Croissant Dough “Log Booms”: Because Even Luxuries Can Use a Little Repurposing

One person’s trash is another person’s treasure. This truism plays out daily in a million yard sales and Craigslists. What’s cool is when it applies to food. Luxury food. Specifically, croissant dough.

Allow me to explain. When the bakery I work in was bought this winter, the new owner brought with her a new–and undeniably better–recipe for our signature croissants. If you’ve read this blog in the past few weeks, you’ve probably heard me moaning about how much muscle power this new recipe required. Life has eased a TREMENDOUS amount since my boss bought us a “sheeter” to roll that stiff dough for us, and the pain in my neck muscles has eased along with it.  But the dough still requires many more steps than the old recipe, and takes up both more time and more space in the fridge. In short, the stuff is gold.

Which is why it bugged the HELL out of me when we began accumulating croissant scraps. See, under the old regime, we simply rolled our dough out into a giant rectangle, cut that into squares and then triangles, and voila–croissants. Of course, given the human touch, those croissants were extremely variable in size and shape. Under the new regime, we use our sheeter to bring the dough to a uniform thickness, then a hand roller to cut out perfect triangles, like this:

Adorable, aren't they?

Adorable, aren’t they?

Result: perfect-looking, perfectly-sized croissants. And tons of scraps. What to do with them? No WAY was I letting anyone throw them away. Do you know how much labor and time each scrap represents? Step away from that compost bucket!

Dough scraps...or unrealized edible glory?

Dough scraps…or unrealized edible glory?

At first we tried to eat our way out of the problem. “What kind of cheese shall we put on the scraps today?” That lasted about two days. We of all people know exactly how much butter is in that dough, since we put it there.

So we put our heads together, my boss and fellow bakers and I. How could we re-think the scraps into something value-added, something we could actually sell? At first I started making these cute little twists:

Dried apricot, brie, rosemary, pecan...mmmm.....

Dried apricot, brie, rosemary, pecan…mmmm…..

But they took too long, without using up enough scraps. We wanted to sell ALL of it, not add more hours to our shift. So…why not just load the “raft” of scraps up with something delicious? Something like…

OMG that looks incredible! What IS it???

OMG that looks incredible! What IS it???

That one’s savory–artichoke hearts, sun-dried tomatoes, feta, and fresh herbs, if you want the details. (We also played with figs, goat cheese, and prosciutto; with pesto and arugula; with…you get the idea.) But it still needed a name–something catchy, maybe something including the name of our island. Someone suggested “Lopez Life Raft,” since the lined-up scraps suggested logs lashed together…which made us think–aha! You know the way northwesterners traditionally chain up logs in big clumps to tow them across water? A log boom? Yes! THAT’s what this yummy thing is. Lopez Log Boom.

When we make a sweet one with raspberry jam, we can't help but call it a Log Jam. Can you blame us?

When we make a sweet one with raspberry jam, we can’t help but call it a Log Jam. Can you blame us?

Here’s what’s funny, though. When I first presented the Log Boom with a flourish to some customers, my boss told me quietly, in the kitchen, not to call them “scraps”–bad connotation. My response: This is Lopez, where recycling is a high art, and our Dump/Recycling Center/Take It Or Leave It is our proudest institution! People LOVE scraps. 

So, dear readers, next time you’re at your favorite (non-Lopez Island) bakery, ask them what they do with THEIR croissant scraps. We could start a national Log Boom Dough Recycling movement! 

Love & Butter & Muscle: Who Needs The Gym When You Have a Bakery?

In case anyone’s wondering where I’ve been for the past few days–no, I did not zoom off on another vacation while forgetting to blog ahead. I’m back at work, ok?  For a former teacher, the idea that “work” now means playing with dough and chocolate is pretty darn delightful. But last week the delight caught up with me.

See, Holly B’s reopened last week under new ownership. I cut my road trip short to fly home to prep for the opening, and I have no regrets. It was a BLAST, being in on the ground floor of a new enterprise (or a newly-imagined, beloved old enterprise, since Holly B’s turns 40 this year).

(image courtesy Stephanie Smith)

(image courtesy Stephanie Smith)

It was also EXHAUSTING. The reason I haven’t blogged yet? I’ve been resting up.

Long story short: we’ve switched croissant recipes. Turns out this new one involves more than twice the number of steps as the old one (mix, rest, roll, encase butter, roll, chill, roll, fold, chill, roll, fold, chill…ah, darn it, I’ve lost count, but I’m pretty sure we don’t have croissants yet…). It also takes approximately 15 times the arm strength. That. Dough. Is. STIFF.

