Something’s going around our watercooler channel on Slack at work about chocolate croissants. I’ve not weighed in yet. I’m still new there. When the kids were little, these delights were one of their primary sources of nutrition. You couldn’t see the floormats in the backseat for all the golden flakes left there by my little angels. So, the barrier of ignorance, standing in the way of my care and feeding of my daughters, still resonates with me.
I’d take the girls down to Le Boulanger on a Saturday or Sunday morning, for a little continental breakfast with hot chocolate. It often went like this:
“Three pains au chocolat, please.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Three pain au chocolatss, please, thanks.”
A blank, straight face stared back, blinking.
“Those, right there, pain au chocolat, I’d like three.”
“Please, dad.” The girls are getting stressed at the escalating standoff.
“Just a sec hon, I’m getting your breakfast.”
A look down behind the display case, and a slight shrug, “Bear claws?”
“No. Pan. Oh. Choc-o-laht. Three.”
“DAD!”
“Three of those, right there.” tapping on the display in front of a mound of fresh, no doubt still warm chocolatey flaky treats.
“Oh, chocolate croissants! Sure. For here or to go?”
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