Are America’s Best Croissants in Princeton, New Jersey?

Posted by Carey Jones, February 23, 2009 at 10:00 AM

I'll be the first to admit it: That's a pretty audacious claim. Our fair nation has no shortage of first-class bakers, whether French, French-schooled, or otherwise, who can turn out one fine pastry.

That said, the best croissants that I have had in this country—better than any I have had in New York, or in Boston or in San Francisco, and rivaling those I enjoyed in Paris itself—are from The Little Chef Bakery in Princeton, New Jersey. From this tiny storefront just a few yards from the university campus, the Haitian-born Edwige Fils-Aimé (or "Pouchon," to friends and regulars) turns out croissants, éclairs, cakes, and desserts that rival anything served in the city.

But here, I speak primarily of his pastries. A good croissant, like a well-fried egg or memorable vanilla ice cream, is an excellent reflection of a chef's ability: Nailing the basics generally indicates true skill. And hand-shaped, classically formed, and nearly always oven-hot, Pouchon's are beyond compare.

Have I tried every croissant in this country? Of course not. But comparing Pouchon's to the reputed Manhattan greats, I continue to give him the edge. Yes, New Yorkers—I have tried Balthazar, Bouchon Bakery, City Bakery, Ceci-Cela, Almondine, Patisserie Madeleine, La Bergamote, Financier, Le Pain Quotidien, Panya Bakery, Tisserie, and Patisserie Claude (my own Saturday morning tradition). Many are respectable; some are superb. But none quite rival the bronzed, flaky perfection of Pouchon's croissants. Honestly, as a New Yorker, I wish they did—but for now, I will concede the Best Pastry title to New Jersey. Unlikely though it may seem.

The Little Chef

Princeton is the kind of town small enough that every resident knows every dining option. Ice cream? Halo Pub, Bent Spoon, or T. Sweets—and that's all. Downtown pizza? Iano's or Massimo's—and that's all. Coffee-drinkers go to one of two places: organically friendly Small World or student-packed Starbucks.

Or so I thought, until a blind date with a guy who appeared to have other ideas. We'd agreed to meet for coffee, and as we walked up to Nassau Street I asked his preference—preparing, in truth, to judge him on his answer. "Small World or Starbucks? Small World, I assume?"

"What about the Little Chef?"

The who? That name didn't register in my Princeton lexicon, and I wasn't about to follow a stranger out of town in the middle of winter. But just behind Nassau, tucked down a tiny alleylike street, was a beautiful closet-sized bakery that I'd passed a number of times but never stepped inside.

While I'd glanced at the cake display and refrigerated case, I'd never noticed the coffee menu—nor the four comfy seats up front, nor the pastries in a warming cabinet on the side. And I'd never noticed, either, that only one person waited behind the counter—a small Haitian man, often meticulously filling eclairs or bent over a fruit tart, with the confidence of a guy who clearly ran the show.

My first time inside the store, I shyly ordered a cappuccino and watched him expertly pound his espresso machine into action. Lavazza coffee, whole milk, foamed just right and poured into a cup sized with European restraint. One sip had me sold. This was better than Small World already.

But the real revelation came when I returned for breakfast that Sunday. I had always thought of the Little Chef as a dessert place, for intricate lemon tarts or chocolate mousses. In a wooden cabinet just next to the register, however, nestled rows of deeply bronzed pastries still warm from the oven. At ten in the morning, at least half had already disappeared.

I pulled out the tray, and the Little Chef handed me a plate. I carefully chose a croissant and sat down. The smell was incredible, buttery and rich. The pastry was a beautiful deep brown, caramelized all over; it was firm but not hard to the touch, with gentle layers that held together without flaking or falling away.

Until I bit into it. A perfect croissant does not yield; it shatters. The outer, mahogany layer forms a paper-thin shell that's easily cracked but fights you for a moment—guarding the rewards underneath. There's a kind of infinity in a perfect croissant: one pastry infinitely divisible, first into the sections formed by the roll of the dough, but further, into the dozens of soft, supple layers that peel off when torn, each melting into the next, yet each holding its own tissue-thin integrity.

