An Over-The-Top Baked Good Encounter
My fellow Steemians, as so non-eloquently stated in yesterday's post , I did endure the great cleansing of my offspring's sleep-cave. Today, I bathed those blank walls in the most tropical shade of turquoise imaginable. The course of my paint roller never did run smooth, but I did finish the job .
As I collapsed onto my bed, arms reverberating from the pigment-based punishment that they had just endured, I was reminded of the cake-let of my dreams. I am sure that its proper moniker would be that of pastry, but it is my baked good ideal, so I get to think upon it as I wish.
What, pray tell, am I blathering about? Well, a few months ago I got to go on my first real vacation to a resort in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. That event, in and of itself was magical, but the sacred culinary unicorn of my trip to that paradise was in the resort mall's patisserie.
The little mall on the resort's grounds had a bakery, a little grocery store, sundries store, charcuterie, a self-serve frozen yogurt bar, and a chocolate shop. It was all set in a very boutique-like environment complete with immaculately dressed employees and a cleanliness and decorating level that was something like hospital meets interior design show.
We went back to this shopping pavilion quite a few times, but it was the creations by one of the best pastry chefs in the world that always drew my gaze. My husband would encourage me to purchase one of the amazing creations, but I would always balk, for I secretly felt that they were much to fabulous for the likes of moi.
One day after my first successful multi-lingual beach volleyball match, I worked up the courage to finally select one of the scrumptious works of art and demolish the sucker with the relish of a five year old eating a bag of Cheetos.
The trouble was, which one of the pastries of perfection did I select? Chocolate is my favorite food, but I veered out of my comfort zone and selected the pistachio pineapple torte. It was garnished with gold flake. The funny thing is that I think I was more excited about the box than the actual cake. The Impossibly Perfect Employee boxed that pastry like it was a bar of gold, even tying the box shut and curling the ribbon she tied it closed with. I know that I totally resembled a drooling Basset Hound of one-track mindedness as I watched her like a daft article bereft of any cognitive function.
After enduring the jungle-hot hike back to my suite on the board walk, I placed my little cake in the fridge without opening it. I wanted to build a little pastry anticipation before I wolfed that beast down. That, and I was almost ready to pass out from the hike in the mid day tropical heat. That dainty pastry was going to be enjoyed as an experience, for a Little Debbie snack cake it was not.
When I finally opened up the box of my sugar and gold-flecked dreams I saw that the heat had tampered the luster of my pastry, but oh my, it did nothing to its glorious taste. I still think about the pistachio cream, with little hints of roasted, salted pistachios swirled throughout a pineapple cake so moist that my mouth still drools profusely when I ponder that experience.
People have been saying "When In Rome" for a couple of millennia, and there is a reason that the saying has hung around. I would never spend the equivalent of 100 pesos for a tiny pastry here in my homeland, but to experience a piece of culinary art, crafted by a world class pastry chef, in an exotic paradise, well, you can see what I did!
And as always, the images in the post were taken by the author on her pistachio and gold flecked cream tarnished iPhone.