For a mere $4.99, you get a decent size loaf that feels like it was hand-delivered by a guy on a Vespa who definitely judges your pronunciation. It looks artisanal, it feels uniquely French, and it demands just 12 minutes of your time at 350 degrees to reach its final, glorious form.
Once it emerges from the oven, you’re looking at a texture that is unapologetically bready. This isn’t a moist sponge or a crumbly cookie. It’s a dense, yeasty, philosophically-stimulating kind of bread. The outside develops that perfect, slight crust that shatters just enough to be satisfying, while the inside remains soft and substantial.
The flavor is the real shocker, though. It’s surprisingly restrained. I’m usually the first person to complain that dark chocolate tastes like expensive dirt, but in this context, it’s the only logical choice. It isn't super bitter, but it definitely isn't cloyingly sweet. It’s chocolate for grown-ups who still want something fun and novel for breakfast.
Sonia and I both went into this with a healthy dose of skepticism, but we were quickly won over by the taste and texture of this unique baked good. It occupies a weird, wonderful space in the culinary world that isn't a muffin, a cookie, or a croissant. It’s just itself. It’s phenomenal for breakfast alongside a strong cup of coffee, and while you could get fancy with some sliced strawberries or a dollop of mascarpone, let’s be real: it's best served toasty and warm with a thick slab of butter melting into every dark crevice.
The beautiful wifey and I were so impressed that we both officially clocked it at eight and a half stars. If you’ve got five bucks and a dream of French indulgence without the jet lag, go find this batard. Although I must leave you with the following warning: try to eat as much of it as you can straight out of the oven. The bread isn't nearly as good when heated a second time. It gets stale pretty quickly once it's out of the bag.
Bottom line: 8.5 out of 10.
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