They looked like friendly dinosaurs, Sylvia thought as she squatted down in front of the cabinet to look at them more closely. Beautiful, crispy pastry segments each slightly larger than the one before. Only where you might expect to see a head, there was a puff of cream. Red, prickly strawberries placed along the cakes’ spines reminded Sylvia of the dragons she’d fallen in love with watching How to Train Your Dragon cartoons on lazy Saturday mornings.
And this Saturday morning, she hoped Alain would fall in love with her, even if she had to seduce him with French pastries.
My heart swelled as I looked at the beautiful pastries. So much time. So much love.
I wiped my hands on my dusty apron as I gazed out the store window. This was my dream. Baking delicious treats for others to enjoy. I didn't realize how much heartache it would cost me. Moving thousands of miles from the family and friends to chase down an opportunity almost too good to be true. A brief conversation at the end of my culinary class with a visiting professor and here I am - making these gorgeous treats in another country - all on my own.
They said I wouldn't go. They said I was stupid to think he would hold up his part of the deal. They said I would be running home with my tail tucked between my legs in six months.
Six months.
Well, today is my year anniversary. And I am here to stay.
That day that changed my life, I was unaware of how one decision would have such an impact and change me forever. It started with a decision to stop in a bakery along the way. I was really early for my appointment, taking my time meandering through the neighborhood and enjoying the morning sun on my face.
I was already in a pocket of what I like to call ‘found time’, outside of my daily routine, and an opportunity to take a breath, lift my head up and enjoy the world for a moment. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, as usual and the aromas wafting from the bakery were too tempting to resist.
He'd already bought most of the croissants but he wanted more, just four more. When he passed the shop surreptitiously, he noticed there were four left!
Knowing his afternoon tea party would be incomplete is there weren't enough croissants for everyone, it was now or never. He was lost in thought and almost missed noticing the poor urchin asking for a coin or two. He bent down to her level and said:
"I'll give you the money. You have to do something simple for me."
"What?" Asked the child, not convinced.
"Buy all the remaining croissants from that bakery for me."
"Umm, okay!"
So he handed her the money and away she went while he watched her, almost embarrassed that he didn't trust the kid.
She returned with a box and said:
"Here you go. Now my money?"
"Oh, didn't you get any change from the Baker?"
She clucked her tongue and scratched her neck.
Puzzled as he was out of money, he did the next best thing.
He gave her one of the croissants. He would pretend to his guests that he's cutting down on sugar.
My fortune lies wedged between the strawberry and the cream. Sitting pretty in the bakery window, beckoning me to come and claim it. This is no ordinary fortune cookie, it is my reflection through the glass. Twisted in parts, it requires a delicate touch to protect the softness within. Sweetness oozes gently from the broken parts. I cradle the croissant like a newborn, like this fortune was composed just for me. If only I could understand the gold writing, then I might be set free.
Running late to a meeting my friend secured for me, face-to-face with an agent and my manuscript, I passed the window of this new patisserie. This agent was doing our mutual friend a favor, for she didn't typically welcome new writers into her office where she might have to refuse them awkwardly and then usher them out the door before any begging might occur. But she agreed to give me a few minutes and an honest assessment of my opening scene.
My friend had mentioned that the agent didn't smile much, so I should be prepared for a rather no-nonsense encounter, but she loved pastries, and it wouldn't hurt to bring a little gift to "butter her up," pun intended. These delights in the window were all they had left this morning after the mad rush that took all the varieties, but they certainly looked luscious enough. I'll take them.
Sitting across from Ms. Agent Extraordinaire, I watched her scanning my pages. She nibbled a bit of the croissant ever so delicately. Could I do the same? Should I? I tried, but delicate is not my forte, and I couldn't very well use my thumb and finger to wipe my mouth.
After what seemed an interminable span of silence, Ms. Agent looked at me and smiled. I was elated. She liked my work and saw the value, just as I had hoped. Just as I had dared to dream . . . or was it something else?
She then gestured--"You have a little cream on your chin," she managed with a chuckle.
Marvin brought the pastry to Christine's door. He knocked and waited for her to answer. After a few moments and a muffled "Who is it?" he heard the chain slide and deadbolt flip as the door cracked open.
Christine looked at Marvin bleary eyed through small opening she had made with the door. "Oh hi," she said.
"Good morning! I brought you this," Marvin said and held up the pastry for Christine to see. "We have a long way to go today and figured you could get a sugar high to help get you going."
"Thanks," she said. "You're sweet."
She reached for the pastry and held the door open a beat longer.
