” 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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