Crescent shaped and flaky

            The actual origin of the croissant is a compilation of stories. The tale that seems most historically accurate revolves around an Austrian artillery officer who founded an admired Viennese Bakery in Paris in the mid 1800s and inspired other French bakers to reproduce his recipes, thereby popularizing the kipfel (the traditional Austrian pastry) into the modern, French, croissant. Another story alludes to Marie Antoinette’s deep hankering for the pastry from her homeland, and the recitation of the traditional recipe to French bakers to replicate the doughy delicacy for her majesty. Finally, the story of the siege of Vienna rumors that as the Turks attempted to tunnel underneath the walls of the city, several bakers, still working late into the night in their basement kitchens, heard the Turks digging and sounded the alarm with enough time that the army was able to assemble before the tunnel was finished and force the Turks to retreat. As a celebration of the victory, one of the bakers made a pasty in the shape of a crescent, the symbol on the Turkish flag, so that when it was consumed it would be as if the Viennese were devouring the Turks.

            Though the croissant is one of my favorite foods, I’ve never tried to make it. I ogle the lengthy recipe in the Joy of Cooking often, but never seem to work up the courage to attempt the task. Perhaps I’m worried that my homemade concoction will fall flat of my expectations, maybe it’s the suggested 3 sticks of butter that scare me away, or it could be the 2 full-length pages of intricate instructions that include series of folding repeatedly and making tiny notches in the dough so as not to lose count. Likely my lack of croissant baking actually comes from my year spent as an opener at a French Boulangerie, watching the bakers layer yeasty dough with slabs of sweet, creamy, butter, and then a little more dough, and then a lot more butter, etc, until they had created a small tower of flour and fat that was run through an industrial roller, folded, flattened again, folded and so on until it was thin, and elastic, and the dough and butter so tightly bonded that the layers could no longer be pulled apart with one’s fingers. This process of beating the mountain of cold butter into a floury sheet seemed so distant from the warm pastry I picked apart with my fingers each morning while inventorying the day’s goods (we were allowed to eat one pastry a day – a small offering of condolence for having to arrive at work before the sun) that it never discouraged me from ingesting the buttery treat; crafting the croissant, however, had transformed into an unattainable feat.

            In the late 1900s, the development of the factory-made, frozen, pre-formed, and mass-produced dough made the croissant a fast food. Though the real croissant does still exist, it is threatened often by an impostor -- the harsh, spongy croissant that lacks that perfect, flaky, crust, and that appears worldwide at the continental breakfast, in grocery stores, in mediocre bakeshops, and rolled up in a blue and white Pillsbury tube. But the real thing does exist, if you are willing to search for it, and put any calorie concerns aside.

            On the search for the croissant, author Elizabeth Bard suggests:

             “Where croissants are concerned, I’ve found two principal schools of thought. Some prefer a brioche-like model, with golden hue, a little spring, and an eggy chew. Not I. I like flake, a croissant with an outer layer so fine and brittle that you get crumbs all over yourself from the very first bite. When you pull it apart there should be some empty space, pockets of air between the buttery layers of dough. When you finally do rip off a hunk to dip in your coffee, it stretches a little before it breaks. More crumbs, but utterly, completely worth the mess.

[Then] there is the gender issue; every French noun is assigned a sex, masculine or feminine. Personally, I think my croissant is a woman, as tender and fragile as a Brontë heroine. But apparently, the Académie Française, the guys who make the dictionary, have decided that ‘croissant’ is masculine, un croissant. I have been outvoted” (Lunch in Paris, 78).

            I couldn’t agree more with Bard. I prefer to eat my pastry covered in its crumbs that inevitably leave tiny butter stains on my pants and shirt if left to sit too long, a silky, soft interior that stretches as the pastry is pulled apart and that tears lightly into strands that melt away as you chew. A knife and fork are not necessary; a croissant is to be eaten with the fingers. When you first break into the croissant, there should be space -- distinct air pockets in the pastry. This aerie nature isn’t a sign of weakness of the dough, it’s the space left for you to fold in all of your expectations, and have them instantly satiated with your first bite. My croissant, like Bard's, is also distinctly feminine because I associate it so closely with my own nature: a rough exterior that flakes away easily, exposing the delicate fluff stuffed inside.

When traveling abroad, I ate croissants daily as breakfast, not only because it was delicious, but because it was the easiest way to start the day. I knew how to say the word, I didn’t have to work too hard to translate, and formulate, and conjugate verbs and produce nouns that often fell from my mouth half-formed and in the wrong gender despite my best attempts. The croissant was the simple, doughy start to my adventures abroad each day; the soft padding of the language barrier.

Arriving back in Boston after going home for the holidays felt different. Though still exciting, the idea of real life, work, starting graduate school, and remaining in the city seemed suddenly different, and a bit startling even. A few days ago I discovered a croissant, a real croissant, just two blocks from my Brookline apartment at Athan’s bakery. Of all the beautiful cakes, and scones, and breads, and baklava laid out before me, my eyes and heart settled instantly on my old friend, the perfect French crescent, golden, and flaky. A few more days of wandering around Boston and I know I’ll be ready for the city again, excited by the surroundings and the opportunities ahead, but for now, I’m glad I’ve found the croissant so close by. In an environment of angles and lines and hard spaces, it’s nice, for the time being, to have found something soft.

