Alun Newman: Mind blown!
One of the downsides of keeping a journal or diary can be when you read it back, life can seem like it’s on repeat. What once felt like the first time you said, “It’s very mild this time of year,” turns out to be something you’ve been declaring annually. It’s enough to make you think the answer might be never to re-read old thoughts at all.
There’s a selection of rather lovely Buddhist sayings about the power of the mind, about how no day ever has to be the same, and how the cage you feel you’re living in is often one you’ve built yourself.
These ideas are inspiring. When I read them, I find them powerful. For a few minutes I forget. However, occasionally the unfamiliar leaps out, smacks you squarely in the face, and demands to be remembered.
Something just like that happened this week. I have a sweet tooth. I have learned to master it on occasion. Yet sometimes, even in my sleep, certain pastries will visit to torment my soul. I
have a favourite bakery. One bakery in particular holds dangerous power over me. It’s tiny, tucked into a relatively poor corner of the south coast, and yet it has won global awards. I can’t give the name because of the level of unrestrained, uncritical love I feel for the place.
While on-line, a video from the bakery appeared. They’d won another award, this time for innovation. They had created… a square, filled croissant. I know! A square croissant. What!? I had to try it. I waited for the weekend like a child counting down to Christmas. I got up early because this bakery is tiny and sells out in the blink of an eye. I drove 50 minutes because naturally it is nowhere near me.
I queued. I waited. The place is so small that most of the queuing happens outside, which only heightens the anticipation. Finally, I bought it. Presented in its own white box. It cost over six quid. It was heavy, as though it contained answers to cosmic questions.
I found a quiet spot, sat down, and held the square croissant up to my face like an artefact. It was a beast. One bite, and I knew my life would never be the same. Thousands of buttery layers formed a puff-pastry alchemy. Inside was a generous mass of homemade caramel, rich and thick, resting on a base of silky poached-pear purée.
I wanted to push my whole face into it. It was astonishing, ridiculous in the best possible way. I felt a brief flicker of food shame afterwards, but forgave myself easily within two minutes. It was, simply, incredible.
I still think about it. Maybe those Buddhists have a point after all, “Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” Or, when the present moment offers you an amazing, artisan, full-butter pastry, eat it.