Our in-house croissant connoisseur usually gives supermarket versions a very wide berth, so whose are buttery perfection and whose confirm Felicity Cloake’s prejudices with a firm non?

Until the age of almost 30, I was largely indifferent to croissants, primarily because, despite all the time I’d spent in France, I’d tried a squashy industrial example sometime in the 1990s and decided they weren’t worth the effort. When I finally tasted a croissant fresh from a bakery, out of politeness more than anything else, the flakes fell from my eyes, and a love affair was born. Since then, I’ve made up for lost time – in fact, I wrote an entire book based around the idea of cycling across France rating croissants, and judged the inaugural Isigny Sainte-Mère Best Croissant Competition UK. But I still steer clear of the supermarket variety wherever I am in the world, so this tasting was a baptism of fire for me.

My usual croissant-judging system, out of 10, has had to be adapted for the Filter’s rating system, but the criteria remain the same: I place little weight on appearance, because some of the flabbiest, most disappointing-looking croissants I’ve encountered have been the most delicious and, conversely, some perfect-looking beauties have turned out to taste of nothing. Personally, I favour an all-butter croissant, because I like them to taste of butter, and preferably that slightly sweet French butter; if you have to add more on top, or indeed jam, cheese, or Nutella, they’ve not used enough in the dough. Ideally, the little paper bag should be translucent with grease by the time you get it to the cafe seat where you intend to demolish it in the company of a cafe creme. That said, I’m not averse to the slightly more savoury, bready British style, either, so long as it’s done well.

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