thoughts on an austrian pastry

There is no graceful way to enjoy a croissant, especially if it's been made properly. An effective croissant will be light and airy, presenting with layer after layer of buttery, yeast-leavened dough. The crisp, laminated layers are what create the issue. I hesitate to peel apart the delicate layers to eat them individually: it feels savage, as if I were removing the wings from a butterfly. Lifting buttery sheets to place them, paper-thin, on my tongue where they rest for just for a moment before dissolving. I am inclined to bite directly into the porous pastry, but this, too gives the impression of one willing to sacrifice culinary experience for the instant gratification of rapid munching. Equipping oneself with fork and knife is another option, but seems too grandiose for the perfect simplicity a croissant embodies. There is no safe ground, no happy medium. So I am left to some combination of the three, and will most likely still end up looking a fool, leaving golden-brown flakes in my wake.