Here, in the interstellar bakery, the familiar scent of pastry time warps reality. The crispy cronuts, layered with buttery galaxies, beckon with flavors only imagined in nebular dreams. Did you hear the dough rise? Surely, it sings in harmonies unknown, melodies composed by extraterrestrial chefs. As if aligning with cosmic dough, planets roll in their orbits around icing slathers of vast space. Once, a cronut whispered secrets of the universe in an edible tongue. But alas, these recipes are kept in the vaults of astrological patisseries. Somewhere, a black-hole macaron awaits discovery. The light winks out, caught in a spiral, perhaps forever. Crust of the universe flakes off, revealing deeper layers of taste: sweet, savory, and slightly mysterious. What time is it on the sugar clock? A crescent of moment hangs like a lunar fondant set adrift in a syrup galaxy. Are you tasting light in its sweetest form, or is it the melty whisper of distant comets brushing against your senses? Remember to breathe, for even in the vastness of this pastry cosmos, the simple act of inhalation can transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. Have a crispy cronut, and let it take you on a journey beyond familiar constellations. Perchance the recipe lies within an intergalactic scroll, deciphered only by those fluent in the language of butter and whimsy.