My first (and also my last until today) canelé was had at a highly acclaimed French bakery cafe somewhere in West Central Vermont. Alas, for any number of reasons that morning, I was underwhelmed by it. I vaguely remembered it to be a tad dry and otherwise, unremarkable. Today, I decided to reevaluate my 7-year old lukewarm reaction to what had seemed to me an over-rated pastry, and what a revelation this turned out to be! Nestled within the slightly burned rum-soaked crust was a lovely, custardy, vanilla-aromaed interior to delight the senses. I get it now.