And the winner is......

Q: What kind of baker has his own press attaché? A: One who makes the best croissant in Paris.

And who says Pierre Hermé's croissants are tops? The team of six judges assembled by Le Figaro's midweek magazine Scope to munch its way through 64 of them.

All the competing croissants were bought on the same morning across the capital and then judged according to appearance, smell, flavour, price and even the welcome received by those doing the round of bakers and - let me be fairer to M Hermé - pâtisseries.

Actually replicating Le Figaro's operation presented obstacles. At any rate, it did when it came to Salut! second guessing the judges by paying its own visit to the winner's shop.

Scope helpfully gave M Hermé's address as 72 rue de Bonaparte, which threads through the Latin Quarter to St Sulpice and beyond.


Maybe Salut! was having a bad day. It cannot, of course, hope to have a bad hair day.

But look for yourselves. Would it not be entirely possible to see no 72 from the other side of the street and conclude that the magazine must have made a mistake?

For here is a shop that sells croissants and cakes but has a façade that looks rather more like that of an upmarket jeweller. It took a return trip to confirm that those small windows contained not necklaces and bracelets in 18 carat gold but M Hermé's less durable creations.

I hate to quarrel with a winner. But questions really need to be asked about an item associated throughout the world with breakfast but not sold before 10am.

In fact, even 10am proved a variable sort of opening time.

The door was not unlocked until four minutes had gone by after the sounding of the bell atop the nearby 6th arrondissement town hall.

If M Hermé feels this was a trivial delay, he may be interested to learn that by then, half the queue - OK, two people - had also gone by. They didn't even look back.

Once inside the shop, however, you found that service came with a broad smile. My four croissants, costing 1.20 euros each, were packed by the pretty, cheerful assistant as carefully as if she were wrapping delicate porcelain.

But it took another 10 minutes to pay. Pretty, cheerful assistant was not interested in receiving payment; a colleague at the till was in charge of that. Inconveniently for me, she was also in charge of taking Christmas orders.

The town hall bell for a quarter past rang out soon after I left the shop. It seemed a long time to have spent making such a small purchase in an uncrowded shop.

Had Mr Hermé been present, and willing to interrupt his labours for a couple of minutes, I would have asked what was the secret of his success, why he opened so late and whether I was right long ago to think croissants absolutely had to be served hot.

But he was not present. "Pas ce matin," the assistant replied. Oui, mais plus tard? Non.

Thinking it would then be a simple matter of arranging a quick telephone interview, I outlined my mission. "I'll give you a number for his attaché de presse," came the response.

The questions, therefore, will have to wait. Salut! cannot afford airs and graces but also has no wish to start negotiating on small print for an interview with a croissant-maker. Next, he'll be wanting copy control or banning any reference to flakiness and crumbs.

In any case, we can surely rely on Scope sufficiently to trust the thoughts attributed to him after the results were pronounced. The great croissant, M Hermé confided, needed a dry and crunchy texture. The buttery taste had to betray a perfect balance between salt and sugar.

When M Hermé wandered off into "I hear the cry of the croissant....it's alive, the soul of its creator" territory, I felt it was time just to get on with eating the wretched thing.



So, just after 11am and in the knowledge I would soon be meeting friends for lunch, I had my late breakfast.

It was good, very good, and I was content to eat it cold.

But I would have had more difficulty thsn the judges in finding it so much better than all the rest. Or in relegating last year's winner - Julien, located on the rue St Honoré - to seventh place, or last year's third placed contender (a Paul branch on the rue de Seine, not far from M Hermé) as low as 24th. Unless, of course, Paul served the undercover buyer a 2005 croissant.

The way to treat a lady

Even as Nicolas Sarkozy formally announces what everyone has known for years - that he intends to stand for the French presidency - an eye-catching trip by Ségolène Royal to the Middle East threatens to steal his thunder.

Sarko undeniably represents a formidable obstacle to Mme Royal's hopes of becoming the first female president.

But just how formidable is becoming increasingly tricky to gauge as the Ségo phenomenon continues to achieve the improbable - making French politics interesting outside France in what is still a non-election year.

International attention packs little electoral muscle, of course. Yet even that works both ways; a lot of the overseas support for Sarko tends to come from the sort of conservatives from whom millions of French voters would run a kilometre or two.

At home, Sarko plainly has work to do, and an illuminating vox pop in Le Figaro offers a little advice on how he should treat a lady when that lady stands between him and the Elysée.

The paper canvassed the views of several prominent females from the party and the responses revealed hints of anxiety that M Sarkozy's tendency to shoot first and reflect later may cost him votes.

"Nicolas must take care not to be aggressive, but to tackle her ideas and not the person," warned Isabelle Debré, a UMP senator. "The slightest gesture could be raise charges of misogyny."

Arlette Franco, from the western Pyrénées, wanted to see more of a side to Sarko that we generally encounter only when he is having one of his marital reconciliations.

"He needs to offer reassurance, to show himself to be warm, human and interested in social questions as well as security," she said.

Another Arlette - Grosskost, from Haut-Rhin - suggested that Sarko should surround himself with more women, lighten his hard-line image and acknowledge that Mme Royal's appeal by-passed political logic.

And a Parisian MP, Martine Aurillac, went so far as to offer the sort of counsel even France's macho hommes politiques would consider patronising: "Don't launch into discussions that are too technical, statistical, complicated."

Her theme was taken up by Valérie Pécresse, spokesman for the centre-Right UMP party of which Sarko is president. Confronting a female opponent, she said, was to be engaged not in a classic clash of forces but in a clash of conviction.

"You have to address the people in very simple terms," she said, while adding loyally that Sarko understood this parfaitement.

The subtext of all this is clear enough. Sarko may be capable
of tearing Ségo apart in contentious debate, but should weigh up whether it would actually do him much good?

We know Mme Royal has so far shown little substance to go with the lashings of style, a point of view that surfaced in France long before it became a British media cliché.

It has done her little damage in the polls. One of my own human barometers of middle France opinion, a middle-aged, mid-management bank employee (and typical UMP voter) living in the provinces, summed it up quite neatly.

"You say we don't know what she stands for, that she is woolly on the main issues," he said. "I think that's part of what the French like about her. There's less to be scared of."

Sarko profits this week from a flurry of attention surrounding his announcement. But unless Ségo commits some appalling gaffe in Lebanon, Israel or the Palestinian territories, she stands a good chance of bagging at least equal airtime and headlines for the right reasons.

Adding a thought after the event, it is even possible to say that when the gaffe came - failing to slap down a Hizbollah attempt to equate Israel with the Nazis - she and her supporters performed some smart wriggling.

We should all stand by, I'd guess, for a little more evidence of Ségo steel in the coming weeks and months, and for the odd sign of a mellower Sarko.

He may have taken heed of those female colleagues already. The famous promise of "rupture" - implying a complete break with failed policies of France's recent past, however this might enrage surly unions and those desperate to cling to outdated privilege - has already been watered down.

Now, he says, it will be a "peaceful rupture".