It’s quite evident from this photo that she has a little bit of kidney bean in her DNA, or a long lost relative shaped like a croissant.

Speaking of croissants, I recently recalled someone giving me one but I didn’t eat it, instead I wrapped it and put it somewhere.  It was one of those situations where there was a pile of food left over from an event and this person clearly didn’t want to be stuck bringing home all of the food.  I politely declined since, while delicious, pastries made from large volumes of saturated fat aren’t part of my current preferred foods (but will gloriously remain a dietary staple in my parallel universe).  My protestations weren’t good enough and after entreaties like, “Oh, c’mon!  I can’t possibly eat all of this myself!” I gave in, thinking I would bring it home for someone else to eat.  I wrapped it, put it in my bag, and promptly forgot about it.

We went away for a few days and when we do that I usually park my bag in the closet where it collects spider webs and moths until I retrieve it when it’s time to go home.  As always, our glorious time at Toad Hall is too short, and when throwing my cell phone into my bag, I heard a muted thuk!! which was caused by, as I discovered upon further investigation, the phone hitting the carefully preserved pastry like a mortar shell, making it explode all over the inside of my bag.  The particular flakiness of the pastry was a certainly a testament to the talents of the individual who baked the it but that’s what you think of when you’re eating it, not emptying out your purse, one flake at a time, four days later.

The next time someone gives me a Clafouti croissant, I’m not going to ‘save it’ for someone more deserving.  I’m just gonna eat it.

Clafouti:  A small French bakery on Queen West, south side from Trinity-Bellwoods.  Try to get there as early as possible – the croissants disappear very quickly.  They don’t make more, but leave you wanting more.