Croissants

I was doing a Q and A with my team the other day. A very brave one, in fact - one where no holds were barred, and staff were encouraged to ask whatever they wanted, and, leaving aside uncrossable barriers that was pretty much what they did. And the first question? Baking. Would I please share a baking secret. I said to them: if you don't have a passion for baking, you're never really going to get it right. Every cake, biscuit, tart, loaf I make, has joy in it.  Every time I go into the kitchen, it's an emotional release to pull out the flour and start sieving it. Where others might head for a bottle of wine after work, I head for my apron. Most looked at me uncomprehendingly, as well they might. And I reflected afterwards, that since I do all of my baking alone - unlike spas or shopping, it never occurs to me to invite a mate over to bake a Victoria sponge with - I have no idea, really, how others think about their baking. Perhaps this all seems a bit geeky and kind of sad. Well. This week I had my chance to find out whether others thought about baking the way I did. I've got myself pretty good at baking bread - I graduated from sourdough some time ago to more complex processes involving fresh yeast for a slower fermenting process, or understanding different grades of vinegar, or even saving the juice out of pickled cucumbers to add to a rye and black olive bread mix. But I haven't got up the courage to attempt a croissant. I look on in awe when people do this - rolling thing - effortlessly on foodie programmes. It has for some time sat firmly in the box labelled Too Advanced Even For Me. But recently I came across a cookery school offering a three hour session to learn how to make croissants. Irresistible. I signed up, and yesterday I turned up there. Borough Market, right at the back, in a long studio with a big, wooden table with stools around it, and white aprons folded at each station, with a rolling pin - large, Scandanavian, beech affair - and a bowl, digital measuring scales and flour - and 11 other people. And I realise I am about to enter Baking Nirvana. I have never, ever baked with other people. It reminded me of the first time I sat an exam at university in a hall with boys in it. I went to a girls only school for so many years that I couldn't concentrate for the first half hour of my first exam paper because the vibe was so different, just because boys were in the hall. And this was, well, just weird having bakers on either side of me. But also, just, so, well, wonderful. How long have you been baking, one asks me. I tell him, and we discuss how we got started, and just a few seconds later we are talking sourdough as if we have known each other for years. Our teacher works supportively, humorously and combatively with us for the next three hours, teaching us to roll out croissant dough, pile up the butter, fold the dough over it, chill, roll it out, fold it over, chill...the time whizzes past. I am delirious with the sheer happiness of being among people as passionate and geeky about this as I am. Each wants to get the perfect roll on their croissant shape, the right height, the right number of layers, the right crispiness outside versus the right buttery softness inside. We swap tips, we remind each other of the process, we comment on each others' dough texture. And we stuff our faces with the fruits of the teacher's labour - pain au chocolate, pain au raisin. When our croissants are ready, and how incredible they look! - perfect, even if they are not evenly sized enough to qualify for a Bake Off award, I pile them carefully into a box and drift off to the tube to catch my train home. I sit on the Northern Line in a haze of goodwill. Mmm, who's got croissants, a commuter says. I do, I cry, and I BAKED them. Myself!!! The carriage oohs and aaahs - supportively, I like to think, though in retrospect I imagine they thought if they applauded me and massaged my ego for long enough I would buckle and hand them all out (I didn't.  I might have been high on my achievement but I am not an idiot). And when I got home, complete with the cookery school's baking book, which I threw open at the Jammie Dodger page and got busy IMMEDIATELY, I felt like I'd just conquered Everest. It's just croissants right? Nope. If you have a passion for baking, turning out 13 beautiful croissants is so, so much more than making the family dinner. Right now, it feels like a lifetime achievement. That's the passion talking.