins. (You could sell it to children as a monster’s egg.) The interior mousse rested on a layer of cake, minimally sweetened to allow the chocolate to balance the sugar in the nutty foam. On to the crepe: perfectly cozy, cheese and ham in a buttery, spongy little bed, with a little extra nutmeg to make it even more of a treat. The ceded croissant, lightly toasted, was much more than the add-on its place in the menu implied. After mopping up the last of the egg and cheese, I got to enjoy a few bites of unadorned pastry—the perfect end to an excellent breakfast. croissantdorpatisserie.com

—Chris Turner Neal

La Petite Sophie Patisserie

River Ridge

La Petite Sophie Patisserie is an unassuming place, the cheery pale yellow exterior paint only moderately improving the impact of its location in a squat, one-story brick strip mall out on Jefferson Highway in River Ridge. “A diamond necklace, wrapped in plain brown paper,” is the metaphor that springs to mind as I crunch into the end of a perfect classic croissant, paper-thin flakes of pastry falling down around me before I reach the buttery, pillowy-soft center.

Photo taken at La Petite Sophie by Alexandra Kennon

Inside the glass-enclosed wooden display case beside the croissants gleamed rows of pain au chocolat, kouign amanns, sticky buns topped with pecan pieces and sticky-looking maple syrup salted caramel, morning buns whose pretty ridges were lined with cinnamon sugar atop orange-zesty croissant dough, ham and cheese croissants, and a densely-fudgy brownie counterpart, dusted with powdered sugar.

Chef Jeff Becnel doesn’t waste his time with frilly floral-iced petit fours or cream puffs—in keeping with the traditional patisserie, his offerings are European through-and-though, with a few wildcards thoughtfully thrown in to appease local palettes (like the Louisiana-style brioche king cakes they offer during Carnival, next to the glistening traditional galette des rois—assuming they aren’t already sold out by the time you get there). According to their Facebook page, the day I went they had offered a blackberry bostock (some no-doubt delightful brioche concoction I’ve regrettably never encountered), but they had already been cleared out by the time I arrived shortly after nine in the morning. The offerings aren’t excessive, and they do not need to be—Becnel’s technical artistry with dough shines with each flaky, buttery bite.

His medium of choice wasn’t pastry until around eight years ago—before then, he attended the Culinary Institute of America in New York and spent twenty years building an impressive savory resume that included the kitchens of the French Laundry, Guy Savoy, and Commander’s Palace. Then, he began teaching himself to bake, selling his creations at local farmers markets. At the end of 2017 he opened the storefront on Jefferson Highway with an already-established eager following, and named the patisserie for his first daughter, Sophie.

La Petite Sophie’s baked goods can still be found at The German Coast and Gretna Farmers Markets every Saturday morning, and at the Old Metairie Farmers’ Market the afternoon of the first Tuesday of the month. And, of course, at their storefront at 9047 Jefferson Highway. lapetitesophie.com.

—Alexandra Kennon

Champagne’s Bakery

Breaux Bridge

Growing up in Breaux Bridge, I had the good fortune of walking past Champagne’s Bakery every day on my way to school. The visceral pleasure of consuming three pecan drop cookies and a half-pint of chocolate milk all for 25 cents was an earthly delight hard to match. If I had extra money, I splurged on one of Mr. Sidney Champagne’s splendid cream puffs.

The bakery building at the corner of Poydras and Bridge Street was a wondrous experience all on its own. Mr. Sidney displayed a photographic “wall of fame” featuring the brides and grooms he’d made wedding cakes for—a historic who’s who of Breaux Bridge. A fancier of show pigeons, he mounted dozens of blue ribbons won by his flock of well-groomed birds, kept in coops behind his home. And there was no need to have a red light flashing for hot French bread because Champagne’s always had hot French bread. And I haven’t even started on the pastries… chocolate éclairs, assorted cookies, ladyfingers, petit fours, brownies … his display cases were always full. Eventually Sidney passed the business down to his son, Sonny.

But that was then. Today, fourth generation owner owner, Paul Champagne (Sonny’s son) uses the 1888 historic building strictly to bake bread for his commercial customers. In 2015, he opened a satellite store with a drive-thru in Henderson for the pastries, including the bakery’s famous pink cookies. A favorite in St. Martin Parish for years, the tiny delights have become so synonymous with Champagne’s Bakery that Paul copyrighted the name “pink cookies.” They are now being sold in stores in the Lafayette area.

Paul brought a new life to the Champagne’s Bakery brand when he opened the Henderson store, but he made other adjustments as well, including when it comes to the breadmaking. “My grandfather taught my dad, and he followed the recipes exactly,” Paul said. “But I look at barometric pressure and all the factors that affect baking. Also, when they removed the trans fat from the flour, I had to rework the recipes to make everything taste right.”

