The dictionary defines the xuixo as a more or less cylindrical pastry, filled with cream, fried and coated in sugar. That is true. But it is equally true that any attempt to pin down its essence within such a broad definition is bound to fail, since it leaves room for both imitations and the authentic xuixos of Girona.
This pastry, this genuine explosion of flavour with baroque resonances, this gustatory extravagance, hangs by a thread. What I mean is that the difference between an acceptable xuixo and a memorable one (leaving aside those oily monsters, with curdled cream and cardboard-like pastry) is extremely subtle. It depends on the smallest of details: the quality of the filling, which must be light and airy and burst in the mouth; the degree of cooking; the delicacy of the pastry casing; and the sugar. Tiny, almost imperceptible factors which, as in poetry, draw the line between excellence and mediocrity. As in poetry, a handful of elements are at play here, and they must be combined in such an artisanal yet masterful way that they lead the palate towards a sublime experience.
