I first became aware of the cronut, a hybrid pastry (half croissant, half doughnut) that is sweeping New York, at the gym, of all places. It was six thirty in the morning, and the Lululemon-clad young women of SoHo were swapping tips not about juice cleanses or gluten-free diets but also about a newfangled creation at Dominique Ansel’s bakery down the block, on Spring Street. Leaving the gym for work that same morning, I walked past the bakery to see what all the fuss was about, and instead encountered a massive, block-long line of people waiting for the shop to open at eight o’clock. Nick Paumgarten wrote recently, “New York used to be a city of queues—movies, concert tickets, the Department of Motor Vehicles. Now technology sorts you out. A good line is hard to find.” This was a line all right, but I had my doubts about whether it was good or worthwhile.

Today is National Doughnut Day, which seems as good an occasion as any to take stock of the place of the cronut in the pantheon of breakfast pastries. Over the past week, the craze reached new heights of absurdity: cronuts, which retail at five dollars, are being scalped on the black market via Craigslist at a five-hundred-per-cent markup (including delivery charge). In these days of Amazon and Zappos, it is astonishing that anyone could reasonably justify such shipping and handling costs, but then again (at least according to MasterCard), some experiences are “priceless.”

This is how I found myself typing “cronut” into Craigslist just after ten o’clock this morning. The first listing I pursued included just a phone number, so I dialled with excitement, only to have my hopes immediately extinguished when a confused-sounding young man answered. I asked politely if he still had any cronuts, and he let me down easy with an understanding laugh, “Oh, no, they’re sold out.” Next, I tried e-mailing another lister, and within fifteen minutes I received an answer from a man I’ll call Michael. “Yes I have 4. Please give me a call or text.” I texted Michael, who had an Atlanta area code: “How much are you offering them for?” He responded immediately, “It depends where you are located.” That Michael also had an iPhone (I could tell by the gray ellipsis in a bubble that indicates the other user is typing) only added to the frisson of the illicit transaction. He offered one box of two for fifty dollars, or two boxes for eighty dollars. Having little choice and lots of curious coworkers, I sprung for four.

And what can I say about the taste of the cronut? They’re exactly what they sound like—layered, yeast-leavened puff pastry shaped into a ring and fried to a slight crisp. Today’s batch came topped with a lemon glaze, with a surprising ribbon of rich, lemony cream in the middle. One thoughtful taste-tester pointed out that they might taste very differently when eaten warm, and another confessed, “This kinda just makes me want a real doughnut.” The photo researcher James Pomerantz e-mailed me later to say, “There was something very familiar about the cronut texture. Couldn’t place it but now I can. Reminded me of the inside of an average fried rice noodle roll.” (Also known as a zhaliang.) In the end, the cronut was no more than the sum of its parts, right down to its portmanteau name. Are they worth five dollars a pop? At Balthazar, perhaps. At twenty each? That’s subway robbery.

New York is a city of fads and fashions, and food trends especially. The cronut craze is sure to fade, but you’d be a fool to think it won’t be replaced by another equally indulgent morsel (see also: cupcakes and short ribs). Nora Ephron once wrote in this magazine about the rise of the Krispy Kreme doughnut, which swept New York in the late nineties: “The sight of all those doughnuts marching solemnly to their fate makes me proud to be an American. Sue me. That’s how I feel.” With apologies to Nora, the sight of all those people lined up to purchase a novelty pastry makes me the tiniest bit proud to be a New Yorker. But you will never get me to say “on line.”

Photograph by James Pomerantz.