Two nights ago on impulse I decided to dedicate this weekend to croissants. They've been on my baking to-do list for ages now, and it was time to flour up my counters and beat the hell out of some butter.
I did a little internet research and found an amazing blog post at mamaliga.com that details Julia Child's croissant recipe step-by-step, with beautiful, captioned photographs. I also looked in my copy of The Italian Baker (which I've been saving for the future day when I feel like I've graduated from decent amateur to real home baker, master of sponges and puff pastry), but the recipe makes three pounds of dough and I just don't have the confidence to make that much of it. Julia's recipe makes a quaint dozen croissants and doesn't involve building a butter block; instead, you simply bash a stick of butter with a rolling pin until smooth, and then shape it into a circle. This is a good way to burn pre-croissant calories and simultaneously work out the day's aggression.
So, with Gabi from mamaliga behind me (metaphorically) and a mound of pastry flour, Kerrygold Irish butter and parchment paper at my front, I set into the most intimidating yeasted baking process of my life. Because these are not the innocent cinnamon buns or wholesome whole wheat bread, or even the intricately shaped Greek Easter round loaf that I bake every winter; no, croissants come with an intimidating array of baggage: layers of buttery, flaky, fat little crescent-shaped baggage that break my heart every time I excitedly buy one only to bite into a glorified, greasy roll. The best croissant possesses infinite golden striations that make a mess on your plate and gum up the jam knife. A croissant worth eating is rich without being greasy, and airy enough to crack on the surface, while dense enough to provide a pliant, buttery middle. In essence, a croissant must offer you all, or it is nothing.
That's a lot of pressure for the casual home baker, and I think it's why (other than the butterfat quotient) most of us choose to occasionally grab a croissant as a treat rather than incorporate them into the kitchen repertoire. But, I figure I'm at home, a little bored, a lot pregnant, and the weather is cold and rainy. So why not take a chance? Besides, I was wrapped in a fantasy of pulling croissant goodness from the oven like a goddess of butter and Sunday breakfast good will. I envisioned myself benignly dropping off homemade croissants at my parents' and in-laws' houses and basking in the oohs and ahhs.
To be fair, the dough-making process was a lot easier than I'd imagined it to be. You do need to be at home for a six-hour or so stretch, because the dough needs to rise, and then be turned, rolled and chilled twice for 1-2 hours at a stretch before being shaped, and then the shaped rolls have to rise before being baked, and then washed with egg, and you get the drift. This is not a baking project for commitment-phobes. But actually making and shaping the layers isn't too hard, especially with Gabi's awesome instructions. What turned out to be hard was shaping the rolls.
I thought that would be the easy part! You cut little triangles and roll them from base to tip, curving them into crescents. Just like rugelach. But somehow mine turned out long and thin, like the French chef's answer to Virginia Slims. And the four I stuffed with bars of dark chocolate looked like sand crabs. Never mind, I told myself, they'll improve with the final rise. And to a certain extent, they did. Besides, sand crabs are an interesting design choice and probably highly original. And whatever shape they take, they still taste good.
They don't break into a million layers, but they're crispy and buttery and fragment a little bit when you bite into them. The corners are marvelous. The plus side of my shaping snafu is that I'll just have to continue making croissants until they look perfect. The minus side is politely enduring the sound of T's laughter as he walks my little butter crabs across the table...which is somehow made worse by the fact that it is funny. Stinking little pastry crustaceans. Get in my belly!
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