Breakfast for two (Zach and I) at Athan's: a croissant (the real, classic, buttery, flaky pastry) a cheese pie (a soft pastry shell surrounding 3 subtle, savory, melted cheeses) and a mocha semifreddo (which is technically like eating ice cream for breakfast, but we couldn't resist).

The never attempted (you’ll see why when you read it) croissant recipe from the Joy of Cooking

Makes eighteen 3 1/2-inch long croissants

Place on work surface:

1 1/2 cups (3 sticks cold unsalted butter

Measure:

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

Sprinkle the butter with a little of the flour and begin to beat it with a rolling pin. Scrape the butter from the work surface and the rolling pin as needed and fold it over itself into a heap. Continue to work the butter until it is a smooth and malleable mass. Knead the remaining flour into the butter with your hands, working quickly to keep the butter cold. Place the butter on a sheet of plastic wrap and shape it into a 9x6-inch rectangle. Wrap and refrigerate the butter while you make the dough.

Whisk together in a small bowl and let stand until the yeast is dissolved, about 5 minutes:

1 cup warm (105 to 115 F) whole milk

1 package (2 1/4 teaspoons) active dry yeast

1 tablespoon sugar

Mix together in a large bowl:

2 3/4 cps all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small pieces, softened

1 teaspoon salt

Make a well in the center and add the warm milk mixture. Mix with a fork or your fingers to make a dough. Transfer to a lightly floured surface and knead for a few seconds, until smooth. Refrigerate the dough for 15 minutes.

            Sprinkle the top of the dough with flour and roll into a 15 1/2 x 8-inch rectangle, sprinkling additional flour underneath it as needed to prevent sticking. Position the dough so that one of the short ends is facing you. Cover the upper two-thirds of the dough with the rectangle of butter, leaving a 1-inch border of dough on the sides and at the top. Fold the bottom third of the dough over the butter. Fold the top third of the dough, with the butter on it, down over the first third, as if you were folding a business letter. Press the edges of the dough together on all 3 sides to seal in the butter. Rotate the dough so that the folded edge is on the left and the sealed edge is on the right.

            Sprinkle the dough lightly with flour and press it gently with the rolling pin to flatten is slightly. Keeping the short end of the dough facing you, roll into an 18 x8-inch rectangle. Fold the bottom third up and the top third down again. (This rolling and folding is called a single turn.) Rotate the dough so that the folded edge is on the left and the open edge is on the right (like a book about to be opened). Give the dough one more single turn, rolling it into an 18 x 8-inch rectangle and folding it in thirds. Sprinkle the work surface lightly with flour as needed to prevent the dough from sticking; if at any time the butter gets soft, refrigerate it for 10 to 15 minutes. Mark the dough with 2 imprints to remind yourself that you have given the dough 2 turns. Wrap the dough loosely in plastic and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

            Place the dough so the folded edge is on the left and the open edge is on the right, and give it another turn. Rotate and give the dough a final turn. If at any time the butter gets soft, refrigerate it for 10 to 15 minutes. (At this point the dough can be frozen, wrapped in plastic, then aluminum foil, then a plastic bag with the air removed. If frozen, thaw overnight in the refrigerator before proceeding.)

            Roll the dough into a 24 x 12-inch rectangle, about 1/4 inch thick. Let stand for 5 minutes to relax the gluten and prevent shrinking when cut.

            Cut the dough lengthwise into two 24 x 6 inch strips. Refrigerate 1 strip on a baking sheet. Position the remaining rectangle with one long side facing you. Starting from the left, mark the bottom edge of the dough by nicking it with a knife at 4 1/2 inch intervals. Mark the top edge of the dough 2 1/4 inches from the left edge, then continue to mark it at 4 1/2 inch intervals. To cut the dough into triangles, cut from the bottom left corner of the dough to the first mark at the top, then from that mark to the first mark at the bottom, then from the first mark at the bottom to the second mark at the top, and so forth, until you have 9 triangles. Make a 1/4-inch-long nick in the middle of the short side of each triangle.

            To from a croissant, stretch the short side of a triangle by pulling corners gently as you begin to roll the stretched edge tightly (but not too tightly) toward the opposite point of the triangle. Finish rolling the croissant so that the point to the triangle is on the bottom of the roll. Shape the other triangles in the same manner. Place the croissants at least 2 inches apart on ungreased baking sheets, curving the ends to form crescent shapes. Repeat the procedure with the second rectangle. (Unbaked croissants can be refrigerated overnight; they will rise partially, for the yeast continues to work slowly in the chilled environment. Let them finish rising at room temperature before baking. They can also be frozen; thaw overnight in the refrigerator before proceeding.)

            Cover the croissants with a clean cloth or plastic wrap. Let rise at room temperature until increased in volume by almost half, 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

            Position a rack in the lover third of the oven. Preheat the oven to 375 F.

Brush the croissants lightly with:

            1 egg, lightly beaten

Bake until golden brown, 20 to 25 minutes. Transfer the croissants to a rack and let cool completely. Croissants are bets served the day they are baked, but they may be frozen for 1 month in a sealed plastic bag. Reheat in a preheated 300 F oven for 5 minutes.