Anjou Bakery

Anjou bakes in an old apple warehouse surrounded by orchard, and the setting does half the work. The other half is the pastry: laminated croissants with real shatter, country loaves with a dark, blistered crust, and fruit tarts built on whatever Cashmere is picking that week.

Go before eleven. The best things sell out, the line moves quickly, and the picnic tables outside are the right place to eat a croissant with a coffee and no particular plan.

The bake schedule is the thing to understand here. Bread comes out of the wood-fired oven early, pastry follows, and by mid-morning the case has been picked over by people who know the routine. Arrive at eight and you can have your choice of almond croissant, morning bun, and a country loaf still warm enough to steam when you tear it. Arrive at one and you are choosing between what is left, which is still good, but not the full picture of what this bakery can do. Coffee is straightforward drip and espresso rather than a specialty program, which feels correct — the pastry is the point.

The setting deserves its own mention. The bakery occupies a restored fruit warehouse ringed by working orchard, and the picnic tables outside look out on rows of pear and apple trees that supply the tarts inside. In spring the blossoms make it one of the prettiest breakfast spots in the state; in October the light through the trees does the same job in a different key. Seating is limited and entirely first-come, so a weekend visit may mean eating in the car or standing at the counter, and that is a small price. Cash and card are both fine, the line moves faster than it looks, and the staff will tell you honestly if something came out better today than usual. Whole loaves sell out first. If you want one, ask for it before you order anything else, then browse the case while they bag it.