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El albergue

El albergue

Monday, August 27, 2012

Foodie Time!

Nom nom nom
What do you call these things?  No idea.  The name on the label is completely indecipherable to me, but I just wolfed down all three pastries in the bag with relish here on the edge of the dock next to the Market Square.  With the breeze off the ocean on my face, the water gently moving at my feet, and the bright sun warming my legs, I don’t really all that much care what they are called.  All I know is they were delicious.  A thick square of airy pastry folded over a creamy blend of broccoli and feta.  The inside soft and slightly chewy.  The outside flaky and just the right amount of crispiness, with toasty brown shreds of Swiss cheese liberally adding that delightful extra touch.  Was it something traditional here in Finland?  No idea.  Either it was, and I just experienced a true Finnish delight, or it wasn’t and I just experienced a true (insert nationality) delight.  Either way, it was totally and completely worth all the wonderful, buttery calories.
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Heaven help me
I’m simply putting off the inevitable by picking up this pen and starting to write, but I can’t help it!  I want this moment to last forever!  I mean, who wouldn’t want to prolong the eating of the most perfect cinnamon roll so as to be able to savor every tiny bit and morsel of heavenly deliciousness for as long as possible?  When I bought this astounding pastry from the tiny, hectically cluttered café that looked like somebody’s back kitchen, it seemed to be nothing more than a cinnamon-y, sugary croissant.  But oh, it is so much more that that.  It has the soft, bready texture of a cinnamon roll, and it HAD the shape of a lumpy homemade croissant, “HAD” being the key word there, as I am agonizingly reaching the final few bites.  Some of the edges have that incredible chewiness that comes from sugar that has melted into oozing little puddles in the oven and then soaked into the bread.  There is the perfect amount of moisture – you know, that amount you always dream of producing yourself in your own cinnamon rolls but never quite actually end up achieving.  Oh! And the spices!  They feel hand-ground practically.  Seriously, as I nibble the tiny chunks of cinnamon, I can just imagine the spry grey-haired lady bustling around the café grating pixie dust over her pastries as she weaves magical spells of tasty delight into her products.  There’s something besides cinnamon too.  Something darker.  I’m not exactly sure what it is (Cloves? Nutmeg? Something magically mysterious?), but it adds an extra pungency that sometimes borders on a kick.  As I finish off the last bite (one of the chewy, sugary bits), I’m kind of sad that there isn’t any more.  And yet, I am really, really, really ridiculously happy with what I just ate.  Oh man am I ever.

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