The Aesthetics of Sweetness: On Cédric Grolet and the Era of Edible Spectacle

Cédric Grolet is an extraordinarily skilled pastry chef — that part is indisputable. His command of technique is obvious in the way textures meet, in the discipline behind his forms, in the precision of his pâtissier vocabulary. But the fascination surrounding his work speaks to something larger than pastry. It reveals a cultural shift in which beauty is not merely appreciated, but demanded; in which the visual has begun to overshadow taste itself.

Grolet’s creations are perfectly engineered for the age of images: immaculate, symmetrical, instantly recognizable.

They are objects of desire before they are food. That isn’t inherently wrong — pastry has always been a stage where aesthetics matters — but the intensity of the visual emphasis marks a clear turn in how we define flavor. We are no longer satisfied with a remarkable tart or a thoughtful mille-feuille. We want a performance, a spectacle, a sculptural moment ready for the screen. The danger is not that Grolet embraces this dynamic; the danger is that the rest of the industry chases the surface while abandoning the substance. Because beneath the shine, too much contemporary pastry is becoming strangely timid. Sweetness has flattened acidity. Uniform smoothness has replaced texture. Surprising bitterness, the quiet shock of citrus, the depth of fermentation, the sharp edge of technique — all of this is increasingly absent. Instead, we find pastries that rely on the assurance of sugar and the comfort of softness, engineered to please without provoking, to look impressive while tasting familiar. This isn’t refinement. It is simplification disguised as unique.

Grolet stands out precisely because he does know how to execute. His creations are not plain bread in pretty clothing. They are the result of serious training and meticulous craftsmanship. But the culture surrounding his success — the legion of imitations, the conflation of beauty with excellence, the belief that shine equals skill — risks reducing pastry to a kind of edible ornament. A beautiful shell with a predictable heart. A gesture instead of a statement.

What should worry us is not that people admire beautiful pastry, but that we seem increasingly unwilling to demand more than that. A pastry can be visually perfect and still say nothing. It can be flawless and forgettable. It can meet every aesthetic expectation and fail to leave any sensory imprint beyond sweetness. That is the real erosion: a shift toward pastries designed to be liked by everyone rather than remembered by someone.