Considerations on Croissants: Kaplan’s Café

Article courtesy of Isaac Yeller of Respectful and Tasteful Satire (RATS)

On Thursday, Sept. 28 of the two-thousand-seventeenth year of Earth’s common era I went through a metamorphosis— not only of man, but of pastry. In deciding where this season of “Considerations on Croissants” would lead me in the coming months, I found myself deflated, sunken like a cake deprived of baking soda. My morning started as many mornings do—with a trip to Lawrence University’s own Kaplan’s Café. This establishment has graced Appleton since the Warch Campus Center’s inception but has since been taken for granted, becoming just a part of the routine, bereft of vitality and among the walking dead of Appleton’s decaying dough scene. As I entered the joint and exchanged niceties, I could tell today was different. I ordered my usual—the Parisian Breakfast. My coffee was handed to me in a timely fashion as Sue easily surmounted the many order slips in front of her with notable expedience. Stanley proceeded to open the glistening case of confections; clutching a pair of glossy chrome tongs, he delicately approached the croissant: plump and supple, yearning to be consumed. His wrist flicked quickly and the deed was done. My nourishment was on a one-way street to chomp-town. As he passed me the croissant, our eyes met, his mien speaking sonnets. I soon sat in a booth all my own, grasping what was dear to me. I began my breakfast with a gulp of Sue’s sweet nectar. She had done it again. Absolutely sublime flavors of oxidized chocolate danced across my tongue. I retrieved the pastry from its bag and unearthed my notebook to document what I had foreseen to be a historic juncture in time. Upon my first bite, I was met with an uncontrollable quivering in my abdomen. I began to rock, unable to steady myself. My next bite only exasperated my symptoms; the flavors I was feeling were not bound merely to taste, but instead encompassed touch, sound, sight and smell. The butter leaked into my throat and onto my mouth, flowing throughout my being. My teeth tore into its tender underbelly. I felt its warmth emanating on my tongue as the marriage of flavors consummated their love in my mouth. After what seemed many minutes, I emerged from my ecstasy as a child would from the womb of its mother. This croissant has eternally changed not only my weekly column, but my life. I have never felt this way about anyone or anything, and this croissant now leads me on a new existential path. I look forward to exploring what this new world has to offer, and I am excited to share with you what I find in next week’s installment of “Considerations on Croissants.”

 

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