Ode to a brioche

If my calculations are correct, then sometime in the last few weeks, a milestone appears to have slipped by under the radar: at some recent juncture, I ate my 100th cinnamon, date and walnut brioche from Little & Friday.

It is only in writing this down that I realise how ridiculous it sounds.  But I’ve done the maths.  Slowly and surely, my ritualistic Saturday morning practice of driving across the Auckland Harbour Bridge to Belmont (or, on the odd occasion, through the Newton gully to Newmarket) for a trim flat white in a tulip cup and a brioche (heated, please) has led to the only century I’m likely to ever achieve.  I acknowledge this feat whilst maintaining steadfast wilful blindness to the associated calorific accretion.

The representative 100th brioche
The representative 100th brioche

My Polaroid mugshot made it onto the “regulars” wall at the Belmont premises briefly; thankfully, this feature appears to have fallen victim to a redesign.  For a brief, joyous period, Little & Friday supplied both Supreme Seafarers and Good One, placing my vice of all vices in dangerous proximity to my flat and workplace. The end of that supply relationship was perhaps healthy in stymying my consumption, but there are now whisperings of a Ponsonby Little & Friday outlet in the works…

There have been dalliances, yes – I partake in a date and orange scone on a regular basis, and have recently sampled the relatively new “blackboard” menu. But the brioche is my true spirit animal. Evangelically, I have spread the gospel – on a recent visit, all four of our number eschewed the extensive array of tempting treats and uniformly opted for the brioche.

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I could attempt to make a homemade version – I own the cookbook – but that would doubtless only lead to disappointment.  Once or twice, I have arrived before they’re out of the oven; the wait is but a small price to pay.  The savoury and chocolate variants look perfectly nice, but I can’t go past the spicy, nutty spiral of joy that has become my signature order.

It’s a cliché because it’s true: actions speak louder than words.  I think my obsession-cum-achievement is the purest way for me to express my adoration and gratitude for the baked good that’s been there for me through it all.

Here’s to 100 more.

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Ode to a brioche

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