For the past few weeks, I’ve been in and out of a minor funk. Nothing serious, but at times I felt sluggish, distant, unbalanced, a bit off. I’ve been trying to fight off the haze for the last couple days by taking advantage of the beautiful fall weather and foliage in Roger Williams Park. In these periods–after a break-up, a move, hearing some unexpected news–I’ve learned that even though your instinct may be to hole up, allowing yourself to open up to what’s around you is ultimately the key to moving on.
Swan-shaped paddle boats by the dock:
Today we baked off the croissant dough that we started in class yesterday. The time-consuming process of laminating dough creates dozens of layers alternating flour and fat that produces a rich but flaky pastry with delicate folds of buttery, tender goodness on the inside and golden, crackling shards on the outside. If all goes according to plan, one should be able to see the multiple layers produced by the laminating process in a cross-section of the croissant, as below. As Chef D. suggested in rather poetic form, the layers in a croissant are reminiscent of the rings in a tree trunk that show the life of the tree. Who’d a thunk croissants and trees had anything in common, but I think those are the sorts of uncanny associations that can come about when you let yourself let the world speak to you.