The Vachon bakery, founded in 1923 in Sainte-Marie-de-Beauce, Québec, bakes treats that have earned a permanent spot in the province’s collective memory. For many Québécois, unwrapping a Jos Louis or May West brings back vivid memories of school lunches, dépanneur runs, and family road trips. These cakes became rituals of recess, often traded, hoarded, or eaten in a specific order—saving the cream-filled center for last, of course. Their presence in lunchboxes was almost a rite of passage.
On Vachon’s website they clearly recognize the joy that comes from their confections.
“The very name ignites joy in our hearts and tummies. And who doesn’t love a delectable snack cake? Folks young and old, appetites big and small—there’s a Vachon® cake for that. Adored by all Canadians, but particularly revered in Quebec, Vachon® has been tempting taste buds for generations with its rebel yell: Eat joy!”
In Québec, saying “Un Jos Louis” means something. It’s shorthand for a taste, a texture, a memory. They’re simply unpretentious. In a world of gourmet pastries and artisan desserts, Gâteaux Vachon are proudly ordinary—and that’s exactly what makes them so extraordinary in Québec’s cultural fabric.One time when I was about 11 years old, I saw that a friend had dunkaroos for dessert in his lunch. Dunkaroos were a high ticket item. A bunch of little cookies that you would dip in the chocolate sauce. When I ate them, I would dunk the two first ones extra-generously. Then I would clean the left over chocolate with the remaining 8 cookies. But here’s my secret, I would put aside the 2 first ones to finish with the best of the best for last. So I asked this friend named Sebastian if he wanted to trade my chocolaty granola bar for his dunkaroos. He rightfully declined. I started haggling. “How about for half the cookies and chocolate sauce”. Still no deal. Then, he answered with a challenge: “Try to eat your granola bar in less than 5 seconds.” I was going to eat it anyways, so I took two bites and ate it in about a second. I asked: “Now can I have some dunkaroos?” He said: “Sorry, you don’t have anything to trade anymore.”
To this day I remember how I enjoyed having been outsmarted. I was taught a lesson : sometimes dessert isn’t really about the sweet treat—it’s about the moment. It wasn’t about dunkaroos or granola bars in the end. It was about two kids laughing, testing each other, turning lunch into a little negotiation adventure. I didn’t get the cookies, but I got a story. And maybe that’s what dessert really is: a gift of a moment.