This croissant was buttery but not greasy, just sweet enough, texturally perfect. The outside, once bitten and breached, left flakes that I dotted with my pinky and just had to eat. The inside was improbably tender, pastry that nearly melted on my tongue.

I finished my croissant. From behind the counter, the Chef was watching me with a slight smile. I turned to him, my mouth hanging open. "I think I need another."

And from that moment, there was no other breakfast for me.

Edwige 'Pouchon' Fils-Aimé

As I returned each morning—as close to the stroke of eight, when the oven-hot pastries appeared, as I could—I was greeted each day with a smile from the man behind the counter. There was only one chef at The Little Chef.

And the story of Pouchon is that of the archetypal American dream. He left his native Haiti in 1986 for Manhattan and soon took a job at La Boulange, then a Midtown bakery, which schooled him ruthlessly in the art of classic French technique. There he learned to shape perfect pastry and whip up a delicate mousse, stack beautiful Napoleons and coax butter and chocolate into anything he pleased.

After years refining his art, Pouchon headed down to Princeton for a brief stint at another bakery before striking out on his own. The Little Chef quietly opened its doors in 2004, with a modest but stunning display of pastries, cakes, and more—and nearly every morning since, Pouchon has waken up before dawn to craft the day's wares.

The raspberry croissants would generally go first, I learned.

Along with the ham-and-Gruyère that the chef turned out only on weekends.

Next the pain au chocolat would fly out of the cabinet, generally while still so warm that a single nibble would unleash a stream of molten Cacao Noel.

Then the almond and apricot-walnut and plain croissants, and the crumbly, buttery scones, and the intricate peach stars, and Edwige's creation du jour—perhaps a cranberry-ginger brioche, or a coconut toast, or a crisp pain au raisin. Rarely did a single pastry survive until the afternoon.

While there's little room to linger, many customers do—stopping to chat with Pouchon, occasionally in French, often with kids in tow. Parents drink their coffee while their children toddle around with pain au chocolat and huge chocolate-stained grins. And on many mornings, Fils-Aimé's wife will wander in with tiny Teighan: the Little Chef's own little one, whose picture stares down from every wall.

Room for Dessert?

A true pastry devotee, I rarely began my day without a visit to the Chef, but equally rarely moved out of my croissant-cappuccino repertoire. As beautiful as his tarts, cakes, and treats appeared, these sweets rarely appealed before ten in the morning. But my frequent breakfast companion, with a notorious appetite, would often indulge—a lemon tart, a Napoleon, a tiny chocolate mousse.

On Valentine's Day, we caught the early train down to Princeton for the only breakfast I know that's worth traveling 50 miles. The Little Chef clapped his hands as we walked in. "Good morning! Good morning!"

Two cappuccini. Two raspberry croissants. Then a chocolate, then a ham and cheese. A little girl ran up to us and waved with a chocolate-covered fist. Her mother ushered her back—and stole a bite of her pain au chocolat. And then ordered one herself. As I sipped my second cappuccino, the Chef appeared from behind the counter with a surprise in each hand. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

Two heart-shaped cakes. One chocolate-hazelnut, and one raspberry—whose bright pink mousse was as light and sweet as the chocolate was impossibly rich.

Not every breakfast ends with dessert. But at the Little Chef, breakfast itself is reason enough to celebrate.

The Little Chef

8 South Tulane Street, Princeton New Jersey 08544 (map)
609-924-5335

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Paris in Princeton at The Little Chef Pastry Shop

Published: Tuesday, October 19, 2010, 12:12 AM

Little Chef Pastry Shop in Princeton, New Jersey.

Princeton's Little Chef Comes Up Big

Posted December 10, 2008 by Carey Jones

Both the language Edwige Fils-Aime grew up with in Haiti and the art of patisserie he learned in New York are second nature now to "The Little Chef."

Paris is known for its patisseries; Princeton, not so much. But Edwige Fils-Aimé, a Princeton pastry chef from Haiti via New York, is quietly changing that. At 5 feet 8 inches tall and 140 pounds soaking wet, he embodies the name of his narrow, two-table shop at 8 South Tulane Street: the Little Chef. Step inside and you are likely to hear customers conversing with the chef in French, or amongst themselves in Italian. “The French and Italian departments?” Fils-Aimé says with a chuckle. “I’ve got them. Professors come for a cappuccino, they stay for three hours.”