Reluctantly, Paul closed the Henderson bakery last year. But take heart, he recently acquired the site of the old T-Coon’s Gulf Station property adjacent to the Breaux Bridge bakery, and is in the process of remodeling the filling station to host his retail pastries, with éclairs and pink cookies galore.

—Sam Irwin

Poupart Bakery Inc.

Lafayette

Almost sixty years ago, a French pastry chef had a dream, a dream that drew him across the Atlantic to a little town at the heart of rural Acadiana, where they spoke the same language as he did. And wow, aren’t we all lucky he loved it here.

A true boulangerie, Francois Poupart’s bakery has held court off of Pinhook Road in Lafayette since 1967. Though his son Patrick now manages most of the operations, Francois is still around—carrying on a tradition of joie de vivre in the sweetest of senses. Before you even get to the pastry displays (and you will get to them), there is first the sensation of stepping through time and space—into the world of our French-speaking ancestors and their Old World traditions. Today, as Lafayette’s Francophone generations dwindle, those that remain find a special haven within Poupart’s, where most of the staff still speaks French.

At the shop’s center are the bread displays—each loaf made fresh every day by Patrick, the Master Baker—who has been kneading dough since he was old enough to climb down the stairs from the family’s apartment above the bakery. There’s brioche, there’s ciabatta, there’s sourdough. Dinner rolls and focaccia and poboy loaves. And, of course, traditional French bread.

When I went most recently, I was studying this bread selection when I heard a woman audibly gasp behind me as she gazed mesmerized at the pastry display. “Everything is just so beautiful,” she said. And it is. A kiwi has never looked so pretty as the ones nestled beside the strawberries and blueberries on a Poupart’s fruit tart. Chocolate drizzle has never gleamed quite so brightly as it does atop an artfully arranged slice of chocolate mousse. Comparatively, the French horns, dough wrapped around some undoubtedly delectable filling and sprinkled just so with powdered sugar, looked almost plain. I ordered one anyway, along with a slice of Tiramisu cake, of the Strawberry Delight, and a raspberry tart. It was hard to leave behind the cannolis, which seemed to be bursting from their shells—but the good news is, I live only ten minutes away.

Single bites of each hardly satisfied—the fresh raspberries biting against the cool sweetness of their cream pillow, finished by a satisfying munch of piecrust. The Delight was a journey—taking you through memories of shortcake and crème brûlée and Ponchatoula strawberries in the span of a few seconds. The Tiramisu slice, falling to pieces as the cake dissolved against the mousse, melted richly on the tongue. And that French horn was well worth the second look. Even before I got to the cream cheese filling, the flakey puff pastry shot me straight to the 7th Arrondissement.

The rest of the afternoon was spent dreaming of the leftovers in the fridge (saved oh-so-graciously for my husband). Well, except for the raspberry tart. That one didn’t make it until evening.

—Jordan LaHaye Fontenot

The Bekery

Lake Charles

It was love at first taste when I first experienced a Kouign Amann in New York. For the uninitiated, as I was, this pastry’s name translates from Breton to butter cake, a description that only hints at its flakey layers. In this big city bakery, I pondered each tempting creation in the pastry case while my daughter steered me to the mysterious Kouign Amann, describing it as, “it’s like they did something secret to the best croissant dough and baked it in a muffin pan.” Voila. What these masterful pastry wizards do with a sheet of buttery croissant dough is a downright sensual experience. Rustic caramel brown, puffed high like a gleaming crown, each intricate layer infused with the perfect balance of butter and crunchy caramelized sugar.

Photo at The Bekery

April Hamilton

This experience left me hungry for more and I toyed with trying to make them at home. Then my sweet husband intervened: “Have I told you about the new bakery in Lake Charles?” Thus he lured me to this lakeside town where he works. This man knows the way to my heart! The Bekery is a stop-what-you’re-doing-and-go-now bakery and bistro-cafe. It’s a visit to Paris in Calcasieu Parish. I hopped in the car with my golden retriever in the back and pointed my compass two hours west. I left the windows down for the dog as I scurried in to check out this acclaimed bakery. Jazzy beats streamed on the outdoor speakers, welcoming visitors to come on in or enjoy an al fresco table on the patio.

I bellied up to the counter, mesmerized by the selection of pastries on display. And there it was, the crown jewel: Kouign Amman. “Is that for here or to go?” I never wanted to leave. “For here, please, with a dark roast coffee.” I strolled to an outdoor table to keep tabs on my pup and when my pastry feast was delivered, the server welcomed my furry friend to join me on the patio.

I uncoiled every ethereal layer of this exceptionally crafted pastry, savoring each bite with eyes closed. I thanked my husband for the intel, bringing him a baguette and quiche which he declared the best ever. My original Kouign Amann quest, which seemed such an international affair, has been here all along, so very close to home. The Bekery’s version exceeds any I’ve ever tasted. I’m counting the minutes until I return.

—April Hamilton