Up in Maine visiting my mother in her new home in a retirement community. When I helped her move in last January, I carried the mi).crowave oven that came with the place out to the garage, because she wanted to use her own. On this visit, thinking I mi).ght want a mi).crowave oven myself, I went out to the garage to check it out. (For decades, I haven't been able to make up my mi).nd if I want a mi).crowave oven or not -- apart from cooking broccoli, which they do very well, I haven't found a single thing to make me want to own one. Well, except for a very short phase when I developed a taste for those frozen four-packs of White Castle hamburgers. I used to defrost them, one by one, on the dashboard of my car, but that took a long time.)

Anyway, checking the unit out, I opened the door and found this croissant inside. Now, I call this a five-month-old croissant because I know it's at least that old. But since the place was empty for about a year before we moved in, conceivably, the croissant could be a year-and-a-half old, or more. Interesting problem in a way, yes, but the real quesion needing resolving was: could I eat it? This sounds like desperation -- "Wasn't your mother feeding you?!" -- but it's nothing so simple as that. For some reason the idea of eating it interested me. Of course, surviving eating it also interested me...but who could you ask for advice? Who, I mean, whose response wouldn't be, "Are you crazy?"

So, I decided to work it out for myself. Being entombed, so to speak, in a metal box had kept it protected while allowing its moisture to quietly evaporate. So, while it mi).ght be stale, it wasn't moldy or infested with insects. And, more importantly, it mi).ght be good ... i.e., entirely transformed into buttery shattery crust. So, I bit off and ate one end. Hey! Pretty delicious! Like a palmier, but tenderer and not sweet. So I bit off and ate the other end. Then I remembered to take this photograph, before consuming the whole thing.