When curiously asking about the quality of Indian pastry this city has to offer, the conversation with a coworker of mine didn't really take off in any strange direction. He said that he would, like alot of us I'm sure, love to open a patisserie in Kitchener-Waterloo and make really decadent pastries and breads etc. Because then he'd be the only one. The only one. The only one that didn't order from a huge manufacturer. Could the mid-size city of Waterloo really ever deliver? Well, if I was trendier than I am, I would have known and could have told my co-worker that such a place exists, and that yes: Waterloo does have one. Only one. A shame? Not for the person running it. Yes, for all of our mouths, especially since being a patissier warrants the creation of many different pastries, and competition to be the best in town. In theory, that is. In France, probably. But when it comes to the only legitimate place in Waterloo, where the owner - a pleasant young woman with a pleasant French accent (or so I was told, I couldn't hear it at all) - has actually been to France and trained as a Patissier (that's pastry chef for those of you who don't know), she can pretty much charge as much as she wants and expect you'll pay it, just so you can say: "oh, darling, I went to this quaint little patisserie," leaving out, "this quaint little patisserie that's been overshadowed by a 25 story apartment complex immediately beside it," and seem more cultured, and in the know, not taking into account the overworked woman who runs the joint, because you yourself worked hard to bag your rich husband too y'know. I feel for her, I really do. The rich woman, that is.
Sablétine: Fine Pastries is a quaint little patisserie located on the outskirts of Uptown Waterloo, and I'm positive I wouldn't have found out about it if my stay-at-home-mom-sister (no, my mom isn't my sister - my sister is a mom who stays at home) hadn't told me, regardless of the fact that it's located in the same plaza where my mother pays a hefty sum to get our small dog shaved (almost to death). But, I'm glad she did. Why? Psshh. You. . . always asking, why? You know I'll tell you. Because Sablétine is the real deal. So real that you'd literally have to come right when the doors open so you can get a good grab on whatever it is they're making that day. And, contrarily, so real that you'd have to make a pretty penny to afford it. Say "monopoly" with me. For now, anyway. But hey, that's what makes for an awesome culinary adventure. I was pumped knowing it was like a race. No one would get to those doors before me - except for the old people that were there and comfortably seated, at 9:30 a.m., on a Saturday. And it had only opened for an half-hour so far. During the weekdays it opens even earlier. I would have been earlier, but I couldn't find my camera. Sirrah. Just be glad I got no one in my shots, or next to no one, the place was about as cramped as a Tokyo subway; but no one was forcing me to stay there - though they do serve coffee. On that note, I'll talk about the atmosphere. Hey, why not? But, I bet you can guess it anyway. A window sill, light coming in and washing over an open concept kitchen, a big stove, a pile of bagets, a disaply case with expensive pastries - delicious, expensive pastries. And the ever present smell of puff pastry and butter. Like I said, it's quaint. It's quaint, it's decadent, it's full of old women knocking elbows with young 24 year old men trying to blog about food. But how many times can I say quaint and decadent in this post? Enough to get the point across. It's a pleasant, though crowded space. And besides, you can't talk French - Parisian French, not Francophone French - without using those words at least 157 times. I did the math. It's so quaint, it's so decadent that the fresh baguettes they sell aren't even bagged. Oh no! They're wrapped delicately in napkin, comme en France. Yes, I was reminded of the stories of my mother who, with my father would go to the bakers early in the morning while on stays in France and get their bread the same way, and how by 9 o'clock at night my father would be hungry and irritated by the fact that nothing in France is opened after 9. But that was a long time ago.
I won't complain about the prices. Because I, like a well developed Philip K. Dick character, can accept the indifferent nature of reality and the injustice one may think it causes. But as I've mentioned before, this is a legitimate establishment, with someone trained in the art of pastry making, and they can therefore legitimately charge what they like. So use discretion before going into a place like this. I can tell you this, I bought two dessert pastries, two croissants, a cinnamon bread stick, and some puff pastry (like a croissant) all near 20 dollars. Those fresh out of the oven pastry like fineries come to near 2 dollars each, and the only thing that really warrants buying them is the propoganda you may get for yourself after shopping at the place, because they taste more or less like other pastries you can buy immediately in the grocery store. But, after all, it's the experience isn't it? And how could you blame someone who religiously gets up at 3 am to bake in order to make a living? Hmmm? I didn't think so. So accept it and move on. The desert pastries are another story. Ranging from 1.75 to around 5.00 dollars a piece + tax. And believe me, some of them are tiny. But goodness are they a riot to look at. I still haven't eaten them all.
You can't feel bad about the price if the taste is there, just like you can't feel bad about the taste if the price is right (but I can). So then, let's approach this nice little hierarchy shall we? Starting with the everyday staples on the bottom.Having dragged my mother along (my Italian one, not my Thai one), and being as good a son as I could be, I let her have her choice of whatever and report to me how it felt (in her mouth). She's fed me these past 24 years, I could at least do the same. We were both dazzled by the fact that the puff pastry had some kind of ganache filling in its centre. But that was about as dazzling as it got. For that anyway. My mom reported that the pastry itself was rather doughy, and that the ganache tasted like any other chocolate. I likened it to Nutella; that delicious hazelnut spread, absent from many of my young Italian childhood mornings. Alas, Sho ga nakatta. The croissants, like I said, didn't fall far from the puff pastry tree. But they didn't taste bad. They were good. But for two dollars a piece, they should have tasted better. What's more, a good observation on my mother's part, was that some of what came out of the oven looked a little too dark. We were lucky enough to have been given the golden ones in our paper bag. My mom made another good observation that could only be realized by someone who's lived and worked so long around food herself: that someone so young would be a little overwhelmed by the amount of business they do. So, some quality might be sacrificed. Especially in a city where a place like this hasn't existed before and everyone loves being - that's right, "decadent." I did like the cinnamon stick, sweet, flaky, yet held together by some immaculate, firm, moist, spongy dough. And as for the pastries I bought: one being near 3.00 dollars, the other near 5.00. Let me tell you. One was an eclair, like, a geniune, real french eclair; and I haven't had a good eclair in 5 solid years - actually, I haven't actually had a good eclair because I never tried one until now. This was no doughy, soft, chewy eclair; but, slender, glazed, with bite, and enough firm character to stand on its own. It was a sweet punch to my face. It made me want to shadow box. And what can I say about my near 5.00 coconut tart? Delicious. Not a tart at all, really. A delicate and mild custard enclosed by a strong crust that I can only liken to a shortbread, but with more body. I haven't eaten anything like it. And to top it off, a typical whipped cream, flavoured and topped with coconut. At least I know where the quality is going, which would make sense. Why any patissier would want to lose face is beyond me. I mean, croissants, puff pastries, baguettes: small potatoes, like a bowl of steamed rice, or decently cooked pasta. They're just everyday staples of culinary execution; the real test comes in the wok, the sauce, the dessert. Why else does ganache and panache sound so similar? Cyrano was French after all.
So, heed the warnings from this ghost of Valentine Present: sure, you COULD go to the grocery store and pay .25 cents per croissant, 1.25 per baguette, but where's the risk? Where's the excitement? Most of all, where's the adventure? What fun is food if you can't look, and work for it? So I say, bag a rich husband if you can, all for the sake of sweet Sablétine. Adieu, Adieu.
Sablétine Fine Pastries
203 King Street S.,
Waterloo, Ontario
519.568.7373
http://www.sabletine.com/
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