the idea of veganism is considered too "militant" for many
There it sits, in all its flaky glory, with a crust the colour of autumn leaves, and two plump claws almost begging to be torn off and devoured. Light as air and as French as the guillotine.
One impeccable croissant.
But this particular pastry - among dozens crowding a display shelf in an unremarkable looking boulangerie in central Paris - is no ordinary offering. Far from it. For this is a butter-free croissant, a crisp swerve away from more than a century of devout culinary tradition and a nod towards larger forces seeking to reshape French food and agriculture.
Sacrilege has rarely looked so seductive.
"I'm changing the world," grinned Rodolphe Landemaine, between mouthfuls of a lovingly laminated, butter-free, pain au chocolate.
Landemaine, a baker, now owns five busy boulangeries in Paris, with more on the way in other French cities, all serving entirely dairy-free products to a mostly local clientele.
Not that he advertises the absence of butter, or eggs, or cows' milk, in his shops. Indeed, the word "vegan" never crosses his lips.
"It's not an easy word for French people to get used to. It's very difficult for them to give up on butter and eggs," he acknowledged, explaining that the idea of veganism is considered too "militant" for many.
Instead, Landemaine, a vegan with an interest in animal welfare and climate change, has adopted a stealthier approach, hoping customers will fall in love with his croissants, madeleines, quiches, sandwiches, flans and pains au raisins before they realise, too late, that butter has been replaced with a secret blend of plant-based products.
And if he can persuade conservative French taste buds to tolerate croissants "sans beurre" then perhaps, the argument goes, anything is possible.
As if on cue, a young boy walked past us, clutching the remains of a flaky claw, which he loudly declared to be délicieux.
"It tastes lighter," said a musician named Anne, 42, nibbling the end of her croissant.
"It's really good. I don't think I would recognise the difference," said Marta, a visitor from Poland, of her pain au chocolat. She's not a vegan but noted that she often got a scathing look from French waiters if she ordered oat milk with her coffee.
"I see the judgement in their eyes because it's just not part of their culture," she added.
For a country grappling with all sorts of new influences, such as challenges to its long-standing policy of state secularism, or le wokisme of imported "Anglo-Saxon" culture wars, a few unusual pastries can hardly be considered a major threat.
And yet the issue brushes some raw nerves here, from French people's deep but evolving relationship with the terroir or land, to the escalating farmers' protests across Europe, to the upheavals brought on by climate change commitments, to France's almost religious devotion to certain culinary customs. And all this in the shadow of June's European Parliament elections, which look likely to usher in big gains for far-right parties in France and beyond.
"Not for me, no way," said Thierry Loussakoueno, with mild indignation, appalled by the very idea of a butter-free croissant.
"I don't understand these vegan pastries. I can understand people who don't eat meat for whatever reason, and I respect this completely. But dairy products and butter are just too important in the taste of food and not using them is just too bad and a pity," said Loussakoueno, a Parisian civil servant.
Other judges and competitors, sniffing and prodding a succession of crescent-shaped creations, spoke of the need to protect French farmers.
"It's difficult for me to even talk about making a croissant without butter. There's a whole family who are behind this - lots of people involved in the process," said Olivier Boudot, a cookery teacher.
"Amazing machines," said Lenaerts, as a mechanical arm swung four suction cups beneath the cow, who was casually relieved of a dozen litres of milk, destined for a nearby butter factory.
Lenaerts, 57, has more pressing concerns than the perceived threat of vegan croissants sold to metropolitan consumers. And yet the issue rankles.
Like many small farmers in France and beyond, she has spent much of the past few months angrily organising protests against a European Union-wide agricultural system which she feels is destroying her industry. She's planning another trip to Brussels this month to help block roads near the European Union's headquarters.
Sitting later in her snug farm kitchen, Lenaerts railed against imports of cheaper, sub-standard foreign food goods, against the huge mark-ups that distributors and middlemen impose on her produce, and against the sense that farmers are too often left as scapegoats for all climate-related issues.