But just look at all those layers! (remaining images courtesy Ann Hoag)

But just look at all those layers! (remaining images courtesy Ann Hoag)

Now, I’ve been doing my little weenie weights and push-ups like a good girl, but I’m a distance runner, people. Let’s just say my arms are NOT responsible for my Personal Bests.

...and these...Worth the sweat. Totally.

…and these…Worth the sweat. Totally.

At one point, mid-way through the second day’s croissant dough batch, around slab number 9 or thereabouts, I started whining like a two year-old. If my younger and WAY STRONGER colleague Ann hadn’t been there to shoulder (and bicep, and tricep) the dough burden, our poor new boss would have been there finishing it herself at midnight, ’cause my arms were DONE.

The good news? The new owner is buying a “sheeter” to do our rolling for us. The bad? It won’t be here for another three weeks at least. So, I guess the better news is…I can quit with the weights and the push-ups for now. This croissant dough will be my free gym.

Oh, you look all sweet and innocent NOW, you little boogers...

Oh, you look all sweet and innocent NOW, you little boogers…

Seriously, though…I LOVE my job. I am the luckiest tired lil’ baker in the west. And if I don’t blog again for awhile…well, now you know why. C’mon, sheeter!

 

 

Leaving Traces to Leave No Trace

Sometimes, to get where you want, you have to go the wrong direction. Chess and soccer players know this. Being neither, I’ve been learning this lesson firsthand these past few weekends, helping to close down “social trails” on my beloved “big backyard,” which also happens to be a National Monument.

For better or for worse, a ton of other people love it too. The place is being loved to death. And with no official marked trail system, folks wander all over. Most know not to trample wildflowers, but what about when they’re not blooming? And what about lichens? Most people don’t know how key lichens are to the entire ecosystem. This is what happens when lichens meet feet too many times:

Left side: good. Right side: bad.

Left side: good. Right side: bad.

Lichens lose.

So, enter the trail-blockers, led by Nick, World’s Most Awesome Bureau of Land Management Non-Bureaucrat. Over three Saturdays, and using approved Leave No Trace methods, the work party hauled old branches from the nearby woods to make the trails say “CLOSED” as obviously as possible.

Happy, sunny-day workparty!

Happy, sunny-day workparty!

Notice all the lichens we’re not stepping on?

Guess what? Rainyday workparties are happy too!

Guess what? Rainyday workparties are happy too!

Looking at the pictures of our work, however, you might notice something.

Pardon my debris.

Pardon my debris.

It’s UG-LEEE.

Yep. Really, really ugly.

Yep. Really, really ugly.

But it’s absolutely necessary. Under those logs new grasses will grow, new wildflowers, and yes, new teensy-weensy baby lichens. Lesser trail blockades–let alone courteous signs–wouldn’t be enough to protect this fragile, precious place. So even though I wince to see those logs scattered about so hideously amid all the beauty, I’m willing to live with it, in order to make the right side of this photo one day look like the left.

Do not enter. Lichen it or not.

Do not enter. Lichen it or not.

So, pardon our debris, everyone. Sometimes we have to leave one heckuva trace, short term, to leave none in the end.

All I Want For Christmas: Not To Feel So Conflicted About Wrapping Paper

What’s better than Christmas presents? If you’ve had a toddler in your life recently, or been one yourself, you know: Wrapping paper! Especially that foil kind which holds its shape. If I had digital copies of my photos from the early 90s, I’d share some ADORABLE pics of my boys wearing Christmas wrap like armor. I have no idea what present was inside; the resulting shiny togs, and the boys’ joyful faces, is all I remember.

Problem is, that stuff’s not recyclable. Too high of a metallic content. In fact, most Christmas wrap, glommed all over with tape, gets rejected in the end: too much plastic. 

This year, to add to my perennial conflict between wanting the brightest, shiniest, bring-back-my-innocent-childhoodiest gift wrap and wanting to, y’know, save the Earth, I was asked by our local Dump to write an article promoting zero waste in the Christmas season. The info they sent me included stats like this:

Garbage increases by 25% nationally over the holidays—that’s an extra 25 million tons. Most wrapping paper is not recyclable, due to metal or plastic content or tape. Then there are those 2.65 billion annually discarded Christmas cards, not to mention 38,000 miles of discarded ribbon, enough to tie a bow around the whole earth.

Sigh…I felt like I was writing that article to myself.

The Dump folks also included a link to this wonderful, crafty blog, Suburble, written by a way-cooler-sounding-than-Martha-Stewart woman named Tara. Tara walks you through the steps of making your own reusable Christmas bags, like this:

I could do that! I could even wear that!

I could do that! I could even wear that!

I have a sewing machine. I have tons of cool fabric bits. What remains is to wrestle my pre-awareness-of-global-crisis enthusiasm for VERY BAD WRAP and translate it into enough enthusiasm for FABRIC BAGS that I will actually sit down and make some.

