I Went to All the Bakeries in Tallinn to Find the Best Croissant
I’ve always been drawn to slow living and handmade things. As the world gets faster and more efficient, real craft struggles to survive. Mass production can replicate the shape of a croissant, but not the hand behind it. Handcraft carries human touch and imperfection, and if we want it to stay, we have to choose it and appreciate it.
After spending months following the croissant trail through Zürich — I couldn’t stop thinking about what the same project would look like at home. Estonia is where I’m from, and baking craft here has its own handwriting: its own flour and it’s own traditions.
1. You can tell a croissant is handmade by its imperfections
The uneven fold, the slightly lopsided shape, the little asymmetries that no machine would leave behind — these turned out to be the most honest part about Tallinn croissants. The less “perfect” a croissant looked, the more it usually had to say. I wasn’t chasing flawless; I was chasing the trace of a hand behind the counter. How far that hand-craft really goes — whether it’s fully hand-laminated or partly automated — is something I can’t calculate from the outside. If there’s a baker out there who’s worked across all of Tallinn’s bakeries and would like to leave a comment on that, I’d genuinely love to hear from you.
2. Watching it happen changes how it tastes
Most of the bakeries I visited had open kitchen in some way — you could watch your croissant being made, or at least see the ovens from the counter. La Boulangerie went further, building an entire wall to display their bread, almost like a small exhibition. Seeing the process, even briefly, adds something to the eating that’s hard to separate from the taste itself.
3. The phone call told me almost as much as the visit
Calling ahead to ask a bakery to set aside their croissant produced two very different kinds of answers. Some places knew exactly what made theirs different and said they will make their choice. Others just said “pick any of them, they’re all good” — casual, confident, and honestly, also a kind of brand statement. One bakery, unfortunately, declined altogether — they didn’t want to be part of the research, or to have their croissant placed among other “random croissants.” It was a genuinely sad moment for me, since I’d heard so much about them and was really looking forward to trying theirs. But that’s how it goes sometimes — not every door opens, and that’s its own small piece of the story too. You learn a lot about a bakery before you ever walk through the door.
Have a closer look at all the croissants included:
https://alinabirjuk.com/Tallinn-Croissants
4. Texture told a bigger story than flavour did
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Across the city, I didn’t find dramatic differences in taste — most croissants in Tallinn were, more or less, similarly good. What did vary, noticeably, was texture, and I kept wondering how much of that comes down to the flour itself (A comment from a croissant baker from Estonia needed here).
Croissants made in Estonia definitely has it’s nordic accent and touch from the environment it was born — which makes it even more special. Looking for a 100% original croissant in Tallinn, would be a bit naive, I would say, but also not the point. But a few stood out for me:
- Karjase Sai, for finishing their croissant with flakes of salt on top — something I’d never seen before on a croissant, and a small detail that I loved and made it stand out for me.
- Crustum, for their yeast-free croissant, a genuinely different product worth trying just to feel the contrast, but also made the whole croissant texture so much different.
- Francois Boulangerie, most original croissant found so far and of course everything around it: their website, their story, the photography, and the idea of picking up a croissant yourself from the box or from the window when they are still open. They’re not open all the time, but the service was fast, warm, and precise.
5. Surprise: Tallinn’s croissants were quietly, consistently good
I went in expecting a clear winner and came out without one — much like Zürich. There was no drastic gap between bakeries; the differences were smaller and more particular than “good” or “bad.” A fold, a texture, a story, a flake of salt. These additional touches, more than any single croissant, is the real finding.
6. Most bakeries left no mark on the bag — and that’s a missed moment
Unlike Zürich, where a branded bag can turn a short walk into its own little celebration, most of what I carried out of Tallinn’s bakeries was a plain brown bag, no logo, no design, nothing to signal where it came from. It’s a small thing, but the bag is part of the experience too — it’s what gets photographed, what travels with you down the street, what someone glances at and remembers. A mark on the bag costs very little and extends the story past the counter. It felt like a quiet opportunity most bakeries hadn’t picked up on yet.
PS. This September 2026, in collaboration with Paper Mill, a selection of the croissants I photographed for this project will go up on the wall in Tallinn — an exhibition where you can see them printed large, up close.
Send me your interest for the invitation. ;)
Next stop: Paris, or Vienna?
Have a closer look at all the croissants photographed:
https://alinabirjuk.com/Tallinn-Croissants
Thank you very much for your time.
www.alinabirjuk.com
Instagram: @alinabirjuk
alinabirjuk@gmail.com
Disclaimer
I never baked a croissant in my life, and I’m not a pastry expert. I’m a food photographer and trends researcher, writing from curiosity and a personal customer’s point of view. I hope this helps you find your next favourite croissant in Tallinn. ;)
This project was made with no funding. All research is made to support food companies and gastronomy around the world. If you’d like to support my work, feel free to share this article.
For the record: my personal top croissant is still the one from Collective Bakery in Zürich — the most original, crispiest French croissant I’ve had. Tallinn didn’t beat it, but it came closer than I expected.
