"Good," he says. And then, with mock-generosity, "Though if I sleep past wu hour, you may feel free to shake me awake."

The fan-like pastry, it turns out, has a pleasant orange and spice flavor to it. The smaller diamond-shaped one almost shatters in his hand for how crispy it is; another pastry is so light that it feels like biting into sugar-spun air. He tries them all before investigating the thick, battered slices of bread, and the syrup that runs darker and sweeter than honey.