…or…

I could take my own advice from that article, and make gift wrap out of decorated paper bags. That sounds like a fun day for my inner child.

…or…

I could take some more advice and collect pretty grasses and dried flowers to tie onto gifts. But it’s pretty wet out there. That inner-child thing’s looking better all the time.

Anyone else wrestling with this? A support group would be nice.

Need a Gardening Break? Try a Grandgarden!

Gardens are like children. Gardens ARE children. We fret over them, nourish them, exclaim and grieve and exult in them. We celebrate the way they enrich our lives. And we take lots of naps to recover from them.

I gardened vigorously for 20 years in our old life in Tacoma. When The Mate retired and we moved to this beautiful island to begin our new lives, I decided to let my fellow islanders do my gardening for me. They do it so well! And I feel good about supporting their work, which in turn gives me beautiful farmland to ride my bike through.

But. Come harvest time, when everyone is bragging and posting about their adorable new peas (fall) or tomatoes (summer) or apples (fall), I feel a twinge of nostalgia…and envy. More than a twinge.

Maybe next year I should think about putting in my own garden again…?

You said you weren’t going to tie yourself down to watering and weeding any more. You love your freedom, remember?

But I love baby arugula too.

Stay strong! Go to the Farmers Market!

But this year, I found the best answer to those inner promptings: the Grandgarden. Son Two took up residence nearby last spring, and asked “if it was OK” if he put in a garden in our unused garden space.

Gosh, lemme think about that…OK, done.

Son Two came and went throughout spring and summer. I occasionally, very occasionally, garden-sat–i.e., watered. I did NO weeding. But harvesting and eating? Plenty. Kale, beets, tomatoes, tomatillos, carrots, salad greens, potatoes, herbs. My Grandgarden’s tiny and fairly limited, but I don’t blame Son Two–I mean, he’s a single dad, after all, and new at this. I’m full of pride–and my fridge was full of veggies.

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Now in the darker months, even though my Grandgarden’s not getting much sun, it’s still doggedly producing Grandgreens. We even had a Grandsquash the other night! I forgot to take a picture of that, but here’s my Grandarugula:

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I know. She gets that tenderness from her grandpa.

But I doubt Son Two will be around next spring to produce a Grandsibling. So it may be up to me. Oh dear, here come those inner voices again…

Know Your Farmer

Do you believe that eating local will save the world? If yes, read on and cheer. If no, just read on…with thanks to my friend Iris for writing this wonderful post on Lopez Island’s Bounty Project.

Iris Graville's avatarIris Graville - Author

chevreMost Sundays after Quaker Meeting, I go shopping. That means walking a few yards from the house where we gather at Sunnyfield Farm to the self-serve refrigerator at the farm’s licensed goat dairy. There I pick up a tub of chèvre. A couple of weeks ago I also found jars of feta in the fridge and chose one of those as well. To “check out,” I note my purchases in a spiral-bound notebook that sits on a nearby table and deposit cash or a check in the payment box there.

Andre and Elizabeth Entermann of Sunnyfield are among the Lopez Island farmers I know and rely on for my household’s food. Over the past year, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know more about twenty-eight local farms (like Sunnyfield) that are participating in BOUNTY – Lopez Island Farmers, Food, and Community.

bounty-poster-fall-2015v3This weekend, more of my fellow Lopezians…

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Happy Independence Day! God Bless America. Now, If You’ll Excuse Me…

You know that feeling in the swimming pool when you take a deep breath to fill your lungs enough to swim underwater to the far end of the pool?

Right now, that “pool” = Fourth of July Week. The “swimmers” are me and my cohorts at Holly B’s Bakery (where “Holly’s Buns Are Best”). And that “deep breath”? That’s this blog post. My way of saying Happy Fourth! and I’ll see you in a week.

For those of you new to Wing’s World, here are some pix I posted a year ago showing the mayhem pre-Fourth prep in our tiny bakery world:

dough
On a normal July Saturday we’ll sell 120 croissants. On the Fourth, it’ll be nearly three times that. We’ve been making and freezing croissant dough every day for the past two weeks.

cinn rolls

Did I say 15 pans, last year? Make that 21. Who knows what it’ll be this year, now that Lopez Island has made National Geographic’s Top 40 Places list? (#6, yet. Yup. Here they come.)

#1

In order to get all this food out by the time we open @ 7 on July 4 and not instantly sell out, we bakers will be starting at 2 am. Am I going to ride my bike in to work that morning? Yes I am–but from the house of a friend who lives half a mile away. Hey, I’m dedicated, not STUPID.

Because, as on most lovely ocean-y spots, those of us who live here will all be hosting family and friends this weekend. Of course we will! It’s how it ought to be. And I can’t wait to be doing this:

Croissants? Meh. Pass me another s'more!

