So the very first pastry I ever had in Paris, years ago, was Gerard Mulot’s Cascia. But do you know what the second was? That’s right . . . the one you’re looking at right now – Sadaharu Aoki’s Saya. I’d purchased it along with his Citron Praliné and Bamboo. Bright pink, bright yellow, and intense green, my tourist sensibilities had me drawn to his three most garishly colored works. My need for photogenic pastries would compel me to do exactly the same these days, even if an encyclopedic knowledge of his lineup would have me recommend others to a first-time buyer.

Now, as I say in every post about Sadaharu Aoki, the most important thing to remember about purchasing anything there is that about half of the pastries totally suck ****, about half are so amazing they’ll change your life, and a few fall into some mid-ground . Those ratios seems to be evolving considerably this year, much to my chagrin, where it’s coming much closer to a 1/3, 1/3, 1/3 split. So where does the Saya come in? . . .

It’s right in the middle of the pack. I suppose that’s better than it being terrible, but I miss the roulette-like quality of visits to Aoki’s shop and the opportunities they afforded me to beam about pastries or slam them. Oh, well. Anyway, there are at least enough reasonably bad elements to the Saya that I’m still willing to bash it. The day-glow chemical-pink-coasted strawberry mousse, which composes the bulk of this is way too damn sweet. I remember having it years ago and thinking the same thing. A friend or mine here got it by herself a few weeks ago and completely agreed – so much so that she couldn’t even finish it. The texture’s great, the strawberry tones are a delight, but the sugar is set to “overkill”. Then there’s the base, which is fairly stale and virtually flavorless – solid D+ work. Even the strawberry atop it all – just not ripe. What’s that about? But then the crème brulée pistache nestled at the heart of it all is just SO good that it completely saves the day and renders the piece edible.

You could say the Saya is not too unlike Pamela Anderson. They both sport about a pound of makeup and are artificially enhanced. One has a tragically stale base – the other a tragically stale career. And the bulk of each generally makes us want to vomit. But yet we know Pamela has a pure heart of pistachio crème, championing the rights of our four-legged friends through her work with PETA. And that completely redeems the rest of her . . . almost. That strange metaphor goes out to Marion, whom I hope is getting a good laugh right now. No death threats this week, ok?

I do feel a little bad making fun of the Saya though, cause Monsieur Aoki did name the piece after his daughter. So, sir, if you happen to come across this review, please know that I don’t mean to make fun of your daughter in any way. I’m sure she’s even sweeter than the pastry that bears her name, and that’s a good thing.

I keep hoping Monsieur Aoki comes out with a few more goodies this year. I’ve now shown you 3 of the 6 I’ve so far photographed, and there’s little else new in the shop . . . or at least little else in the line of pastries. I have to recuse myself from a review of several of the macarons, as they contain such exotic Japanese flavors that my tongue has zero context for what I’m sure is their splendor. You’ll just have to swing by one of his shops on your own and start getting adventurous.

So, no, I can’t recommend the Saya. Indulge in his Sudachi, Choux, Paris-Brest Fraise, Éclair Sesame Noir, or any of the other gems I’ve raved about, but unless your passion for pistachio is intense, the core of this little lady is not enough to justify the 5.30€.

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