Why vegan croissants are difficult for French people to eat

Seated there, in all its flaky splendor, are two plump claws that almost cry to be pulled off and eaten, and a crust the color of autumn leaves. As French as the guillotine and as light as the breeze.

One flawless croissant.

However, this specific pastry, one of many crammed into a showcase shelf at a plain-looking boulangerie in the heart of Paris, is no typical offering. Not at all. This croissant is devoid of butter, a bold departure from almost a century of devoted cooking customs, and an acknowledgment of broader movements aiming to transform French cuisine and farming.

Seldom has sacrifice been so alluring.

Rodolphe Landemaine smiled and said, "I'm changing the world," in between bites of a pain au chocolat that had been painstakingly laminated and free of butter.

The baker Landemaine already runs five thriving boulangeries in Paris and plans to open more in other French towns. All of the establishments cater mostly to local customers and provide only dairy-free items.

It's not as though he promotes the lack of butter, eggs, or cow's milk in his stores. To be sure, he never says the phrase "vegan"

"French people find it difficult to get acclimated to this term. They find it quite tough to give up on butter and eggs," he said, adding that many people find the notion of veganism to be too "militant."

Rather, Landemaine, a vegan who is concerned about climate change and animal welfare, has taken a more covert approach, hoping that his croissants, madeleines, quiches, sandwiches, flans, and pains au raisins will make his customers fall in love before they discover—too late—that butter has been substituted with a blend of secret plant-based ingredients.

And maybe, the reasoning goes, everything is conceivable if he can convince traditional French palates to accept croissants "sans beurre".

Just as expected, a little child passed by us holding onto the remnants of a fragile claw, which he enthusiastically pronounced to be delicious.

A 42-year-old singer called Anne said, "It tastes lighter," as she nibbled the edge of her croissant.

It's excellent. "I doubt I could tell the difference," Marta, a Polish guest, said about her pain au chocolat. Even though she is not vegan, she noticed that whenever she requested oat milk with her coffee, French servers would often give her a disapproving look.

"I see the judgement in their eyes because it's just not part of their culture," she said.

A few odd pastries can't really be seen as a big danger to a nation that is battling all kinds of new influences, including challenges to its long-standing policy of official secularism or le wokisme of imported "Anglo-Saxon" cultural warfare.

However, there are a number of sensitive points raised by this topic, including the French people's intense but changing bond with the terroir, or land, the growing farmer protests throughout Europe, the disruptions brought on by climate change commitments, and France's almost religious devotion to specific culinary customs. Amidst all of this, there is the looming June European Parliament elections, which are predicted to bring significant advancements for far-right groups in France and other countries.

"Not for me, no way," Thierry Loussakoueno said, sounding rather incensed at the thought of a croissant devoid of butter.

One recent morning, Loussakoueno was occupied with presiding over a customary croissant contest in a conference room with wooden panels along the Seine River in the heart of Paris. A group of dairy farmers from southwest France sponsored the event, which was one of several organized by the French Union of Bakers and Pastry Makers' Paris headquarters. The food sector in France is often known for being very well-organized, traditional, and eager to protect itself.

"These vegan cakes are beyond my understanding. I absolutely appreciate anyone who choose not to consume meat for whatever reason, and I can understand their decision. However, dairy and butter are simply too crucial to culinary flavor, so skipping them is regrettable and unacceptable "explained Parisian government worker Loussakoueno.

As they sniffed and prodded a series of crescent-shaped products, other judges and contestants discussed the need to defend French farmers.

I find it hard to even consider the possibility of cooking croissants without butter. Cooking expert Olivier Boudot said, "There are many people involved in the process; there is a whole family behind this."

A robust 700kg Holstein cow navigated into an automatic milking area in a spacious barn surrounded by gently green hills around one hour's drive northwest of Paris, close to Amiens. Her owner, Sophie Lenaerts, was watching.

