All of us have stories from our lives:  some we love to tell, and some we dread having told.  My ex from the 90s enjoyed recounting my being loaded into a powerboat for a medevac operation from a cruise ship....and nearly being dropped in the ocean!  Even in my late thirties my grandmother told my then-partner of five year-old of me vacationing in rural Oklahoma and winding up with a tick attached to the tip of my penis...maybe that’s why I never wanted a woman to handle Mr. Happy again?! 

Told by others, our most delicate stories can feel humiliating; but when we tell them, they can be a source of empowerment and authority.  More importantly, though, our stories expose the breadth of our humanity and draw us closer to one another, allowing both the storyteller and the receiver to see themselves reflected in one another.  I learned that in the early 1980s when advocating for “Gay and Lesbian inclusion,” when equality seemed a pipe dream and Bisexual and Transgender folks were not yet welcome in the movement; and it remains true today. 

I was privileged recently to join in a group storytelling session at The University of Maryland that reinforced for me the importance and power of my story as it pertains to HIV, as well as the ability to see in retrospect how over 30 years of loss, love, pain, and renewal can benefit others when it’s shared. As a “non-traditional student” (read “old enough to be the parent of many classmates”) I was welcomed on-stage with other graduate students and even more undergraduates for “The Queer Monologues,” a verbal celebration of the many other identities worn by members of our rainbow-hued Alphabet Soup communities.  Amid Catholic allies, Lesbian athletes, Filipino queers, and a dozen other LGBT young adults, there I was: chronologically-empowered, rather old-school Gay with a Leather daddy look, and openly living with HIV. 

Applause was great, but nothing could speak to me like Q&A with the audience or one-on-one conversations afterwards.  

Seriously?!?!  Over and over, students ages 18 to 25 from across the Kinsey Scale said that they had never heard more than sound clips from a person living with HIV, much less had the opportunity to dialogue with one.  They understood cognitively the losses incurred due to HIV in the 80s and 90s, and a few had recently connected with the rage and mass fight for survival seen in films like “How to Survive a Plague.”  Still, the psychological toll of enduring high rates of HIV mortality and the pressures of rejection and discrimination based on serostatus had not been laid bare for them before by a living, breathing exemplar before; and they were thankful, at least in the moment, for being awakened.  

One young man asked in front of dozens of others for help in confronting the fear of being in a serodiscordant intimate relationship with an HIV-positive guy with whom he had great chemistry.  I reflected on the Bad Old Days when we either assumed everyone had “it” and suited up accordingly or ran away, or we figured we were going to get “it” anyway and cast caution to the wind.  

I offered that science has changed life dramatically for HIVers and their HIV-negative partners in the 25 years since AZT rolled out, but that the biggest hurdles in such relationships remain under human control:  Do you understand how to protect one another and be responsible for your selves, without anyone feeling like a china doll?  Do you understand that you’ll face a lot of negativity, as a couple and as individuals, but that you’re not the first to do down this road and will be able to find support when you need it?  Do you realize what a great story you’ll have to share?

When I was a young child, the greatest thing about my pediatrician’s office was its being in a high-rise building with a High’s dairy store on the ground floor.  After doctor visits when I wasn’t totally crapped out and especially after those that involved shots and needles, that meant a chocolate ice cream cone for the ride home. 

As an adult--and particularly as an HIVer, though, I don’t expect anyone to offer a  pick-me-up after potentially uncomfortable health maintenance activities.  It’s up to me, not my doctors and not my partner, to know when to have routine lab work done; and I need to keep track of my vaccination history. Recent news and a thrilling development in my life have only reinforced my conviction, even if they remind me that I’ve been reckless in the past. 

Over the last several weeks the New York City Department of Health has issued a series of warnings about unusually lethal meningitis, first among HIV+ Gay men and, then, among Gay men in general.  The community reaction has been stinging in light of DOH’s previous panicky press, but the underlying message is one that HIVers need to hear: whether one lives in Canada or the U.S., national vaccination guidelines indicate the receipt of the meningococcal vaccine by all but those with very low CD4 counts.  Even though my school would require the vaccination if I was a full-time student, I have managed to ignore the broad recommendation until now. 