"Meet you downstairs in 10," she said. Marvin nodded and smiled as she closed the door. She looked at the pastry in her hand and walked to the trash basket to throw it away. If the strawberry allergy didn't kill her, the cream and gluten in it would make her sick.
Christine knew Marvin would try to eliminate her at some point. He wanted the loot for himself. She made sure the door was locked and started the shower. She would need all of her wits today.
“I mean, couldn’t we just split one? We are on vacation, after all,” I begged my ultra-fit, calorie-conscious husband. “There’s even fruit!”
“Do you really want to go home bloated and exhausted, having gained 10 pounds while we’re here?” He rolled his eyes at me. But we had stopped walking. Maybe he was actually considering a treat, for once. Or a suggestion from me, instead of everything always being his idea.
“We don’t even have to finish it. Wouldn’t just a taste be so delightful with our cappuccinos?”
“Okay, okay. We’ll share ONE and maybe not even finish it,” he said with a smirk, reaching for his wallet as he made eye contact with the server behind the counter.
I grinned and probably would’ve clapped my hands like a little kid if I hadn’t been holding both of our drinks. The rare instance of getting my way overshadowed any pastry, as far as treats went. This would probably be the last time, on this trip at least.
Rolling their eyes, Martha was a mess. The other three mountains sat majestically on the pan, awaiting the adoration and the photographs that would be taken. But poor Martha they whispered, she was all sagging and seeping in all the wrong places. “Why can’t she just get herself together?” but Martha could hear them and frankly, she didn’t care.
The right person would find her and explore the crevices of her mountain and find the hidden treasures, but only the right person would skip the picture, and just take her home.
I went with my mom to the pastry shop again. It was our little ritual, every Saturday morning before dad woke up. We’d giggle about the things he did, the bad things, while our pastries sat uneaten. We’d take them to go so the people working didn’t notice, but they never made it back to the house.
It was our little secret.
I don’t remember how those pastries tasted, I don’t think I had ever actually eaten one during our chats.
I’m grown now, and the pastry shop is gone, Ma too. But I still remember those pastries, and the silly things we used to talk about as they slowly grew stale on our plates.
I think those pastries must’ve tasted pretty good.
Taj is attending a work conference in South Korea for a few days. It’s day two of the conference and she has no serious duties or commitments for the day. Taj slips out of the conference arena, skipping communal lunch to visit the bakery next to her hotel instead.
She had seen creamy croissants in the window display when they arrived two days before as the shuttle drove her and her colleagues to the hotel from the airport.
Taj loves croissants and makes it her thing to sample different types when visiting different countries.
Edit: I hadn’t read your notes about the photo before writing. So I was so pleased with myself to see that I’d guessed Seoul and some other things right. 🤓
It might not be perfect but it didn't matter. She'd created it from scratch and now it was in the bakery window waiting to be sold. She didn't care that it didn't look exactly like the other three, made by her patisserie master. It didn't matter if it was the last to go, if all the customers picked the prettier ones first. Or if it didn't sell at all - she'd eat it herself at the end of the day. In fact she hoped it didn't sell so she could enjoy the flakey pastry, sweet strawberry and thick cream.
And besides, it didn't look as bad as her apron, which looked more like she worked in a butchers than a bakery, smeared with strawberry juice! Sure the cream was spilling out the side and you could see creamy finger marks where she'd placed it down on the tray. She was sure she had flour in her hair but she was beaming, pride at what she had created glowing out of her. She couldn't wait till tomorrow morning when Yumiko would show her how to make another delicious treat. This little bakery was about to become her life and for the first time in a long time she felt excited.
"I hope he comes back today, I made these strawberry croissants just for him".
Alicia had been working at the boulangerie for just under a year and yesterday was the first time she had seen him. She had been working the register when she spotted him outside with an adorable Maltese terrier. She noticed the name Ziggy sewn into its bright pink harness. He tied the puppy to the rail under the shop window and Alicia heard the doorbell jingle as he entered the store.
Alicia had moved to Korea two years prior. She had transformed herself to disconnect from her past in Australia, changing her hair colour, losing a little weight (a stress diet will do that for you), and having a minor rhinoplasty to fix that awkward bump on her nose.
"Do you have any croissants with fresh strawberries?" he asked, pulling her out of her reverie. She quickly studied him. No signs of recognition fluttered across his face.
I'm going to get away with this, she thought. I'll have Ziggy back before the end of the week.
