RECIPE
The Modern Man
Sugar-cinnamon Pastry Sticks and Cappuccino
Well, since it’s a
short philosophical essay, how about a cup of cappuccino and some
sugar-cinnamon sticks?
Making a delicious foamy cappuccino doesn’t require any expensive
equipment, whatever your local barista tells you.
Making milk foam in the
microwave is a two-step process: first you shake the milk in a jar to create
foam, then you microwave it for a few seconds to stabilize the foam. Without
the microwaving step, the milk foam will quickly collapse back into the milk.
Once stabilized in the microwave, the milk foam is so thick that you can
literally spoon it into your coffee mug.
So, let’s
do it!
Sugar-cinnamon sticks:
Ingredients:
·
roll of pure butter puff pastry
·
egg yolk
·
caster sugar
·
Cinnamon
Instructions:
1.
Preheat the oven to 410°F (210°C)
2.
Line a baking tray with greaseproof paper or a silicon baking
sheet
3.
Unroll the pastry, cut into 2 cm strips with a small knife, brush
one side with the egg yolk, sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon
4.
Place the strips, evenly spaced, on the tray and bake for 810 min
5.
Reduce the heat to 350°F (180°C) if they brown too quickly
Milk-frothing!
Ingredients:
·
2% or nonfat milk
·
Cocoa powder
·
Cinnamon powder
Instructions:
1.
Pour the milk into the jar: Fill your jar with as much milk as you
normally use in your coffee, but no more than halfway full so there's room to
make some foam.
2.
Shake the jar with the lid on: Screw on the lid. Shake the jar as
hard as you can until the milk is frothy and has roughly doubled in volume, 30
to 60 seconds.
3.
Microwave for 30 seconds: Take the lid off the jar. Microwave
uncovered for 30 seconds. The foam will rise to the top of the milk and the
heat from the microwave will help stabilize it.
Tips: a) Use the foam right
away! It will start to dissolve after a few minutes. b) If you want a little
milk as well, use your spoon to hold back the foam while you pour a little into
your coffee. c) Nonfat and 2% milks emerge from the microwave with impressive
stacks of foam, while the whole fat milk and creams emerged with a mere film of
tiny bubbles.
Now, the final touch:
assembling your cappuccino!
1.
Make strong, good-quality, hot coffee before
frothing the milk.
2.
Then froth the milk and spoon the foam on top of the coffee,
barista-style.
3.
Sprinkle with cocoa and cinnamon.
Tips: a) Of course, the taste of your
cappuccino doesn’t just depend on the foam, it will also depend on how good
your coffee is. b) For chocolate lovers, add a small thin piece of dark
chocolate at the bottom of your mug or cup before you pour hot coffee over.
After you finished drinking your cappuccino, eat the melted chocolate with a
spoon!
USA TODAY and Amazon bestselling romance author Cristiane Serruya—or just Cris—is Brazilian and lives in Rio de Janeiro. She has a Master’s in Business Law and a BA in Fine Arts. After twenty-two years of practicing law, she decided to give writing a go. And—amazingly—it was just the piece that was missing in the puzzle of her life.
The modern state of man, his thoughts, feelings, and life are dissected by the author in a direct, sensible, and poetic style.
A contemporary text about the human anguishes and desires, needs and projects, dreams and utopias, which leads the reader to rethink his daily acts.
Foreword by Carla Francalanci, PhD by Boston University
All royalties generated by this book and its translations are being donated toward Doctors without Borders.
Awards received:
Gold Medal - Literary Classics International Book Awards for Special Interest - Inspirational / Motivational, 2013;
Bronze Medal - Literary AwardsReaders' Favorite International Book Award for Short Story - Non Fiction, 2013;
Honors - Law School, PUC-RJ, 1988.
Retailer links:
GooglePlay: http://bit.ly/2tpRkIV
On my website: https://www.crisserruya.com/themodernman
EXCERPT
The Modern Man by Cristiane Serruya
BEFORE,
A WORD.
When
we are eighteen years old, life is a wonder, everything is new and the
possibilities are all open to us—the new generation—who is taking our first
steps.
For
a few, life has been kind and generous; for others, not so magnanimous or
loving, but one way or another, we are all—or we have been—there, at the
magical age of eighteen, ready to start our lives and to dominate the world,
taking it by its horns…or its tail.
We
think there is a new world to discover, conquer, better. But no. There is no
new world, nothing to conquer. It’s all an illusion.
The
world is not new. It is old. It is not here to be bettered by younglings
dreaming of imaginary and unattainable solutions. Utopias.
For
an unknown reason, some of these younglings are old souls revisiting
this world and already know it. They know that there is very little to do upon
the world. They know that the great difficulty is humanity.
For
those who know, the worst enemy is themselves: men.
Cristiane
Serruya
Rio
de Janeiro, April 2013.
***
THE
MODERN MAN
A
man opens his eyes, but he sees nothing. He looks around, but distinguishes
nothing. There is no light. There is no sound. His bedside table lamp has
blackened out and his clock has stopped.
He
frowns, unsure of what to do, but decides to grope around until he finds the
edge of the bed. Awkwardly, he sits on the bed and his feet touch the cold and
smooth floor.
Stumbling
through few simple pieces of furniture, which compose the small room, he
arrives at the only window of the chamber. His fingers touch the glass and his
eyes strive, once more, to see something.
But
the world is shrouded in a black velvet veil.
It’s
all darkness.
The
man despairs.
His
modern world, his universe of buttons and levers does not work anymore. And the
man feels lost, lost in his own labyrinth. And the man is blinder than a true
blind person; deafer than a true deaf person; muter than a true mute person.
The
man has forgotten how to see, hear, and speak.
The
man tries to go back to bed and sleep. Sleeping, he does not have to worry.
The
man has forgotten how to deal with the unexpected.
After
three faltering steps, the man falls. Whimpering as a child, he stays on the
floor, confused and afraid. A few moments later, like a reptile, he crawls
carefully, slowly, until he finds something. He runs his fingers over the
object, trying to identify it. Its form is strange to him.
The
man has forgotten how to touch.
Avoiding
the object, he continues to seek his bed. His anguished search seems to take an
eternity. Or perhaps, it is just a brief moment, but the man does not know.
He
forgot how to count.
Curled
up like a fetus, under blankets, the man shakes. He cannot sleep and voices
insist on speaking inside his head. He wishes for the oblivion of sleep, sure
that when he wakes up, his world will resume functioning normally, with peculiar
regularity. He will not have to remember this anguished feeling, he will not
have to remember the fear or the doubt that permeates his security.
The
man forgot how to feel.
He
forgot how to remember.
Instead
of the tick-tock that the clock made to mark every minute, there is only
silence, and no regular rhythm. His ears are deaf to the melody of silence as
its harmony is not the steady and rhythmic compass that the man learned to
obey.
He
feels oppressed, crushed against the mattress by the heavy silence that hangs
in the darkness.
The
man forgot the calm, the peace, the tranquility.
…
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