“His pastries are better than the ones I have in Europe,” says Sarah Materniak, an aspiring opera singer who divides her time between New Jersey and Italy. John Edwards, a 2008 Princeton grad who majored in French and Italian, is fond of the Little Chef’s croissants. “It’s the butter that makes them so good—not greasy, but flaky and tender,” he says. “They’re always warm from the oven. They might be a little browner one day than the next. Since he makes each one by hand, he makes sure each one is perfect.”

On a recent Saturday morning, a young girl ogled the colorful cakes on display, hardly hearing her parents calling her in French and English. A Frenchwoman sauntered in for coffee—and seven chocolate macaroons. Fils-Aimé, 43, who goes by the common Haitian nickname Pouchon (cute guy), spread currants on a tart as he chatted with its buyer—a pastry chef trained at the CIA. He added a gooseberry garnish and raised both fists in victory. “Beautiful!”

Clad in a T-shirt and flour-streaked baseball cap, the good-humored Pouchon works the counter with easy authority, often to the beat of island music pulsing from his stereo. He came to America in 1986 at age 21 and learned his craft at the Manhattan bakery La Boulange and then at Princeton’s Chez Alice. He launched the Little Chef Pastry Shop (609-924-5335) in 2003. While he takes on the occasional teenage apprentice, Pouchon is a one-man show, rising before 6 am to bake the hundred or so croissants, plus scones and other goodies, that vanish, inevitably, before noon.

Pouchon says his secret is nothing more than top-quality ingredients (like French Cacao Noel chocolate), French technique, and a Panimatic convection oven. “I’ve used them for fifteen years,” he says. “The prices have gone up; it’s been difficult. But I don’t compromise.”

Pictures of his 17-month-old son, Teighen, the Little Chef’s little chef, look down from the walls. “My quality control,” jokes the proud father. Tough critic? “He won’t even eat a pastry!” Pouchon laughs. “But he’ll learn.”

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QUICK BITE/Princeton; The Little Pastry Shop That Could

By Gina Kolata
Published: June 13, 2004

The tiny pastry shop is almost hidden on a tiny lane that looks like an alley, just off the main street in Princeton. Inside is a glass counter with jewel-like, perfectly made French pastries -- ganaches, cream puffs, tarts. And at a table behind the counter you will see the sole proprietor -- slim, unassuming, Edwige Fils-Aimé, wearing jeans and looking at you with a shy smile.

Mr. Fils-Aimé, a pastry chef cum artist, cannot resist adding a special touch to each of his creations. His homemade sorbet, for example, comes in a white meringue shell, decorated with fresh fruits and a couple of meringue kisses. A birthday cake? He writes the birthday message on a scalloped disc of marzipan and props it on top of the cake. ''I don't want to do the same thing as everyone else,'' Mr. Fils-Aimé says. Everyone else puts sorbet in a cup. So, he says, he thought he'd put it in a meringue shell. And he'd decorate it. He is the archetypical hard-working immigrant, working 16-hour days, seven days a week, to realize his dream of having a shop of his own.

The 39-year-old Mr. Fils-Aimé, who comes from Haiti, learned his craft at La Boulange, a French bakery in Midtown that is now closed. He then worked for seven years at Chez Alice, a Princeton gourmet shop and caterer, but was unhappy making foods and pastries. Desserts were what he loved.

So 10 months ago, he struck out on his own, opening The Little Chef Pastry Shop. His hired help consists of a dishwasher and, on weekends, someone to work the counter. Other than that, it's just him and those meticulously prepared and decorated pastries. But despite what sounds like grueling work, Mr. Fils-Aimé is a man who says he loves what he is doing and loves what he creates. ''Everything I do is my favorite,'' he says. Gina Kolata

The Little Chef Pastry Shop, 8 South Tulane Street, Princeton, 609 924-5335, Sunday 7:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., Monday 7:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., Tuesday 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m, Wednesday through Saturday 7:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m.