I am trying my hands at fiction. Bit scared, but what the heck, here it is:
The morning sun streams through the bakery window, warming my flaky layers as I rest proudly on a silver tray. My butter-rich curves glisten, and the sweet strawberry filling peeks temptingly from my edges. Such a privileged position, right at the front of the display!
"Look at that one!" a little girl presses her nose against the glass. Her breath creates a small foggy circle, and I puff up slightly, knowing she's admiring me. "The cream is swirling with the strawberries, Mommy!"
I can feel my cream filling shifting slightly as another customer's footsteps vibrate through the display case. The other pastries–plain croissants, they are–seem a bit jealous of my garnished appearance. But what can I say? Not everyone can pull off wearing both whipped cream and fresh strawberry compote.
"That's our special of the day," Marie, the baker, tells a gentleman in a business suit. "The strawberries were picked fresh this morning." I remember when she carefully sliced me open while I was still warm, piping in that cloud-like cream with expert hands. The way she nestled those ruby-red strawberry pieces into my center–pure artistry!
A cool breeze sneaks in whenever the door opens, making my outer layers crackle ever so slightly. It's like wearing a delicate, buttery armor that protects my precious filling. I hear the bell chime again, and this time, I know it's my moment.
"I'll take that one," a petite lady dressed in white points directly at me. "It looks too perfect to resist."
Perfect indeed, I think, as Marie's tongs lift me gently from my perch. Time to make someone's day a little more delicious.
The strawberries poked out of the croissants filled with whipped cream inviting the little girl to come up to them. Her eyes lit up as she excitedly pointed towards them, pleading her mum to buy them for her.
“Oh, please aunty! They look so good. And we can share!”
Well, they did look good. But that wasn’t on Andrea’s mind. Years ago when she was a child she begged her aunt as well to buy her a dessert from the local patisserie. Her aunt never did, saying only good girls get to eat dessert. But of course, she wouldn’t hesitate to buy dessert for her younger brother and sister who would behave naughtier than she did. The worst part? They never asked for it, and all she could do was watch them eat while their aunt gave her a condescending smirk.
Best I've got in 5 minutes
They looked like friendly dinosaurs, Sylvia thought as she squatted down in front of the cabinet to look at them more closely. Beautiful, crispy pastry segments each slightly larger than the one before. Only where you might expect to see a head, there was a puff of cream. Red, prickly strawberries placed along the cakes’ spines reminded Sylvia of the dragons she’d fallen in love with watching How to Train Your Dragon cartoons on lazy Saturday mornings.
And this Saturday morning, she hoped Alain would fall in love with her, even if she had to seduce him with French pastries.
Linda Y - Happy weekend all
My heart swelled as I looked at the beautiful pastries. So much time. So much love.
I wiped my hands on my dusty apron as I gazed out the store window. This was my dream. Baking delicious treats for others to enjoy. I didn't realize how much heartache it would cost me. Moving thousands of miles from the family and friends to chase down an opportunity almost too good to be true. A brief conversation at the end of my culinary class with a visiting professor and here I am - making these gorgeous treats in another country - all on my own.
They said I wouldn't go. They said I was stupid to think he would hold up his part of the deal. They said I would be running home with my tail tucked between my legs in six months.
Six months.
Well, today is my year anniversary. And I am here to stay.
That day that changed my life, I was unaware of how one decision would have such an impact and change me forever. It started with a decision to stop in a bakery along the way. I was really early for my appointment, taking my time meandering through the neighborhood and enjoying the morning sun on my face.
I was already in a pocket of what I like to call ‘found time’, outside of my daily routine, and an opportunity to take a breath, lift my head up and enjoy the world for a moment. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, as usual and the aromas wafting from the bakery were too tempting to resist.
He'd already bought most of the croissants but he wanted more, just four more. When he passed the shop surreptitiously, he noticed there were four left!
Knowing his afternoon tea party would be incomplete is there weren't enough croissants for everyone, it was now or never. He was lost in thought and almost missed noticing the poor urchin asking for a coin or two. He bent down to her level and said:
"I'll give you the money. You have to do something simple for me."
"What?" Asked the child, not convinced.
"Buy all the remaining croissants from that bakery for me."
"Umm, okay!"
So he handed her the money and away she went while he watched her, almost embarrassed that he didn't trust the kid.
She returned with a box and said:
"Here you go. Now my money?"
"Oh, didn't you get any change from the Baker?"
She clucked her tongue and scratched her neck.
Puzzled as he was out of money, he did the next best thing.
He gave her one of the croissants. He would pretend to his guests that he's cutting down on sugar.
