One of the first things I learned to make in the bread rotation at my pastry school in France was croissants. When my chef laid out the organization of the recipe I was slightly baffled about why a person would go through all that trouble for something you could buy so cheaply at any cafe just down the street.
And then after three days of rolling and folding and baking, I took a bite.
It was warm. It was somehow both soft and crispy. It took me back to Paris where I sat at a little table, leaves falling and sweeping across the street, steaming espresso and croissant in hand. It tasted like joy.