In fact, this isn’t the first time I have ignored vaccine recommendations.  In 1998 I was sick with hepatitis A for three months, despite the existence of a vaccine and the recommendation for sexually active gay men to get it.  Flip side: if I hadn’t come down with hep A, my HIV status would not have become known to me then; but hep A really wasn’t “worth it.”  Still, since that illness I have stayed up-to-date with all of my other routine vaccinations, save meningitis, being one of the first to get a flu shot every fall.  Several years ago that habit earned me the nickname “Omega Man,” as the only one out of over 600 employees in the office to not fall ill during two waves of the flu. 

In mid-April I will eagerly partake of a host of “non-routine” vaccinations for most inhabitants of North America. As part of my academic studies I’m going to Kenya in May and June.  Given our itinerary, shots for yellow fever, typhoid, rabies, and meningococcal disease are required, in addition to anti-malarial medications.  Even after over 30 years of brain surgery and HIV labs, I was so eager to get stuck that my appointment was set before my final travel plans.

Some days I wonder why I’m back in graduate school again at age 47 while working full-time.  More often, I am more inspired by the opportunities to engage professors, other researchers, and my fellow students which being a lifelong learner affords.  Student 

discounts on movies, travel, and eating out in a college town are nice, too, though they’ll never make up for tuition and books.  Still, for anyone getting older -- and that’s all of us, living with HIV or not -- I cannot be more emphatic about continuing to learn and to sharpen one’s skills, whether in a traditional or online classroom, at the local library, or through routine, intentional interaction with other like-minded people.  Seriously, check out free offerings from Massive Open Online Campuses like Coursera where I’ve taken a course on
vaccine trials management and am following a current course on HIV. 

With the challenges of my undergraduate years seared in my mind, I put off my first return to school until age 40 when my then-employer’s tuition assistance policy stated that I had to take graduate-level courses since I had a Bachelor’s degree already.  I enrolled in a project management course that was part of a local technology management graduate program, and I thrived.  The professor was closer in age to me than I was to most of my classmates, and the curriculum formalized concepts and tactics which I had previously gathered over 10 years in IT. 

 By the midterm exam the professor encouraged me to apply to the program, and he shepherded my application through the process.  For three and a half years I plugged away with excitement at one course per term, and I graduated at 44 with honors and a great network of former classmates and professors to carry forward into my professional life. 

Within a year I was bored and contemplating bigger undertakings.  I shared my idea of pursuing a PhD based on health IT with a friend from undergrad days who had practiced psychiatry for 20 years before becoming enthralled with the business of medicine and earning a Master of Business Administration.  On one of his DC visits while working on “Obamacare” for an evil behavioral care management firm, he listened to my scheme and replied bluntly “Don’t be an idiot!  You won’t be able to handle the politics of a doctoral program. Within six months the department will kick you out, or you’ll walk away.”  My heart sank until he continued “With the research you want to do, a Master of Public Health would let you do it with fewer other demands and headaches.” 

I took the advice to heart and enrolled in Introduction to Epidemiology at The University of Maryland to help validate Todd’s words.  I shared my HIV history during first-class introductions, and I bonded quickly with the young professor whose research focuses on HIV and STI interventions for incarcerated individuals returning to their communities. Every time HIV popped up in the curriculum she sought my perspective in class, and she encouraged me to apply to the Master of Public Health program. 

Recently the University of Maryland School Of Public Health paid for me and a dozen other MPH students to take the exam for a nationally recognized certification in public health, and we debriefed afterwards with the School’s dean.  When asked how well I felt the program had done in giving me the knowledge needed to feel confident responding to the exam questions, I said that it probably didn’t. Thirty years of collaborating with other HIV and LGBT health activists, of digesting countless studies and publications to communicate them to others or to issue a rebuttal, had almost certainly taught me most of what I knew before taking the exam, while the courses filled in some gaps and gave me a “proper vocabulary.”  A fair assessment, the dean conceded.  Hundreds of friends past and present with similar community-based experiences came to mind. 

