I'll Be Baklava

Everything I have read about phyllo dough goes something like this:

"I was really scared, but this was easy!"

"I've heard it's hard to work with, but I didn't have a problem."

"The thought of using it filled my gut with dread and left me quivering in a corner for several hours before I mustered the courage to begin, but it wasn't too bad."

Phyllo dough, the bully, causes panic in the streets and strikes terror into kitchens across the world.  Shame on you phyllo!  These people just want to enjoy a nice slice of baklava. Yet, by all accounts, phyllo was all bark and no bite. I chose to journey on, deciding that phyllo just must be misunderstood.  If I gave phyllo a chance, we could develop a good working relationship!  Plus, I really wanted to enjoy a nice slice of baklava. 

Phyllo dough and I became such good friends that together we made baklava and spanakopita.  Working with it was part cookery and part paper mâché, part delicacy and part speed.  In short, I loved it.  It was easiest to move the sheets draped over the backs of my hands.  Then a quick brush with butter (or oil, for the spanakopita), and on to the next layer.  Repeat, repeat, repeat... When it tore, I kept going, because phyllo is good at keeping that sort of thing secret. Then the nut filling, then layers, then filling again, then layers. I cut a diamond shaped pattern just through the top layers, baked the baklava, and poured a sugar and honey sauce over immediately after it came out of the oven. 

It was sweet, savory, crispy, buttery, almost caramel-y, and generally delightful.  I am sorry, phyllo dough, for ever doubting you!