Voltaire Everywhere: Part 2

Tell me truly. Don't you simply loathe a story when it dawdles and stalls, and finds reasons to stop which are more suitable for hurrying up, and altogether takes too much time to get where it's going? Of course, any self-respecting someone worth their salt and their salary would throw coins for an old wife to hurry her tale, but some things, my dear, take time. See, that same someone would certainly miss the end of the legend to break the seal of a bottle in his cellar, and more likely than not that bottle has more than a toddler's years on it's label. To be sure, we have all had our bouts of overeager restlessness at times, and certainly by now, have learned that patience and prudence and persistence serve better than juice at table.

Bear now in mind as you set yourself down and spread the napkin to your lap, that what is laid before you has spent the entirety of its course in aim of filling you to satisfaction, or perhaps to bloat. That is up to you. Whether it is to palette, "to the teeth" al dente, past the point of fermentation, or cauldrened to perfection, well, that is up to your chef:
"Candidly, I am, to some, an optimist, and yet to others deluded, often I hear myself called in jest "a realist polluted," but for me, you see, I prefer to simply lay it bare, I know the world to be the best that it could ever be; that's the truth, though it is unfair. My name, you ask? Voltaire.

They have asked me here to announce the truth, to stand in front of them in front of you to hide their faces when I do, and show for all the world to see the secrets of the joy you seek and the pastries, too. I do not hesitate to tell, but it behooves me to dispel of those who will not take it well, and so with this I give you leave, all of those who are naive, who heave and grieve when under the rug is perceived, or those as well are free to go who simply cannot take the blow of finding out, just so you know, that hell is not below. If you find, indeed that you are already shaken, I beseech you, reawaken and rise yourself to your feet, leave your seat. You, sir, should retreat. There is no shame in your complaint, I grant you sir, the truth is not quaint, indeed I tip my hat as you retire for in your escape and your restraint, you do inspire others' hearts to be just as faint. I hold no compunction in playing at this function; in fact, in truth, I find it rather scrumptious. Now those of us who have remained and proved thus far to be entertained, we will pursue a few hard truths. For the sake of clarity, the meaning of "hard" must be understood with a bit of irregularity; in perfect sincerity, some of these morsels will be both soft, and difficult to swallow. Do you follow?

I am confident now in the audience's facility, to take with tact, and responsibility, the delicacies and full impact of these following facts. And so without further discourse, to prevent myself from going hoarse, as the church bells sound in the background, I present to you, your renowned serveuse."

On the Menu today, my friends and fellows, a fixe prix, you see, as is seasonally fresh, and well conceived. We will begin from start to end, the day well had was this:

Risen early, though not well rested, with a weight upon the heel, the head is lifted from the pillow, and remembers the first meal. Scurries quickly, to the freezer where the layers lay, dough and butter, taken care to cover each other yesterday. The dough'd been kneaded and left to rise until it conceded its prize and was rolled into a +. The butter in the middle was, of course, the perfect size, and a perfect square. With stipes and patibulums hugging the butter there, all was rolled, gentle and controlled, to be sure to not leak the gold. Again from there was folded, edges and corners inside, and yet again the pattern implied repeated once again besides. Until there were counted 7 layers of dough, each too thin to be counted a gateau, but all together, I think you'll agree, would be the breakfast of quite a bourgeoisie. Allowed to rest, and thus to warm, the dough then is ready to form. Take care though: do not be too bold as to ruin the cold or the butter will leak through the dough! Roll it out slow, gentle, and thin, without sticking itself to the skin or the pin, and then we are ready for cuts. You can add what you'd like from jelly to nuts, and anything else besides, but see-saw your knife first to make the best size for a croissant of isosceles sides. Here's a small secret that's forgotten quite frequent, to cut a small slit on the edge: fold the lapels and then you really get rolling. Fill up your tray, and set in the oven at a temperature that's best for your day (consider altitude, humidity, and if your oven heats in an uneven way), and pursue that virtue of patience.


It deserves to be said, that those with vision degraded, and compensated with spectacles, ought to remove them lest they be proven useless by the buttery, yeasty, gust of steam from the oven that will get your appetite stoked, if it wasn't already by now.