Where do I put the croissant?

Two days ago now, I went to Cédric Grolet’s pastry shop at the Berkeley. Now I realize the title of this post is quite silly, but the truth is this. Where do you put the croissants or croissants?Under a glass bell.

Exactly under glass. And I’m not kidding. There’s this giant white counter, with croissants, pan ou chocolat and another one that I don’t remember how, that’s it. To make a fine show if they are also under a glass bell, just to show them better.

The taste? i have to say i expected more, especially from the croissant. The other sweet whose name I don’t remember was space instead I must say.

But I dreamed of all those beautiful creamy cakes … with fruit …. but I discovered that those must be reserved and that there are, in the afternoon. Nothing. I will come back next time.

Now the thing that got me thinking was the queue of people, like yours truly I have to say, for two croissants to take away. At least I can still say that I’ve been there. I can make a fair judgment.

The strangeness of these days hasn’t gone away, even if carbohydrates help a lot in my opinion, and also staying in Chelsea for a while and breathing a good perfume in the air, walking around the shops, and feeling small and deaf, but at least in a nice place.

I know that nothing can change my condition, not even a miracle (by now) but I’m very tired of hearing “ah, but it’s you who creates and creates your condition”. and this is very true. I agree. I force myself, I always got up (and I’m not complaining). I took a decent middle finger from life… but it’s a conversation between life and me. She won no.. or rather bad luck, bad luck.

But if another person puts a hand in it, who doesn’t know you, doesn’t know anything about you, how you are, what you are now, wrinkles, how you got like this and why… well, in that case it’s not a game between me and bad luck or fate or destiny…it’s like I always say…”people should shut up”.

Having said that, I would like to stay in that pastry shop for life… placed there, on a counter with croissants, under a glass bell. So nobody tells you anything.

There, as in a bubble.