The past few weeks I’ve heard more references to the unusually named Breton butter bomb kouign amann than I have since I lived in France. And this mysterious pastry – which I sampled once fifteen years ago during a weekend jaunt to Douarnenez – is one whose buttery richness is indescribable and impossible to forget. Plus the name is unusual, and a real challenge to pronounce the first few times (at least until the butter from the kouign amann has lubricated the hard to reach larynx muscles).
In any case, hearing about a Parisian patisserie that’s now stocking this pastry, if more in name than in practice, has me longing for a long-ago memory of a train trip to the Breton coast with girlfriends, where we gorged on fantastic seafood and buttery desserts, and did a fair share of laughing, eating and drinking.
All this from a funny named butter pastry.