Croissant
Can’t find a fresh croissant? Do not fear, the good folk at "Gusparo" will save you. From the picture on the packaging, I expected the croissant to be a candy replication of a croissant, much like the Banany is a candy banana and the Erdbeeren is candy strawberries. The picture makes the innards look white and spongy, like something from an anatomical diagram, some kind of artery with fat deposits on the side, or something you might find in a lung.
I was scared to open up the croissant package. The plastic packet was filled with air to cushion the contents, and no amount of pressing gave me a clue as to what was inside. I bravely took hold of the ends of the package and tore it open – and to my surprise the croissant actually looked like bread.
It looked like a small, drab croissant. So far, it was acceptable. The next test was the smell test, in which it didn’t perform so well. It smelt of ethanol, of those small cotton swabs that are used to wipe skin before blood tests or injections.
Before I lost heart, I bit into it. A photograph of my face at that exact moment would have showed an expression of questioning horror. It tasted like bread soaked in metho, and the jam inside had no taste except a generic sweetness. It certainly was no replacement for a fresh croissant, I imagine the only way that it would be a pleasure to eat would be if you dipped it in hot chocolate or coffee (which I would never do, as I have a fear of wet bread). I managed to eat the whole thing, because it wasn’t very big, and I had the idea that it might get better as I went along. The jam part was marginally better than the plain part, but not much.
Despite it’s lack of success, I feel honoured that Fiona saw this item and thought of me straight away. I can picture in the post apocalyptic future, survivors coming across a box of these and rejoicing. Unfortunately, that would be the only time this food would be a source of joy.