Formal education isn’t for every adult, but learning is still an important part of human growth and an essential activity for HIVers and others living with chronic diseases. 

My grandfather read non-fiction voraciously into his seventies, not to be entertained, but to gain knowledge, whether or not there was a venue to apply the learning.  My grandmother took up tai chi at 80 to help heal from my grandfather’s passing.  As HIV began taking my friends in the early 1980s, one of my key observations was that those who educated themselves--through doctors, books, organizations, or peers--about the rare conditions striking them, as opposed to being an unengaged patient, were the ones who fared the best.  They devoured pharmacology articles and fed them in lay terms to others in need. 

Live long and learn, and share

Sometimes, simply making croissants to showcase one’s kitchen artistry just isn’t enough.  For such moments, I strongly encourage making a croissant chocolate bread pudding -- or a chocolate croissant chocolate bread pudding if you have day-old chocolate goodies around.  The rich velvety layers will satisfy lovers of sweet or savory desserts, and the addition of a tablespoon of cocoa nibs or a handful of chopped nuts or chocolate chips (or chocolate-covered coffee beans....shudder!) quickly adds your own personal spin to this delight. 

As with handling puff pastry, the thought of pouring warm cream into eggs can unnerve some who have never accomplished this feat before, but taking a slow and steady approach as described here will prevent cooking the eggs prematurely.

Ingredients

croissants, preferably a day or two old, enough to yield about 3.5 cups

500ml half-and-half

500ml  heavy cream

Pinch salt

125g semisweet chocolate chips or chopped dark chocolate

6 eggs

225g (1 cup) sugar

Directions 

Cut the croissants into 2.5cm cubes and pile them evenly and loosely into an ovenproof baking dish that can fit comfortably into a roasting pan 

Heat the half-and-half, cream, and salt in a saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally to make sure the mixture doesn't burn or stick to the bottom of the pan. When the mixture gets to a high simmer (steam rising, with some tiny bubbles, but do not let it boil), turn off the heat. Add the chocolate carefully and whisk until melted.

In a large mixing bowl, whisk the eggs and sugar together, then continue to whisk while slowly (100ml at a time) adding the hot chocolate-cream mixture. Ladle the mixture over the croissant pieces and gently toss.  Allow to sit and soak at least 15 minutes, or let cool and store covered in the refrigerator for up to 24 hours. If not baking after 15 minutes, fold the mixture periodically and again before baking to promote an even soak.

To bake, heat the oven to 350F and place paper towels in the bottom of a 5cm deep (or more) roasting pan able to hold the baking dish. Place the dish of bread pudding on the paper towels in the roasting pan and pour very hot water into the roasting pan to about a 2.5cm deep around the dish. Bake uncovered until set, about 40 to 45 minutes. The surface should look hard but not burned.

Serve warm, though people will still devour it cold.

This method for making puff pastry is widely considered the most traditional.  It blends and then laminates two components détrempe (or water dough, from the French for ‘soggy’ détrempé) and berrauge (butter paste).  Détrempe is started with ingredients close to 0ºC (32ºF) - I chill my flour and the water!--mixed together at room temperature before they can warm completely. The détrempe is allowed to rest and cool while one prepares berrauge starting with room-temperature butter and flour.

Ingredients

• 20 oz Bread Flour
• 1/4 oz Salt
• 12 oz chilled Water
• 20 oz room-temp Butter
• 2 oz Bread Flour

Add flour and salt to the bowl of a stand mixer with dough hook attachment in place.  Lower hook into flour and start on the lowest speed.  Slowly add water over the course of a minute.  Let the mixer run until the dough forms one ball with a few crumbs in the bottom, about 5-8 minutes.  Stop mixer and press the dough against the bowl to pick up loose pieces, flip dough over.  Lower hook, turn mixer on low again and let run another minute. (No mixer? Follow the same pattern using a large mixing bowl and a sturdy mixing spoon or spatula.) 

