FLAKY

There are things out there you’ve never imagined, possibilities you haven’t even considered. Good things are waiting for you. Take, for example, croissants. Call them flaky! Call them fattening! Call them anything you like. But call them over in your darkest hour. You’ll be glad you did. There are a surprising number of ways to get croissants. You can stay in a fancy hotel and have room service bring them up. You can stay in a cheap hotel and snatch them off the breakfast buffet in the moment before the morning rush. You can ask the baker to bring one out from behind the counter; you can buy them by the half-dozen in a clamshell at the grocery store. You might even be able to bake them from scratch, though I’ve never knowingly met anybody who has. Each of these has its own advantages. Then, there’s the other way to get croissants, my favourite way. You can go to a grocery store and ask the person behind the bakery counter to sell you the frozen, unbaked croissants they keep in the back. It’s one of those things you don’t know you can do until you try it. It’s not a strategy preferred by the shy retiring types, given that you generally have to ask twice. Nobody is expecting such a request. Once they have ensured that they heard you properly, some clerks will agree to this without batting an eyelash. Others, less professional in their approach, will hesitate, click their tongues thoughtfully, and call the manager. Either way, you’ll go home with the treasure you came for. Trust me! I know this from experience, and here is another thing I know. No croissant has ever tasted better than the hot-from-the-oven miracles I devoured in my bed at 5:00 AM on March 16 2020. I had purchased the frozen babies just before Christmas, thinking I would serve them Christmas morning. But then, other treats got in the way and my icy possibilities gradually sank into obscurity beneath the blueberries, chicken breasts and forgotten bread crusts I was saving to make stuffing. There they lay: silent; patient; hoping I would remember them some day; waiting to be needed. The some-day of remembrance and need arrived on Sunday March 15. What I actually needed on Sunday March 15 was something to give me hope. Covid-19 was cancelling my plans. Looking regretfully to the next few days I could see that there would be no choir practice, no writers club, no exercise classes, no bridge club, no lunches with friends. There would be no happy hour in our condo social room, no care-partner training at the Alzheimer Society, no planning for upcoming grief groups at Pilgrim’s Hospice. Once the ball of regret got rolling, I even started regretting the cancellation of the condo meeting that had promised to be stressful and controversial. That was the last straw. Something had to be done. I looked around for something to do. I listened for the voice of wisdom. That is when I heard them calling. “Bake us Wendy! Bake us!” Frozen unbaked croissants are perfect examples of potential. They start out small and grow faster than most things. You can take frozen croissant babies out of the freezer any time, but bedtime is the best time. You put them on a cookie sheet. They thaw and rise overnight. Then, in the morning, you bake them. I had not intended to bake at 4:30 AM. But these are strange times. I wasn’t sleeping well, and by 4:00 a faint whiff of yeastiness was floating on the cold night air. In the warmth of my bed I heard the distant call. It was a chiding call, the call of a dare. “Just try to wait until 7:00!” “I can wait,” I replied with confidence, and I did wait. I practised self-discipline for 25 long minutes. Then I baked. Few things are flakier than hot croissants in the first moments after you take them out of the oven. Few people are flakier than those of us who, rather than eating in a cold night kitchen, will choose to take hot croissants to bed. But there’s no place more comfortable than bed at 5:00 AM, and nothing more tantalizing than a hot flaky croissant. Today is March 17. Runaway croissant flakes are hiding in my bed. I push them with my feet, catch them in my toes and swish them down toward the bottom. Normally I would have washed the sheets yesterday. Someday I will do the laundry. But for now, with so few interesting things to do, and no promise of a quick return to normal life, I think I will simply enjoy coming across them by accident and remembering the delicious taste of those freshly baked piping hot croissants.