Pret Almond Croissant Review
Great Ex-Pret-Ations Part 2
Pret, you were the future once. I remember the first time I went, on a debating trip to London in year 12, a day otherwise notable for popping in, high on argumentative spirit, to the Tottenham Court Road Dianetics Centre, where we were greeted by a dead eyed south African man who told us very gently that "we don't eat foetuses." Pret felt so exciting then. Fresh, quality sandwiches - like you'd get in a smart deli - except super conveniently and without having to deal with anyone. They even did cappucinos - not as a bowl of coffee you'd get in a Costa but something stronger, punchier. It felt like the realisation of a middle class dream I'd never known I'd had - a taut triangle joining quality, convenience and aspirational symbolism. This was in that 2013-2015 era where things were changing very quickly: craft beer, the iced latte, kale. There was a time when, being in Britain, you just couldnt get a proper pizza. Imagine that now. You can get a world class Chicago Deep Dish, Detroit Pizza, Neapolitan Pizza, White Base Sourdough Pizza just in Soho. We are in the true final stage of capitalism, where we sit on an ever shifting node that connects anything with everything. But there lies the lurking hulk of negation - a burnt out TS Eliot on Margate Sands, connecting “Nothing with Nothing.” We are citizens of nowhere, eating uncanny valley foreign food. It is not inauthentic because it is bad; it is not inauthentic because it uses the wrong ingredients: it is inauthentic because it proposes a totally different relationship to what food and drink is about in those cultures. If you are eating alone you are never experiencing Lebanese food - because a mezze platter is designed around a culture of communality. Everything is great except the social fabric of our lives. We are too busy and too lonely to enjoy anything that has been provided for us. Pret A Manger connects us with everything we ever wanted. In doing so, we are confronted with the void, scorched with the narcissistic sting that the only thing we ever wanted was to feel part of something important. There are no status points left to score here, no fantasy trips of the tastebuds left to travel on. And yet still we are, the lonely and busy. All that £2.29 has bought us is an almond croissant. And that isn't nearly enough.
The almond croissant was good. At first bite it was a bit too marzipanny and a bit less peshwari-y which made it taste almost sour, but that actually paid off in the long run because it got better with every bite, whilst most almond croissants end up unbearably sweet. They’ve thought about it, this stuff. And fair play to them. Peace and love.