 

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Haitian pastry chef, Jamaican tea connoisseur partner in Princeton for royal wedding party

Published: Wednesday, April 27, 2011, 8:05 AM     Updated: Friday, April 29, 2011, 10:55 AM

By Teresa Politano/For The Star-Ledger The Star-Ledger
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Frank H. Conlon/For The Star-Ledger

Tea and scones by Pastry Chef Edwige "Pouchon" Fils-Aime and tea party creator Sharon Levy, at The Little Chef Pastry Shop in Princeton

 

Oh sure, they look all sturdy sitting on the top shelf of the bakery case at the Little Chef in Princeton, as if they were a collection of oversized pastel buttons ready to be discovered by some statement-making fashion designer for his next whimsical spring collection.

And then you eat one, and it turns out to be as fragile as a whisper, collapsing onto itself as if it were a delicate facsimile of a cookie, a mere hologram, an existential collection of textures and sweetness that somehow managed to appear momentarily real. And then you marvel again at the French, and their ability to take sugar and eggs to ethereal levels.

Edwige Fils-Aime is the owner of the Little Chef, and to say that his pastries have become legendary in this town would be an understatement. His chocolate croissants are gone practically as soon as they’re made, and the elegant tarts, napoleons and crème brulees that sit in his case are as artful as they are delicious. One bite is revelatory — surely the recipes behind these pastries must encompass several pages, step after patient step, and scads of judiciously used top-notch ingredients. These are treats for those who prefer the finer things.

And thus it makes sense that Fils-Aime has partnered with Sharon Levy to offer a tea party celebration for the Royal Wedding on Friday, a way to celebrate the Kate Middleton and Prince William ceremony in style, even if you have to get up at 5 a.m. to do so. Levy will bring the party to you (yes, even at that hour), a tea party as elaborate or simple as you like. The party includes scones, clotted cream, jams, finger sandwiches, gourmet English teas, even fine china and fresh flowers.

And among all the parties catered that day, this one in particular surely ranks high amid the examples of modern-day cultural globalization — a Haitian immigrant who makes French pastries has partnered with a Jamaican tea connoisseur for a New Jersey celebration of a marriage in the monarchy of Great Britain.

Fils-Aime fell in love with the business at La Boulange in New York, quitting his college chemistry classes to learn the trade from one French master after another at the now-closed pastry shop. The next stop on his résumé was Princeton’s Chez Alice, where Fils-Aime was diligent in saving his earnings to open his own shop.

Levy, a former IT worker for IBM, is marketing a concept the Brits already hold dear, but one that’s not exactly revered on this side of the pond. The idea is simple: that one should never underestimate the civilizing power of a cup of tea. And Levy is making converts, one cup at a time, for her specially blended loose-leaf teas, her tea parties and her etiquette and table manners workshops for kids and teens.

“I’m selling the tea experience,” she says. “It’s about making yourself feel special.”

One of her best-selling teas is the Blue Mango Paradise, a blend of Sencha green tea, mango pieces, pineapple pieces and mallow flowers. Other blends have equally exotic names — the South African Honeybush Vanilla, Ice Wine Delight, Belgian Chocolate Pleasure, Spiced Ginger Green.

And her tea business is slowly growing — more people seem interested in the small pleasures of an aromatic tea in a china cup (Levy advises against using a mug — it’s too businesslike), of taking a break for yourself every day. “You don’t need a reason for a tea party,” she says, with conviction enough that you believe it her daily mantra.

Her philosophy may be true enough, but plenty of reasons also exist. Levy has done Mother’s Day events, corporate events, teacher appreciation events, Miss New Jersey events. Among her favorite parties was a charity function at the Trenton soup kitchen. (See her Saturday at the Communiversity Festival of the Arts in downtown Princeton.)

Levy remembers the last royal wedding, roused by her mother to a cup of tea and the fairy tale spectacle of Lady Diana. This time around, Levy will be rousing her own daughter to watch Kate Middleton officially enter the royal family, a bride who will influence the future of wedding dresses, hat styles and the number of knee-high suede boots we wear. Kate Middleton has already proven herself quite likable and appealing, says Levy. “I can’t wait to see the wedding.”

With one crucial caveat.

“There’s not going to be anybody like Lady Di.”

The Little Chef

8 South Tulane St., Princeton

(609) 924-5335, littlechefpastries.com