Oh sweet Jesus do I love living in Detroit. The Arabic population
here thrives, and if it’s one thing that I adore about a culture it’s
their way of making food. When no other cakey or fruit filled dessert
will do, I become peckish for a Byzantine nibble. Though they may
look and taste complex, the makers of these sweets will tell you that
the process is quite simple despite their years of training and their
desire to please without seeming put out.
I bought this tray of baklava and couldn’t wait for the car to
leave the parking lot. Sweet orange blossom honey syrup permeating
every leaf of phyllo and strand of kataifi…. bliss
The cool weather is coming in and as we move towards Mabon (Autumnal
Equinox) it is time to make trips up to the cider mill. I am a city
kid and I am willing to feign love for nature to go out to the country
for cider and donuts. I don a hoodie and strap on some shoes that
will withstand mud, all to wait 20 minutes in line for hot donuts.
One may think that 20 minutes for a donut? Though I’m a fan of
yeast-risen glazed donuts, there’s something so charming about cider
mill donuts. In that queue, one is able to see the automated machine
that spits out donut forms, fries them on one side, flips the donut to
fry on the other side, then sends the donut careening down a slide.
Crisp on the outside (plain, powdered, or cinnamon sugar) warm and
soft on the inside…
I have no reason to be tired, yet I’m finding it increasingly more difficult to stave off drowsiness. Seeking chemical help, I decided to pass up the overpriced wax-lined siren-smirking cups of coffee served in the corporation’s canteen. I thought I’d take a chance with the office suite’s own coffee from the crusty BUNN: BUNN-O-MATIC. Not belonging to the office’ coffee club, I dropped two quarters into the change tumbler and picked up the coffee decanter.
To my disappointment, the light shone through the weak brew and I could see clear through to the bottom of the counter. Though I don’t consider myself a coffee snob (despite schlepping beans, grinder, and cafetière wherever I can get boiling potable water), and because this was definitely NOT coffee I am free to complain. I can appreciate the people in the office that have digestion issues, I can deal with that, but what was in that pot was merely colored water and could barely irritate terminal Crohn’s patients let alone get me started.
My lovely cherry turn over was ruined with my psuedo-coffee… I’m not a happy husky boy
I awoke this morning, late. Knowing full well that the potential for well balanced meals lay dormant in the kitchen, I headed out the door. [ For some regular readers, please do not consider this as a leitmotif. ] Blearily made it to work thinking that I’d walk to the corporation’s commissary for a bite to eat, scratching cardio and daily allotment of nitrates off the to-do list.
Silently typing away at my computer without my first cup of coffee, the boss comes in, after two weeks of leave with boxes of breakfast pastry. Now, I’m going to chalk this up to weariness but when there was nobody I took a peek at the boxes. Not having taken a donut in many a week, I felt justified. None of my top favorites were there, no buttermilk or sour cream, cruller, nor fruit filled. I settled for a lovely glazed yeast-risen donut. As I took the first bite, I savored the lovely sweetness — soft chew and smooth crumb. Grabbing a coffee from the suite’s coffee station, I promptly finished the donut, but had a sinking feeling that I’d be asleep from the sugar shock by 0900.Feeling dirty, I decided to write about this. The more shameful side-note of this story, is that I’m already half-way through a chocolate chip muffin as I type this line.
