“A treasure of European flavours” Special to the Toronto Star, Oct. 2, 2002, D4

 

The world slows down inside Rahier Patisserie. People take longer pauses between sentences and their words are interrupted by bites and swallows. No music plays overhead but the hiss of the espresso machine and the murmurs in French are evocative of an outdoor cafe on a cobblestoned European side street.

Except this is Toronto, at 1717 Bayview Ave., where the doors open and a waft of pungent coffee entices passersby to peer in at the stacks of croissants sprinkled liberally with powdered sugar, apricots and hazelnuts.

Few resist the welcome. One step inside and the aromas of vanilla and fresh bread meet and wrap around like a warm blanket.

A point of the finger at the glass case yields a knowing nod. Two flaky, plump croissants are placed in a brown bag and handed over the wooden counter. Enough customers converse with Rahier staff to indicate that a stop at the patisserie is part of a morning ritual of indulgence. Some sit at the tables inside, or the two outside.

Owner Francois Rahier has his own morning ritual. A quiet man, most weekdays he is at work as early as 5 a.m. finishing cakes and preparing croissants.

"My favourite part of the day is the morning when the phone is not ringing, no one is on the streets and I can have my cup of coffee," he says softly.

Francois and wife Sonia opened Rahier Patisserie in June, 1996. They moved here from Belgium in 1993 after seeing a notice for a position making Belgian waffles at the now-closed Parisco cafe on Cumberland St.

Francois was executive pastry chef there for about two years while Sonia worked as a waitress at the Movenpick restaurant one street over.

Today, at the patisserie that bears their name, pastry-making is an art. Black-and-white photographs of pastries adorn the mint green walls.

But 15 steps below street level the scene is very different. Down here there is no time for leisurely pauses.

In the basement are enough utensils and manpower to start a small war. Spatulas, knives and forks sit in large white buckets beside the sink. But the constant whistling and singing along with the French folk songs and elevator jazz on the radio convey camaraderie.

Hands are continuously flattening, kneading and stirring. Workers bustle about. Workers of Asian and Middle Eastern descent chatter away in French. One of them carefully dots the noses of palm-sized marzipan rabbits with red. A peek into the room-sized refrigerator reveals a wonderland of colour. Red, green, blue, dotted and striped, square and round cakes of all sizes are waiting to be taken upstairs.

A quick glance around the kitchen shows seven or eight workers - they move so swiftly it is hard to tell - in once-white aprons, now smudged with flour and other baking ingredients. Trays of dark chocolate and rows of dried vanilla beans are reminders this is no ordinary coffee shop.

It is inconceivable that the head-sized clouds of yellow mush sitting atop flattened dough will become the croissants melting in mouths one floor above. The buttery dough must be rolled out, chilled and folded over many times before being placed in the oven. The dough's thin folds create the distinctive flaky texture of the croissant.

Francois Rahier began his apprenticeship at 20 - late by industry standards - under renowned pastry chef Marc Debailleul, who in 1979 was named Meilleur Ouvrier de France, an annual award bestowed on bakers and pastry chefs by the French government.

Francois remembers his earliest work, with his mother when he was only 8, helping her make his favourite apple cakes.

Today, the Rahiers work for themselves. "This dream began as a challenge," laughs Sonia, "Francois said it would never happen, and I wanted to prove him wrong."

They know no other life. When asked what he would be if he wasn't a pastry chef, he pauses, "I would be ..." Fifteen seconds later he responds, "I don't know what I would be if I wasn't a pastry chef."

Rahier and other such patisseries have gained a loyal clientele because of the experience they bring to the pain au chocolat and fluffy brioche that sell out most days before 10 a.m.

Brioche, after all, is not just any bread - it is the "cake" that Marie Antoinette suggested the hungry should eat in place of bread. Brioche is made with more eggs, butter and sugar than other dough - hardly fare for the needy.

"I am most happy when my customers can appreciate the difference in quality," says Francois, "And when they are able to develop their taste."

Martha Stewart unexpectedly walked through the door two summers ago. After sampling some of the Belgian and French treats, she invited Francois to demonstrate the craft of making brioche. An episode of her show with Rahier aired a year later.

Pastries are universally seen as after-meal or break-time indulgences. Historically, pastries were considered celebratory because of their hard-to-come-by ingredients like eggs and sugar. The Rahiers realize it is the sensual pleasures that bring 200 to 450 customers through their doors each day. Their next goal is introducing ice cream and ice cream cakes to the patisserie over the next two months.

Upstairs, two young mothers wheel their strollers in through the door and settle at a four-chair table. They sit down with identical sighs, and stress visibly deflates from their bodies.

The women return from the counter with steaming mugs of coffee and pastries and begin swapping stories. They place their toddlers next to each other and the children start babbling happily. Soon chocolate is smeared around the children's lips and crumbs speckle their cheeks.

For at least an hour they are transported to the sleepy pace of a European afternoon where all that matters is the company of a good friend and the perfect croissant.