My storytelling through poetry…
My fortune lies wedged between the strawberry and the cream. Sitting pretty in the bakery window, beckoning me to come and claim it. This is no ordinary fortune cookie, it is my reflection through the glass. Twisted in parts, it requires a delicate touch to protect the softness within. Sweetness oozes gently from the broken parts. I cradle the croissant like a newborn, like this fortune was composed just for me. If only I could understand the gold writing, then I might be set free.
Running late to a meeting my friend secured for me, face-to-face with an agent and my manuscript, I passed the window of this new patisserie. This agent was doing our mutual friend a favor, for she didn't typically welcome new writers into her office where she might have to refuse them awkwardly and then usher them out the door before any begging might occur. But she agreed to give me a few minutes and an honest assessment of my opening scene.
My friend had mentioned that the agent didn't smile much, so I should be prepared for a rather no-nonsense encounter, but she loved pastries, and it wouldn't hurt to bring a little gift to "butter her up," pun intended. These delights in the window were all they had left this morning after the mad rush that took all the varieties, but they certainly looked luscious enough. I'll take them.
Sitting across from Ms. Agent Extraordinaire, I watched her scanning my pages. She nibbled a bit of the croissant ever so delicately. Could I do the same? Should I? I tried, but delicate is not my forte, and I couldn't very well use my thumb and finger to wipe my mouth.
After what seemed an interminable span of silence, Ms. Agent looked at me and smiled. I was elated. She liked my work and saw the value, just as I had hoped. Just as I had dared to dream . . . or was it something else?
She then gestured--"You have a little cream on your chin," she managed with a chuckle.
Marvin brought the pastry to Christine's door. He knocked and waited for her to answer. After a few moments and a muffled "Who is it?" he heard the chain slide and deadbolt flip as the door cracked open.
Christine looked at Marvin bleary eyed through small opening she had made with the door. "Oh hi," she said.
"Good morning! I brought you this," Marvin said and held up the pastry for Christine to see. "We have a long way to go today and figured you could get a sugar high to help get you going."
"Thanks," she said. "You're sweet."
She reached for the pastry and held the door open a beat longer.
"Meet you downstairs in 10," she said. Marvin nodded and smiled as she closed the door. She looked at the pastry in her hand and walked to the trash basket to throw it away. If the strawberry allergy didn't kill her, the cream and gluten in it would make her sick.
Christine knew Marvin would try to eliminate her at some point. He wanted the loot for himself. She made sure the door was locked and started the shower. She would need all of her wits today.
Interesting twist! 🙂
“I mean, couldn’t we just split one? We are on vacation, after all,” I begged my ultra-fit, calorie-conscious husband. “There’s even fruit!”
“Do you really want to go home bloated and exhausted, having gained 10 pounds while we’re here?” He rolled his eyes at me. But we had stopped walking. Maybe he was actually considering a treat, for once. Or a suggestion from me, instead of everything always being his idea.
“We don’t even have to finish it. Wouldn’t just a taste be so delightful with our cappuccinos?”
“Okay, okay. We’ll share ONE and maybe not even finish it,” he said with a smirk, reaching for his wallet as he made eye contact with the server behind the counter.
I grinned and probably would’ve clapped my hands like a little kid if I hadn’t been holding both of our drinks. The rare instance of getting my way overshadowed any pastry, as far as treats went. This would probably be the last time, on this trip at least.
If I could live in an edible treat, this would be it.
I would scale the strawberries and look at the bright sun and breath the fresh air.
I would lie in the soft cream and look up at the blue skies, with the hope of seeing birds fly by.
The folds of the croissant would protect me. Surround me with a hug that's soft, but firm with its layers of refuge.
Here, smiling with its sweetness and softness, I’d find the simplest joy of just being—complete, safe, and utterly at peace.
Rolling their eyes, Martha was a mess. The other three mountains sat majestically on the pan, awaiting the adoration and the photographs that would be taken. But poor Martha they whispered, she was all sagging and seeping in all the wrong places. “Why can’t she just get herself together?” but Martha could hear them and frankly, she didn’t care.
The right person would find her and explore the crevices of her mountain and find the hidden treasures, but only the right person would skip the picture, and just take her home.
She was willing to wait.
I went with my mom to the pastry shop again. It was our little ritual, every Saturday morning before dad woke up. We’d giggle about the things he did, the bad things, while our pastries sat uneaten. We’d take them to go so the people working didn’t notice, but they never made it back to the house.
It was our little secret.
I don’t remember how those pastries tasted, I don’t think I had ever actually eaten one during our chats.
