I love decadent Sunday mornings. The luxury of spending just one more minute snuggled under a warm, fluffy, duvet is a rare gift. I like to keep my morning simple, and my first order of business is a cup of steamy, strong, black coffee. Adding to my self-indulgence is a regal, weekend-only treat.
I am a croissant connoisseur. A croissant snob. They must be delicate, flaky, light, and oh so buttery. I prefer them gently warmed. Few things are more extravagant than a homemade, perfectly baked, golden moon, plucked directly from the oven. You can hold the chocolate, almonds, powdered sugar, whipped cream, pastry cream, figs, raspberries, apples, bananas, the Nutella, and even that extra pat of butter.
The idea that croissants are fait maison, and eaten immediately is a dream, and I resort to my neighborhood bakery. Set on a plain white plate, essential for containing the flaky crumb…
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