America, we need to talk about your casual disregard for the sanctity of the croissant. It’s not a sandwich bread to be stuffed with chicken salad or sausage like some tawdry, half-stale silce of Mighty White; you can’t pump it full of grease and fried egg like silicone into an aging starlet – its simplicity is its beauty. Just look at this thing, this McMuffinized bastardization that I picked up at SFO this morning! I’m faintly revulsed by it, and myself for eating it*. We might as well have spat in the face of a Frenchman or booed buring La Marseillaise.
* In mitigation, I simply ordered the breakfast sandwich and didn’t notice that it came served in a croissant.