I’m grown now, and the pastry shop is gone, Ma too. But I still remember those pastries, and the silly things we used to talk about as they slowly grew stale on our plates.
I think those pastries must’ve tasted pretty good.
I hope they did.
That’s a fun prompt. Here’s mine:
Taj is attending a work conference in South Korea for a few days. It’s day two of the conference and she has no serious duties or commitments for the day. Taj slips out of the conference arena, skipping communal lunch to visit the bakery next to her hotel instead.
She had seen creamy croissants in the window display when they arrived two days before as the shuttle drove her and her colleagues to the hotel from the airport.
Taj loves croissants and makes it her thing to sample different types when visiting different countries.
Edit: I hadn’t read your notes about the photo before writing. So I was so pleased with myself to see that I’d guessed Seoul and some other things right. 🤓
It might not be perfect but it didn't matter. She'd created it from scratch and now it was in the bakery window waiting to be sold. She didn't care that it didn't look exactly like the other three, made by her patisserie master. It didn't matter if it was the last to go, if all the customers picked the prettier ones first. Or if it didn't sell at all - she'd eat it herself at the end of the day. In fact she hoped it didn't sell so she could enjoy the flakey pastry, sweet strawberry and thick cream.
And besides, it didn't look as bad as her apron, which looked more like she worked in a butchers than a bakery, smeared with strawberry juice! Sure the cream was spilling out the side and you could see creamy finger marks where she'd placed it down on the tray. She was sure she had flour in her hair but she was beaming, pride at what she had created glowing out of her. She couldn't wait till tomorrow morning when Yumiko would show her how to make another delicious treat. This little bakery was about to become her life and for the first time in a long time she felt excited.
"I hope he comes back today, I made these strawberry croissants just for him".
Alicia had been working at the boulangerie for just under a year and yesterday was the first time she had seen him. She had been working the register when she spotted him outside with an adorable Maltese terrier. She noticed the name Ziggy sewn into its bright pink harness. He tied the puppy to the rail under the shop window and Alicia heard the doorbell jingle as he entered the store.
Alicia had moved to Korea two years prior. She had transformed herself to disconnect from her past in Australia, changing her hair colour, losing a little weight (a stress diet will do that for you), and having a minor rhinoplasty to fix that awkward bump on her nose.
"Do you have any croissants with fresh strawberries?" he asked, pulling her out of her reverie. She quickly studied him. No signs of recognition fluttered across his face.
I'm going to get away with this, she thought. I'll have Ziggy back before the end of the week.
I am trying my hands at fiction. Bit scared, but what the heck, here it is:
The morning sun streams through the bakery window, warming my flaky layers as I rest proudly on a silver tray. My butter-rich curves glisten, and the sweet strawberry filling peeks temptingly from my edges. Such a privileged position, right at the front of the display!
"Look at that one!" a little girl presses her nose against the glass. Her breath creates a small foggy circle, and I puff up slightly, knowing she's admiring me. "The cream is swirling with the strawberries, Mommy!"
I can feel my cream filling shifting slightly as another customer's footsteps vibrate through the display case. The other pastries–plain croissants, they are–seem a bit jealous of my garnished appearance. But what can I say? Not everyone can pull off wearing both whipped cream and fresh strawberry compote.
"That's our special of the day," Marie, the baker, tells a gentleman in a business suit. "The strawberries were picked fresh this morning." I remember when she carefully sliced me open while I was still warm, piping in that cloud-like cream with expert hands. The way she nestled those ruby-red strawberry pieces into my center–pure artistry!
A cool breeze sneaks in whenever the door opens, making my outer layers crackle ever so slightly. It's like wearing a delicate, buttery armor that protects my precious filling. I hear the bell chime again, and this time, I know it's my moment.
"I'll take that one," a petite lady dressed in white points directly at me. "It looks too perfect to resist."
Perfect indeed, I think, as Marie's tongs lift me gently from my perch. Time to make someone's day a little more delicious.
(First time posting this!)
The strawberries poked out of the croissants filled with whipped cream inviting the little girl to come up to them. Her eyes lit up as she excitedly pointed towards them, pleading her mum to buy them for her.
“Oh, please aunty! They look so good. And we can share!”
Well, they did look good. But that wasn’t on Andrea’s mind. Years ago when she was a child she begged her aunt as well to buy her a dessert from the local patisserie. Her aunt never did, saying only good girls get to eat dessert. But of course, she wouldn’t hesitate to buy dessert for her younger brother and sister who would behave naughtier than she did. The worst part? They never asked for it, and all she could do was watch them eat while their aunt gave her a condescending smirk.