I’ve not been to France for real croissants. But I do know where the best croissants are made in my city — dark brown on the outside, creamy white on the inside. Flakes fall all over the place when you break them apart. In my opinion, they’re best eaten with butter and jam.
Last Thursday I went to the bakery with The Boy and his mother for breakfast out. He feasted on a huge decadent brownie and chocolate milk. We tried the morning buns, which were teetotally awesome. I had my regular croissant and a cup of mocha. There was nothing nutritious about our breakfast but the level of feasting and enjoyment and bliss was off the charts and out the roof. I’m just sayin . . .
My mocha was topped with art — it’s not always the same, but it’s always art.
We enjoyed long conversation while we ate and drank and watched other customers. My mocha was nearly gone when I glanced into my cup and saw music. Not exactly music, but close enough.
Right there — on the inside cup rim — was a musical staff with dots resembling notes, created by the mocha itself. The smudge above the staff may be some kind of creative dynamic markings. Perhaps the mocha cloud is suggesting a minor key or a thunderous sound of some kind. I haven’t tried to play this music yet, but I think it could be done. If I were a composer I’d be off and running.
Beyond the awesome pastries and family companionship that morning, what I really remember is the art in my cup.
Art appears in unexpected places — like mocha cups and casserole dishes and spiderwebs and a vine crawling along the fence and tree shadows falling across the afternoon highway and raindrops on a flower petal.
Notice what is right in front of you.