Lightly dust work surface with flour. Turn dough out of bowl onto work surface.  With lightly floured hands, curl the dough in on itself in a ball until dough becomes soft and supple.  Lightly dust with bench flour as needed during the process.  When the dough feels smooth and will not incorporate more flour, lay it on the floured work surface and begin rolling it into something approximating a 30cm square. 

When rolling the dough, start from the center and roll to one edge without reversing motion.  Scrape up from the edges gently--scrape in a few inches from one angle, then then from another adjacent angle, working your way around a circle--to turn the dough when necessary.  If the rolling pin is picking up bits of dough, rub flour all the way around its surface.  When the desired size and shape is reached, scrape the dough from the surface without breaking it, folding it in half before lifting it from the work surface.  Wrap 15cm x 30cm folded dough in plastic wrap, and place in the refrigerator for 30 minutes to rest. 

While the dough rests, it’s time to prepare berrauge. Wipe the mixer bowl to make certain it’s free of bits of dough -- washing is not necessary.  Replace the dough hook with a flat beater blade, not the whisk. 

Place the butter in the mixer bowl, no need to cut it into pieces.  Sprinkle on the flour.  Lower blade into the mixture and turn on at the lowest speed. Let the mixer run 4-5 minutes until the flour seems fully incorporated and evenly distributed, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed while mixing. The goal here is not adding volume to the butter: the incorporation of flour into the butter will make berrauge easier to manage during the lamination process that follows.  Set berrauge aside and retrieve the rolled and cooled détrempe from the refrigerator after its 30 minutes of rest. 

Keep détrempe wrapped and allow it to warm slowly on a counter for 30 minutes.  Unwrap détrempe and lay it still folded on the dusted work surface with the length running from left to right.  Roll the dough until it is a little bigger than 25cm x 50cm, trying to keep the ratio of length to width the same.  Scrape the dough from the surface, folding in thirds lengthwise.  Dust the working surface with flour, and unfold the dough.  Now the real fun begins!  

Spread the berrauge onto the surface of two-thirds of the dough evenly to form a 1-2cm deep layer that stops 2.5cm from the outer edges of the dough - -it can run right up to the inside edge adjacent to the “no berrauge” one-third.  Fold the untouched third over the middle third, then fold the remaining third over what was the underside of the untouched third.  

Turn the aseemblage a quarter turn to the left or right and gently but evenly roll it back out to original size (25cm x 50cm) on the dusted surface.  You have now done a three-fold, and you almost certainly have berrauge to spare--hold on to it!  Scrape up, fold in thirds again loosely, wrap and refrigerate for 20-30 minutes. 

NOTE:  As you work with the dough, it may appear dry, in which case you should feel free to lightly sprinkle water on it to bring it back to life.  Also, if the dough should tear allowing butter to seep through, sprinkle flour over the exposed butter before making the next fold. 

Bring cold dough out and let it warm up for 30 minutes, unwrap, unfold onto dusted surface.  Spread any remaining berrauge on two-thirds of the surface as before.  Fold in thirds as done before, turn one-quarter turn, and roll back out to original size.  You now have nine layers of flaky goodness before you, but don’t stop there. 

Scrape up, fold loosely in thirds, wrap, refrigerate, allow to warm, and roll out twice more for an ideal 81 layers of amazingness.  If you’re pressed for time or on making your first go at the recipe, stopping after just one more set of operations will yield 27 layers for croissants or other goodies. 

When you’re ready to make croissants, refrigerate the dough  and roll it out to a 25x50cm that is a little less than 1/4-inch thick and cut out your croissants and shape them. I roll out my dough and cut it with a sharp knife into 15cm strips then cut them into triangles, 10cm wide at the base of the triangle. Stretch these triangles again 20cm long, then place on the work surface.  Roll the triangles up towards you starting at the wide end and place them 2 inches apart on a parchment lined sheetpan (about 1” deep) with the tip tucked under and the ends slightly curved in to make a crescent shape. Whisk together one egg and 1 teaspoon milk and brush the croissants with this eggwash. Place the rolled croissants in the refrigerator for 30-60 minutes under moist paper towel covered with plastic. 

