Waiting for the dough to rest, after the second round of layering in the butter—there's literally like a brick of butter in this dough, rolled and folded in, over and over again—I took a break from the kitchen, and outside, ran into someone I kind of know. He introduced me to the friend he was with, a supposed James Beard winner, though I totally cannot find the dude's name on the internet. It's possible he may have been impressed when I told him I was upstairs rolling Danish pastry dough, but he did not seem similarly amused when I mentioned my morning's not-so-great calzone. (It's not like I told him I had the worst companion Italian bread in the class, which I did.) For a guy whose name is not on Google, I think he was a bit full of himself, no?
photo: Dee
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