Croissant lesson in layers

Croissant lesson in layers The first thing I noticed as I stepped in class at the institute of culinary education was we had a new Chef for our pastry lesson. His Name was Trung and he was known to have a mean streak. We had heard rumours about his temperament. I remember standing in the corridor of our school as he walked past us and had a smirk on his face. Maybe he was planning his students' demise with his cruel and mean streak. The day arrived where we had class with Chef Trung and it was on making croissants, probably the most technical recipe in the world of pastry. Pastry and baking is a chemical reaction, it consists of ‘mise en place’ (preparing the ingredients) and follows the exact steps of the recipe, God forbid we would hear the words ‘ Do it again’. Which I heard more than I had wanted to. As a woman in the culinary world I had learned that kitchens were not just about food: they were a battle ground where skill, stamina and identity were constantly tested. Learning how to make croissants became more than a technical recipe, it became a metaphor for layers of struggle and resilience that had shaped me. Chef Trung greeted the class with the quiet confidence of someone who had folded butter into dough thousands of times. His voice was steady, instructive and reassuring, even as he reminded us that croissants are notoriously unforgiving. The block of butter had to be the right temperature before we folded it in the dough.Every roll, Every chill every roll of the pin required patience and persistence. I wanted to master this pastry badly. Croissants, to me, were more than pastries. They were symbols of elegance, precision and French tradition. But they were also intimidating - Just as intimidating as stepping into professional kitchens that were still, in many ways, defined by masculine energy and expectations. When I began my career, I learned quickly that being a woman in a professional kitchen meant I had to prove myself twice: Once through my skills, and once again by withstanding the skepticism that came simply because of my gender. The long hours, the burns and cuts, the heavy lifting- those were expected of everyone. But the sideways comments raised doubts about whether I had the stamina or the temperament for the industry - those were reserved for women like me. As Chef Trung demonstrated the first lamination fold, I remembered the countless times I had folded myself into silence in the kitchen, not wanting to be labeled ‘delicate’ or ‘overly sensitive.’ I remember watching male colleagues being called ‘passionate’ when they raised their voices, while women were not able to handle the heat. I remember pushing through exhaustion while lifting a fifty pound bucket of buttercream. I remember pushing myself through exhaustion and back pain, while I knew asking for help would be seen as a sign of weakness, not team work. The dough before me was pliable but temperamental, a living thing that resisted and yielded in equal measures. Chef Trung leaned over to correct my rolling technique, reminding me to push evenly not forcefully. “Gentle," he said but firm. You don't want to tear the dough, but you have to show it who's in charge. His words landed with more weight than he may have intended. That balance- gentle but firm - was the exact posture I had been forced to adopt as a woman in this field. Too soft, and I wouldn't be taken seriously. Too strong and I risked being shut out. LIke croissant dough, I had to stretch myself without breaking, hold my ground without losing my structure, The hours passed with cycles of rolling, folding and chilling. The butter had to stay cold yet pliable, the layers distinct. Every step demanded patience . Croissant making is, in many ways, a lesson in resilience; you cannot rush it, you cannot cut corners, and even after doing everything right, sometimes the dough resists. When the final proofing began, the room filled with anticipation. Would our croissants rise tall and proud? Would the layers separate into the airy honeycomb crumb that defines perfection? Or would they collapse into flat, buttery rolls mocking my efforts? As we waited, I thought about how often I had asked myself similar questions about my career. Would my efforts ever be enough to rise in an industry that often overlooked women? Would my work speak louder than the doubts around me? When my croissants finally emerged from the oven, golden brown and fragrant, I felt an almost overwhelming relief. The layers had held. They had risen. They had become something beautiful out of something fragile. I tore one open and studied the interior: airy, structured yet delicate. Exactly what I had hoped for. That day Chef Trung gave me more than a new technical skill. He reminded me that my journey as a woman chef mirrored the process of making croissants. Both required discipline, strength and patience and above all, resilience. Not giving up no matter what. Chef Trung taught me a life lesson on how to challenge myself and not give up and keep on striving for success. Each setback had been another fold, another layer of experience shaping me. Each challenge had chilled and hardened me just enough to withstand the next roll of the pin. The culinary world is changing, slowly. More women are claiming their place, more voices are demanding equality, more kitchens are realizing that talent and skill knows no gender. But the process is fragile, like dough in a warm room- it must be handled carefully to avoid collapse. As I bite into a croissant today, I taste not just butter and flour but the sweetness of perseverance. Remembering how time consuming and technical this process can be. The lesson was clear, just as croissants cannot be rushed, neither can change in the culinary world.