Position racks in the top and lower thirds of the oven and heat it to 425°F (or 400°F convection). Brush the croissants with egg wash a second time, if egg wash remains. Put the sheets in the oven. After 10 minutes, rotate the sheets and swap their positions. Watch the croissant puff up as the butter melts -- yes, you’re going to have butter all over the bottom of your pans.  Continue baking until the bottoms are an even brown, the tops richly browned, and the edges show signs of coloring, another 8 to 10 minutes, but let the color be your guide. If they appear to be darkening too quickly during baking, lower the oven temperature by 10°F. Let cool on baking sheets on racks.

May your end product look something like this.

If there was one thing in the kitchen that ever intimidated me, it was making puff pastry. As versatile as the unbaked product called puff paste (or pâte feuilletée) may be for use in many dishes from croissants to pot pies and beef Wellington to millefeuille, its legendarily fragile and temperamental nature makes its preparation off-putting to the faint of heart and the kitchen novice.  Nonetheless, giving one’s self permission to make “mistakes” and to learn from them while creating puff paste will lead to great confidence and new insights that open the whole realm of pastry making.

Before diving into ingredients and technique, it’s helpful to acknowledge the materials science that underlies it all, particularly the roles of gluten, lamination, and the Maillard reaction. 

Many people may recognize gluten only as a component of foods that can make some people ill, but it’s much more.  Gluten is a composite of different protein molecules that forms when water or other liquids is worked into ground unsprouted wheat and similar grains, a.k.a. flour.  Gluten gives doughs their elasticity, allowing them to be stretched and snapping them back in place.  The more refined the flour, the more interconnected the network of protein molecules will be, and the more chewy the end result, like bagels.  Less refined flours produce less complex protein structures and result in more delicate baked goods, like pastry.

Along with the right flour, making great puff pastry requires lamination or the process of making layers, lamina in Latin.  In puff pastry, the layers are increasingly thin, stretched, and unbroken sheets of flour dough and butter.  In 425ºF heat, a few things happen with the lamina to bring forth its texture and color: 

1. the fat in the butter melts and is absorbed into the flour starch as well as it can be;

2. the water in the butter turns to steam rapidly, stretching the gluten and inflating surrounding dough layers before heat locks the proteins in place; and

3. proteins on the surface brown in what’s called the Maillard reaction.

Successful lamination takes the right equipment, proper work conditions, time, patience, and a feel for what the dough and butter layers want at any time as they are being worked.  Move too quickly, and wind up with mush.  Move too slowly, and miss a window of opportunity.

Equipment.  For starters, unlike cookies and cakes, pastry and bread recipes depend on weights (grams, ounces), not volumes (ml, cups, teaspoons).  While there are approximate conversions between weight and volume for different ingredients, using a kitchen scale is less risky.  For mixing, good old elbow grease will do, as long as bowls aren’t cradled causing body heat to transfer to things that need to be kept as cool as possible.  Accordingly, a stand mixer -- not a hand mixer or hand blender -- is ideal for pastry making.  Turn it on low, and you can do something else for a few minutes; but, again, brute strength will do with caution.  A sturdy dough scraper will be needed, along with a bowl to hold about 1 cup of “bench flour” (when you learn how it’s used, you’ll appreciate that inexact measurement is OK) and a clean, preferably non-porous work surface roughly 40cm by 75cm.  If pastry making will occur on a regular basis, an inexpensive plastic pastry mat might be a good acquisition.

Finally, among equipment, a sturdy rolling pin is an absolute must.  Fancy isn’t necessarily better, though.  My grandmother handed down a tube of smooth milk bottle-thick glass which one filled with ice and water, then sealed with a cap at one of the handle-like ends.  It was great for keeping pastry cool in a warm kitchen, but it took a tumble 20 years ago.  My next rolling pin was marble, and I still use it for other pastas and pie crusts, but marble seemed hazardous to pastry. So, I went back to basics, a smooth rolling dowel of maple wood 5cm in diameter and 50cm long.  It’s got a nice weight, it’s easy to clean and handle, and it could be bought online or cut to measure at a local hardware and the ends sanded at home.

To be continued . . . .