I have a confession to make. And it’s an embarrassing one, so brace yourselves. I’ve never eaten a croissant. There, I said it.
Even though the flaky pastries have such inarguably French roots, I feel like they’ve become a global phenomenon as the gold standard of breakfast fare. When people hear my news, they almost always predictably gasp at the horror of me never having tried one. The thawed fast food excuse-for-croissants have never even crossed these lips. I could say that I’ve been waiting until I’m able to travel to their country of origin to try one – that the American imitations of such a long-heralded French tradition are abominations, but that would be a lie. I wouldn’t know.
But what I will say is that there is no time like the present, or the immediate foreseeable future, rather, to conquer another culinary great. I’m going to France.
I’m sorry, no. I’m going to FRANCE!! That’s better. My first mission abroad will include France and Spain, and it will include me leaving in about one week. My stomach and I are so excited we both might burst. I imagine wonderful cheeses, and wines, both consumed while sitting in or near an ancient castle (this is when my imagination begins to go wild), but I also imagine croissants. The latter being a more realistic daydream than perhaps dining in a castle, I plan on eating my fill with an elevated pinky finger in Paris, and then in Tours, and then in St. Raphael, and Avignon, and Nice. I’ll stop, I’m sorry, I’m gloating. I simply can’t help it.
I have a week to go and what feels like a million things to get in order, but consider this advance warning for my absence. For now, I will continue bringing recipes and stories, and who knows, I might even be able to bring back a few croissants.
(**Thankyou, Google Image Search, for allowing me to find lovely croissant picture that is better than one I could ever take.)