Croissants? Meh. Pass me another s’more!

and this…

My bakery doesn't make pies. All the more reason for me to make 'em at home!

My bakery doesn’t make pies. All the more reason for me to make ’em at home!

at home, in between bakery shifts.

I will be one happy, tired, but HAPPY puppy. Finishing Chapter 13 of my next book? Won’t be happening. Selling Books 1 and 2 at the Lopez Farmers Market? Nope–not till later this month. And one more thing I won’t be doing, in the upcoming underwater swim through a pool of love & butter–blogging. I’ll catch y’all next week.

The Flying Burgowski will be back after a short break...

The Flying Burgowski will be back after a short break…

So meantime, happy Independence Day, everyone! Let’s love our families, treat our friends, honor the our freedom…and have another s’more.

We Came, We Saw, We…Shramp? Shrump?

“Hey, want to come over for some shrimp? We went shrimping yesterday.” If you can “go shrimping,” then “shrimping” must be the gerund of the verb “to shrimp.” With me so far? Yes?

Alright then. What’s the past tense of shrimp? Don’t tell me “shrimped”–I’m just not buying it. At the moment I’m leaning toward “shramp,” but I thought I’d let Wing’s World weigh in on the question.

Back story: The Mate and I have a Kind Neighbor with a boat. Since one of my mantras is, “Don’t have a boat, have a friend with a boat,”* we were delighted when Kind Neighbor invited us to go shrimping with him last week, just off the rocky shore where I take my daily walks.

*incidentally, this mantra also applies to horses, airplanes, and puppies.

Off we went.

pic1

Rough, yes–but what a gorgeous evening, and what a treat to get a new perspective on my usual (admittedly gorgeous) view!

pic2

OK, time to get to work.

pic3

Hello, dinner!

pic4

Thanks, Kind Neighbor, and thanks, Mate, for doing all the work while I took photos. But I did my part, cooking those shrimp while they were still fresh enough to kick in the pan.

pic5

We had a wonderful time shrimping. But we still don’t know what to call what we did. What do you think? Shramp? Shrump? Any other ideas?

Rain, Rain…Please Come (But Not Like in Texas)

Just a quick post (as summer is suddenly upon me and my bakery job is gobbling larger chunks of my life) to say…here is a picture of the happiest plant on my island right now:

Yes, there ARE cacti in the coastal northwest! But they shouldn't be this happy this time of year.

Yes, there ARE cacti in the coastal northwest! But they shouldn’t be this happy this time of year.

Something’s wrong with this picture. We’re supposed to be soggy this time of year, wiping our muddy boots, wondering whether today’s moisture will be morning, evening, or some of each.

Moisture? I hardly remember what that is. We’re in drought. Nothing like California, nothing even as bad as the eastern part of our state, Washington. But enough to remind me that our state name, The Evergreen State, is in danger. And enough for me to beg those of you who enjoy complaining about rain to please, just keep quiet for a little while.

Unless you live in Texas. Then you’re allowed to complain.

Hang in there, people! Mother Nature is definitely in charge. All we can do is help each other.

The Best Mothers Day Present: When Your Kid Becomes Your Colleague–and You Still Like Each Other

My Mothers Day started with a three a.m. bike ride, and it was Son Two’s idea.

He’s just been hired to work part-time this summer at Holly B’s Bakery (“Holly’s Buns Are Best”)  where I’ve been working for the past five years. He’ll mostly be working the counter and, later on during high season, baking at night. But this Mothers Day, a slot came open for assistant morning-baking. Son Two filled it.

“Can we ride in?” he asked. Now, I know your average almost 23 year-old is not his/her best self at 3 a.m., even when pulling some kind of all-nighter. Asking one to wake up then, bundle up and bike 11 miles in the dark, well…I wouldn’t have asked. But since he offered? Hell yeah! Let’s ride!

Son Two’s reward: getting to spend the next nine hours having his Head Baker mom tell him what to do. He did fantastic.

Making croissant dough: roll, butter, fold, chill, repeat.

Making croissant dough: roll, butter, fold, chill, repeat.

He messed up not once (which is more than I can say for my first disastrous pan of brownies assistant baking shift). He made beautiful food. And on our ride home, he told me he appreciated my showing him how to do things right.

Young Man With Macaroons

Young Man With Macaroons

Breakfast in bed is great. So is going out for brunch. But my best Mothers Day present EVER is the realization that my younger son is someone I would hire or sign up to work with, even if I’d never met the kid. I mean man.

Like mother, like son? I should be so lucky.

Like mother, like son? I should be so lucky.

Mothers Day stories, anyone? I love hearing from you!