croissant Tag

Layered scallion pancraffles

”  SOMETIMES THE RIGHT THINGS DON’T MAKE SENSE. “

This is not a croissant.  I know better not to call it such without the distinct lamination equally spaced across in laser-precision, if only to avoid sudden eruptive rage from the sentimental hearts of any avid croissantologists.  But this is not a scallion pancake either.  Not only that its yeasted, bread-like dough stands apart from the standard model.  But the ungodly amount of butter in between its much thinner circular layers, stained green from bled out scallions could surely, I speculate again, rattle the graves of many conservative Chinese grandmothers.  Not that dead people have feelings.  But I wouldn’t underestimate their much-alive grandchildren with multiple Twitter accounts.  I guess what I could safely refer to it as, is probably that it’s a waffle.  For nowadays, anything and everything cooked in a waffle machine, let it be raw fish sushi or spaghetti bolognese, is unmistakably, a waffle.  No progressive movement there.

Or, I could just call it something else entirely.  A pancraffle.

And if you are one who doesn’t spend too much time on correct name-calling, but instead, on actions, then you’d be rewarded with these crispy and flakey outside, soft oniony and buttery on the inside, all in all, a beautiful hybrid with the best qualities of all parties.

But if you really want to get out there, then instead of the very reasonable topping of grated cheddar cheese, try a big dollop of burnt marshmallow meringue.  Sometimes the right things don’t make sense.

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easy laminated nutella morning buns

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LONG, LIKE WAIST-DEEP

GANDALF GONE WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE

LATELY, I’ve been running into the same remark that brings attention to something I would not have otherwise noticed.  Not on my naturally rustic… understated beauty, nor my deeply reflective overstated fashion.  But, people have been saying to me that they didn’t realize – shit, even I didn’t realize – that my hair has grown, ungovernably… looooong.  Yes, yes they are loooong.  Not prince-bait-golden-Rapenzul long, or mysterious-darkness-of-the-night-Pantene-commercial long, but like, waist-deep-Gandalf-gone-Where-The-Wild-Things-Are long.  Staring at my almost-fire-hazardous self in the mirror, I have come to the unlikely yet true explanation for such disregard …

Simply, I don’t have time for hair-salon.

Madness!  What have I – a mid-30 unemployed female who doesn’t believe in happiness before 1 PM because that’s evidently sleep-deprived illusions – any excuses to look like a historical ruin?  Upon the horrid awakening, I was forced into re-examining, what exactly, consumed my otherwise abundant span of the day.  Then, I realized they are all utterly meaningless, yet indispensable, segments of tasks.

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SPEED FOLDING, PEANUT SUGAR MORNING BUNS

“JUST TWO FOLDINGS, GUYS.  TWOOO FOLDINGS!”

I literally cannot wait, cannot put another wasted minute between you and this recipe.  Cannot contain the overjoy in the fact that I have fulfilled the purpose of why I was put on this earth, my designated service to humanity… it is all done, right here, after I push the “publish” button.  I can die now and be accepted into heaven and I shall be in peace.

Yesterday, armed with skepticism, I entered the kitchen with an unlikely theory.  A few hours later, I came out lit-up like a Christmas tree.  This rarely happens, but it did.

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