3-Ingredient Croissant Brittle Is As Life-Changing As It Sounds

A Big Little Recipe has the smallest-possible ingredient list and big, BIG everything else: flavor, ideas, wow factor. Psst: We don't count water, salt, pepper, and certain fats (say, olive oil to dress greens or sauté onions), since we're guessing you have those covered. This time, we're changing up brittle: no nuts, no sugar boiling, no fuss.

We had already ordered our cinnamon roll, chocolate croissant, and two iced coffees—one black, one with oat milk—and swiped the credit card by the time I saw croissant brittle.

“Next time,” Justin said.

This was late July at Sea Wolf bakery. We were eating our way around Seattle for a week and if we’ve learned anything from traveling together, it’s that success is all in the pacing. Say, skip dessert for a big breakfast, or go light on lunch for extra appetizers at dinner. Saving room for later seemed like a good idea at the time.

And yet, weeks then months went by, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about croissant brittle. What’s better than a croissant? Croissant brittle. What’s better than brittle? Croissant brittle. I mean, even celebrated pastry chef David Lebovitz was wowed by it.

Which left me with three options: Fly back to Seattle and order the croissant brittle (low-key dramatic). Go back in time and order the croissant brittle (maybe impossible). Or make the croissant brittle I wished to see in the world.

When I was originally in touch with Sea Wolf Bakery, I asked co-owners Jesse and Kit Schumann about the recipe: “Unfortunately,” they told me, “that is a closely held family secret.” Go figure.

But then they said, “just kidding," and shared all the deets:

They developed the recipe as "an interesting way to use day-old croissants." Interesting—and, it turns out, simple. Their method: Thinly slice croissants widthwise, dunk in a milk-sugar simple syrup, then bake in a low-temp oven until caramelized and crunchy.

In other words, three ingredients: croissants, milk, and sugar. Which meant this too-good-to-be-true treat could only be one thing: a Big Little Recipe.

I got to work: bought croissants, milk, and sugar, and did just what Schumanns described. But it wasn’t quite right. The texture was on-point—super crunchy but not tacky, like all brittle should be. It lacked richness and sweetness, though. It was bland.

So I started playing around with the syrup. First, I salted it because anything that sugary needs a little salt. Next up, the ratio. A classic simple syrup is 1:1 sugar to water, hence why my first test was 1:1 sugar to milk. But it wasn’t sweet enough. So I tried 2:1 and it was too sweet. Then I tried 3:2 and it was just right.

Well, almost. The liquid ended up changing, too—from milk to half-and-half. Why? After I pinpointed the sweetness, the richness kept nagging at me. That’s when I started to wonder about a Sea Wolf croissant versus a supermarket croissant—what I was working with and, I anticipate, what most people will be working with. Bakery croissants are buttery to a fault, leaving your fingers glossy and your head dazed. Supermarket croissants aren’t like that. They’re fluffier and leaner (and, accordingly, cheaper to make). By using a richer liquid, like half-and-half, then, we end up with a richer brittle. Think of it like a glassy brittle made with no butter or cream, versus a caramely, toffee-like one.

While traditional nut brittles involve standing over the stove, boiling sugar, and using a candy thermometer, this recipe involves none of that. You just warm the half-and-half and sugar, dunk the croissant piece like French toast, and get it in the oven like a cookie. That’s it.

Way easier than flying to Seattle every time you want something to go with your coffee. Though, if you’re already there, I can’t imagine why you’re still reading this. What are you waiting for? Don’t be like me.

What’s your favorite kind of brittle? Tell us in the comments!