A robot arm slid four suction cups under the cow, casually relieving her of a dozen litres of milk that were headed for a neighboring butter plant. "Amazing machines," Lenaerts said.

Lenaerts, 57, is more worried about other things than the potential danger of vegan croissants being offered to customers in cities. Still, the problem irks me.

She has spent a large portion of the last six months, along with many other small farmers in France and elsewhere, furiously planning demonstrations against the EU's agriculture policy, which she believes is ruining her sector. This month, she intends to return to Brussels to assist in blocking roads close to the European Union headquarters.

Later, as she sat in her cozy farm kitchen, Lenaerts vented about the importation of less expensive, inferior foreign food products, the enormous markups that middlemen and distributors put on her produce, and the idea that farmers are all too often made to pay for any problems relating to climate change.

"My grandkids are here. The finest planet is what I desire for everyone. However, the farmer is always held responsible," she said.

For her, vegan croissants were just another example of the larger "industrial madness" that included exporting weird delicacies all over the world so that "certain food companies" may make a profit. a hybrid of virtue-signalling and cynicism.

Through a window streaked by raindrops, Lenaerts peered out onto her fields. The farm produces ninety-eight percent of the feed for her cows. Her family purchases almost all of their food from her neighbors, who live just a short bike ride away. Without a doubt, she said, this is how we address climate change in addition to a number of other issues. Rather, this "virtuous circle" is already in danger of disappearing.

"The worry of losing our land, our legacy, is the fear of losing French agriculture. Farmers are responsible for preserving France's natural beauty and attracting tourists to the nation. It will be even worse when there are no more farmers or cows. But in terms of knowledge, I believe we're at a tipping point," Lenaerts went on, citing the public's overwhelming support for the most recent farmers' demonstrations.

"If everyone makes a small effort to eat well, to pay attention to what they're buying, things ought to travel in the right direction."

There are some positive indications for it.

Slicing up the morning's delivery of lovely asparagus spears, lettuce heads, kumquats, and radishes, six ladies stood in a spotless restaurant kitchen off a little street in Paris's upscale Marais neighborhood, focused solemnly.

Owner and chef Manon Fleury, who was gliding between them, was still rejoicing over her restaurant Datil's first Michelin star, which she had received in March. Fleury, a former juvenile fencing champion, has gained a lot of notoriety in France for her bold efforts to upend the male-dominated restaurant business, but she is also trying to change the course of French culinary culture with her cuisine, which focuses on "mostly vegan, poetic" meals.

Hers is by no means the only restaurant of its kind in Paris, but tourists may notice how far behind meat- and dairy-loving France is in offering even the slightest nod towards vegetarian options. This includes the millions of people who will soon swarm the city for the Olympic Games in July.

Fleury acknowledged that "the French tradition is quite heavy."

She was aware of the expense of attempting to keep with a smaller network of reliable organic farmers rather than trying to break away from bigger suppliers.

"This type of food is becoming more and more popular, but it needs to be in harmony and balance," Fleury said, attempting to sound both radical and comforting at the same time.

"Sometimes that you have to be radical to change the world," she said.

A little revolution?

Yes, in a way. but in a really nice way."

When I returned to the bakery, which was maybe fifteen minutes away by bicycle from Fleury's restaurant, the early-morning throng of customers had subsided. Behind glass stood one final lonely croissant waiting to be eaten. The owner, Landemaine, stated that his company was expanding quickly and that there was great demand from the UK, Dubai, and other places. He said that additional stores will soon open in Bordeaux, Lyon, and Rennes.

The fact that he said other French food corporations were observing his achievement was maybe more noteworthy.

"They see a shift in the market. The high cost of butter for a number of years is one factor (in their interest)," he said.

However, Landemaine admitted that there was still a long way to go.

Things are evolving. But not so fast," he added, as one of his bakers came out of the kitchen in the basement with a tray full of dark, airy, chocolate tarts devoid of butter.