A Gift That Painted the Soul of Our Bread

Some gifts stay with me not because of their size, but because of the feeling behind them.

I received two paintings from our customer, Margaret Lau, who is also a hyper-realistic artist. Over the years, she has always been the kind of customer who carries stories with her. Whenever she travels, she often brings back little tasting souvenirs for us — sweets, chocolates, and sometimes even something unexpected, like reindeer jerky.

It is a small gesture, but to me, it says a lot.

It means she thinks of us even when she is away.
It means the relationship has gone beyond a simple exchange between bakery and customer.
It has become something warmer.

This second painting was gifted to us when we relocated to Croisserie’s current premises at 33, Jalan Medan Setia 1, Bukit Damansara.

Margaret titled it The 6.2 Million Croissant — a playful twist on a famous artwork once sold for an unbelievable price.

I laughed when I saw it, but at the same time, I found it very meaningful.

Because to someone else, it may just be a croissant.
But to a baker, and maybe to someone who really sees it, a croissant can carry many things.

The layers.
The butter.
The repetition.
The mistakes behind the practice.
The mornings that begin before everyone else wakes up.

I have always felt that drawing bread is not easy. To paint the shape is one thing. To paint the shine, the crust, the layers, the warmth — that already takes great skill. But to paint the emotion of a product, to let people feel that there is a soul inside it, that is something much harder.

The first time I remember seeing bread expressed through painting was in Japan. I do not know why, but from that moment, I became very drawn to drawings of bread. Sometimes, bread in a painting seems to carry even more soul than the real product in front of us.

Maybe because a painting slows everything down.

In daily bakery life, products move quickly. They are mixed, shaped, baked, displayed, sold, eaten, remembered, then replaced again the next morning. But in a painting, the bread stays still. Someone has taken the time to really look at it. Every fold, every colour, every shadow becomes a memory.

I had always hoped that one day, the world of our bakery could be expressed through painting.

I just never imagined that it would come as a gift from a customer.

That made it even more meaningful.

Looking at these paintings, I feel that Margaret did not only paint bread and pastry. She painted the feeling behind them too. The croissant, the pain au chocolat, the canelé — these are things we see almost every day in the bakery. But through her eyes, they become something more tender, more personal, almost like a reminder of why I do what I do.

For me, these gifts are also a quiet reminder.

If a customer can see and paint the soul of bread, then we must continue to make sure that the soul is truly there.

Not only in the appearance.
Not only in the recipe.
Not only in the technique.

But in the intention behind every product we make.

Thank you, Margaret, for these beautiful gifts — for the humour, the thoughtfulness, and for seeing our world of bread in such a generous way.