Tucked into a narrow sliver of Connecticut Avenue in DuPont Circle, Un je ne sais quoi… is a classic French patisserie—a cramped gem sandwiched between two taller buildings. A few tiny tables and chairs hug the storefront, desperately seeking refuge from the day’s muggy heat.
Inside the patisserie is a claustrophobe’s worst nightmare: a sprawl of tables and chairs and people and a large load-bearing column right in the middle of the room (also: a short couch on which a man was feverishly teaching a woman phrases in Italian) that makes navigating the room a high-wire challenge. I was able to contort my typically uncoordinated body towards the last remaining seat in the restaurant and stake my claim.
On the other side of the store was the only reason anybody was here in the first place: a beautiful display of pastries that offers a choose-your-own-adventure style of infinite possibilities. The choice was not easy, because everything looked and smelled incredible. I opted for a butter croissant and an apple tart. But deep in my heart I know I will be back to try the éclair. And the pain au chocolat. And the meringue. And the almond croissant. And honestly, I’m not upset that the bench is so deep.
The butter croissant and apple tart are presented in a wicker style basket lined with a newspaper parchment—a striking modern take on the classic Parisian patisserie. The butter croissant is flaky with light streaks of butter threaded among the layers of the croissant giving attention to the effort involved in its preparation. The apple tart was even better: structured and riveted on the outside with a subtle intermingle of sweet and tart from the apple mix. The tart compacted on crunch with a satisfying bounce as I tore bits apart.
I also ordered a Marocchino caldo which is described as a “thick chocolate topped with espresso and frothed milk”. I give this description directly from the menu, because it should be noted that I’m a Neanderthal still trying to find his way out of the caves when it comes to coffee. I actively do not understand it and I don’t typically even like it. I give this disclosure, because I didn’t like it. I don’t feel particularly qualified to explain what I didn’t like about it, but it reminds me of how I also just don’t get wine. My ignorance on both of these is not a brag; it’s simply a statement of fact. Everyone around me had coffee and they were all still there and in pleasant spirits and the pastries were delicious, so my imagination tells me the coffee is considered good. I apologize for being an ignoramus.
I’ll be back. There’s many stones to unturn in this cramped store and I love that it lets me pretend—if even just for a second—that I’m in a cozy café on the Rue Cler. And I promise I’ll keep trying to understand what people like about that dog water called coffee. But that’s my own personal journey.