It starts with a table. Not a white-linen, flute-of-champagne kind of table—but a large foldable plastic table covered with thick red linen and surrounded by six flake-focused humans, each about to eat their way through the buttery dreams of Paris’ best boulangers. And I, somehow, had a seat.
Behind the scenes judging Paris Best Croissant
The Setting: A Cathedral of Crumbs
The whole thing takes place in this magnificent, timeworn building on Île Saint-Louis. Built for an iron merchant in 1642, it has been home to la corporation des maîtres boulangers since 1843. This is not some soulless convention hall—but a shrine. An edifice built in honour of bread itself. A temple to the art of boulangerie, where walls whisper stories of flour-dusted generations past.
As I arrived, it was easy to spot the place—judges milling around outside in silence or catching up with old friends. Once mise en place was complete, we were ushered inside, past the ground floor baking labs and judging rooms, and into a hall tiled in homage to the boulanger’s craft.
The entrance hall was thick with expectation and the warm, faintly flour-scented hush of a hundred judges pretending not to be nervous. I’ve got a photo of that moment. You’ll see it’s not some glitzy launch—it’s formal, yes, but grounded. Serious, not stiff.
The head of the Syndicat des Boulangers, Franck Thomasse (or Sandica, as the pros call it) steps forward. Calm, clear, no fluff. He outlines the structure—how many points are awarded in each of the four judging categories—but doesn’t tell you how to judge. Because that’s personal. What makes a perfect croissant to me might not move the person next to me.
No chitchat. No comparison of notes. No influencing.
You are not to glance at your neighbour’s numbers or murmur your preferences. This is not a committee. This is a communion.
Then the tables are called: first, the two retired boulangers who’ll oversee the judging. Then, the judges—some from across France, others Parisians—but all here to crown the best croissant in the capital.
Who Gets to Judge?
This round isn’t judged by boulangers themselves—that’s the next phase. Here, it’s civilian experts and industry professionals. People like the woman beside me: a seasoned adjudicator from the body behind the Charentes-Poitou AOP butter.
Yes, because that’s the rule—every baker in the competition must use the same butter. It is, after all, officially titled:
Concours du Meilleur Croissant au Beurre Charentes-Poitou AOP du Grand Paris
The ability to use any butter in the croissant entered into this competition would make it impossible to judge.
You’re surrounded by a glorious mix: retired croissant aficionados, reps from insurance firms that support the trade, and culinary obsessives who know the difference between good and great.
The Ritual of Silence
Inside the judging chamber—a wood-paneled room that makes you sit straighter, speak softer, and respect the gravity of the gluten—each table is flanked by retired boulangers. Stoic, flour-dusted sentinels. Not there to chat, but to witness. Adjucators to avoid foul play.
They’re not judging, but they’re watching. These are the old guard, men who’ve spent their lives folding dough before dawn and coaxing flavour from fermentation. They make sure we honour the process with the same care they once did.
The room falls into a hush. That deep, cathedral-like silence broken only by the crackle of crust and the scratch of pens. Because this title—Best Croissant in Paris—makes careers. It turns a humble bakery into a pilgrimage site. It elevates an artisan into legend.
And as a judge, you feel it. You’re not just tasting—you’re deciding.
Judgment Day
Five croissants at a time. No names. No logos. Just numbers.
You begin with a visual check. Then the retired bakers slice them and serve a portion to each judge. You sniff. Snap. Maybe lick a flake off your finger. Then you write.
You don’t eat 15 croissants. You taste 15 slices. It’s not indulgence—it’s analysis. A delicious dissection.
And by the end? You’re not full. But your lips feel like they’ve been basted in Charentes-Poitou AOP butter. Your mouth has worked. But no palate fatigue. No tastebud burnout. Just the slow, creeping suspicion that butter might now be your default lip balm.
Consensus in Chaos
Once the scorecards are handed in, the room exhales. People talk. Compare notes. Crack jokes about the butter glaze we’re all now wearing.
Despite the subjectivity, most of us landed on the same standouts. A shared top three or four. A clear bottom batch. Proof that even in something as personal as pastry, excellence stands out.
What Surprised Me
Honestly? They were so good. Even the weakest were better than most pastries you’ll find outside France. The level is astonishing. Paris doesn’t just make croissants—it elevates them into something operatic.
Out of a hundred points in total score my top three pic had 6 points difference!
Conclusion
The only people you should trust when it comes to the best croissant in Paris? The judges of the Syndicat Patronal des Boulangers du Grand Paris, founded in 1801. They’ve been taking butter seriously since before Napoleon crowned himself emperor.
The winners will be announced by the Syndic on the 6th of May, I will post them here for avid readers so you can find the best Croissants in Paris.
Want to see more of what this world looks like from the inside? Check out our guide to the Paris Bread Festival 2025 and get ready to see carbs in a whole new light.
The winners of this year’s competition will be announced on the 6th of May at the Fête du Pain, so stay tuned—your next favourite croissant might just be about to make history.
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From the bustling streets of Paris to the heat of a professional kitchen, my life has always revolved around food. A Brit who moved to France at 16, I trained as a chef in a Parisian palace kitchen at 18 and have spent decades cooking, eating, and living like the French.
By day, I run kitchens and events, but Eat Like The French is my side hustle—a way to share my passion for French food through writing and food tours. After a detour into tech recruitment, I returned to what I love most: cooking and storytelling—one dish, one tour, and one bite at a time.
How to Judge If your Croissant is the best in Paris?
Want to channel your inner Parisian pastry judge? Here’s a simplified version of how the pros do it:
Look – Is the surface shiny or dull? Is the shape consistent when placed side by side with others? Can you see the individual buttery layers? A beautiful croissant should have that layered, puffed spiral of dreams.
Smell – Bring it close. You should smell butter first. Maybe flour. But never yeast—if it smells yeasty, it likely didn’t finish proving properly.
Bake – The colour should be even, golden to deep amber, with no pale underbake or burnt tips. Inside, look for evenly spaced bubbles.
Texture – Snap the end. It should flake dramatically but also have a chewy interior. Think crisp outer shell, soft, layered core.
Taste – This is the clincher. It should make the hairs on the back of your neck do backflips. Rich, buttery, balanced. A little salt. Maybe even a hint of hazelnut from the bake. If it doesn’t stop you mid-sentence, it’s not the one.