A blue jay screeched territorially about 6:08 A.M. and within minutes I was out with the dogs on the streets for the day’s first walk. Squirrels, reminding me of monkeys seen in India, were everywhere. On black telephone wires, roofs, in gardens, and up and down tree trunks. On Brattle and then Channing street, the oaks kept dropping lots of acorns and that reminded me of hail.
It’s not always good to be reminded of things when reality is present. That suggests a limited adherence and a preoccupation that curtails observation.
Meanwhile, seen or unseen, summer is ending, and people are returning from trips overseas, trips to big cities, trips to New England, and will soon be back home complaining about a need for more money and a desire for social justice while getting their kids ready for school.
Me, I’m looking for the perfect croissant. Legend has it that it was invented in 1683 in Vienna to celebrate victory over the Turks who had laid siege to the city. Who knows? I started thinking about croissants after reading Marcus Samuelsson’s thoughts on it in his marvelous book. He describes working in the bakery attached to Georges Blanc.
Blanc’s establishment wowed me completely, back in the day, although his celebrated Bresse chicken in cream sauce was way too rich for my blood.
Anyway, back to croissant.
Boston excels at baked goods: Pizza, bread, etc. So it’s no surprise that the croissant here are outstanding. My favorite currently is from the Swiss Bakery–this place is the real thing. Owner Thomas Stohr’s goods are as good as those from his mother country. We are talking a fine crust and a moist interior and at $3.00, a breakfast so satisfying you can skip lunch, if you like.
Good food provides focus, it’s fair to say, ballast as things around us change.