When Ben was barely walking I made croissants in my kitchen, in a different neighborhood, in a different town. They were fantastic.
Over two and a half decades later - craving real croissants all that time and never finding satisfaction - I made another batch.
These are better.
These are truly French, except they were made here in Oregon.
And it took three days.
Today was bake-them day.
Poor Cassie and Caroline walked out the door to their French class just moments before I pulled the flaky rolls from the oven.
Don't feel sorry for the girls. The croissants are safe with me. I ate one for lunch with a small dish of last summer's berries topped with creme fraiche. That's enough. Craving satisfied.
On with the day.
(Wish you were here.)