I remember the first time I had a French macaron. It wasn't in Paris, or France, it was at a San Diego farmer's market. It was delicious. I'd never tasted anything like it, but the flavors, the scrumptiousness, didn't absolutely convince me until the second time I had a macaron. I knew it was good the first time, but the second bite a week later confirmed my first experience. Many times, the second, later bite doesn't stand up to a first experience. That is how I knew I'd found a delectable food.
It's like the books we read from our childhood. The books we love and adore. I had a librarian ask me about re-reading a childhood favorite when I had become an adult.
"Did it stand the test of time?"
It did, and how how satisfying that was.
And when the Pink Motel , my first mystery, didn't stand the test of time? Oh what a let down.
So each time when I had a macaron, the taste just kept getting better.
When leaving San Diego one morning, I made a slight detour before I15 to pick up a box of macarons to share with a friend.
The friend, a confirmed gourmand, even made her own macarons.
Because there are so many delectable food items in Paris, the macaron gets lost amid the other superstars. What can beat a Parisian baguette smeared in fresh butter or a pain au chocolate? The macaron almost becomes, with its intense sweetness, like the screaming child. Amidst such subtle sweetness and simpler color palettes, the bright oranges, neon greens, ruby reds of the macarons, look like aliens.
When we stood in the Pierre Herme shop, we were overwhelmed by the aesthetics of patisseries and chocolats. Treats are elevated to an art form and it's almost a shame to eat Pierre's creations; but it would be the greater shame to not.
Tony and I would indulge in maybe two small, palm size cakes. We would take them to the park quatre corner, sit down on a bench and force ourselves to wait for just a moment, enjoying the ambience. The cathedral, the magnificent marble fountain. The Parisians strolling, rushing, relaxing. The ever present hum of traffic. Ritually and reverently, we would unwrap the first cake. I would photograph the cake. Then with more constraint than usual, we would take a small bite and savor. Sometimes I would "Ahhh," and always we would smile. And somehow, the savoring, the sharing, the appreciation, and the bike ride to and fro, we never gained weight in Paris.
We did indulge in Pierre's macarons. They did not disappoint. But when I saw the recipe in my daughter's Pierre Herme dessert cookbook, I wasn't tempted in the slightest to try it myself. Today, I understood why. I found a most delightful post "Making the Best Macarons in the World."
http://www.parisperfect.com/blog/2009/10/making-the-best-macarons-in-the-world/
The author, Madylyn, prepared for weeks, trying to collect the exact ingredients, from different stores around Paris and England. But some of the ingredients were impossible to find. Even her French mother in law, who had been baking and cooking for years, hadn't heard of a certain type of butter. Her French cooking friends had never heard of chocolate pate. Finally, when all ingredients were assembled and she and her daughter began to create, they had missed the instruction to separate the eggs and store for an entire week.
Madylyn never tells us how much time the macarons took to complete, but when they were complete, they were delicious. Her conclusion was: M. Hermé on adore vos macarons, mais comme dit Alexia, on a réalisé qu’il faut les acheter dans vos magasins!
Basically: M. Herme, It is easier to buy your macarons than attempt to make them. I am easily convinced. A trip to Paris would be much easier.
It's like the books we read from our childhood. The books we love and adore. I had a librarian ask me about re-reading a childhood favorite when I had become an adult.
"Did it stand the test of time?"
It did, and how how satisfying that was.
And when the Pink Motel , my first mystery, didn't stand the test of time? Oh what a let down.
So each time when I had a macaron, the taste just kept getting better.
When leaving San Diego one morning, I made a slight detour before I15 to pick up a box of macarons to share with a friend.
The friend, a confirmed gourmand, even made her own macarons.
Because there are so many delectable food items in Paris, the macaron gets lost amid the other superstars. What can beat a Parisian baguette smeared in fresh butter or a pain au chocolate? The macaron almost becomes, with its intense sweetness, like the screaming child. Amidst such subtle sweetness and simpler color palettes, the bright oranges, neon greens, ruby reds of the macarons, look like aliens.
When we stood in the Pierre Herme shop, we were overwhelmed by the aesthetics of patisseries and chocolats. Treats are elevated to an art form and it's almost a shame to eat Pierre's creations; but it would be the greater shame to not.
Tony and I would indulge in maybe two small, palm size cakes. We would take them to the park quatre corner, sit down on a bench and force ourselves to wait for just a moment, enjoying the ambience. The cathedral, the magnificent marble fountain. The Parisians strolling, rushing, relaxing. The ever present hum of traffic. Ritually and reverently, we would unwrap the first cake. I would photograph the cake. Then with more constraint than usual, we would take a small bite and savor. Sometimes I would "Ahhh," and always we would smile. And somehow, the savoring, the sharing, the appreciation, and the bike ride to and fro, we never gained weight in Paris.
We did indulge in Pierre's macarons. They did not disappoint. But when I saw the recipe in my daughter's Pierre Herme dessert cookbook, I wasn't tempted in the slightest to try it myself. Today, I understood why. I found a most delightful post "Making the Best Macarons in the World."
http://www.parisperfect.com/blog/2009/10/making-the-best-macarons-in-the-world/
The author, Madylyn, prepared for weeks, trying to collect the exact ingredients, from different stores around Paris and England. But some of the ingredients were impossible to find. Even her French mother in law, who had been baking and cooking for years, hadn't heard of a certain type of butter. Her French cooking friends had never heard of chocolate pate. Finally, when all ingredients were assembled and she and her daughter began to create, they had missed the instruction to separate the eggs and store for an entire week.
Madylyn never tells us how much time the macarons took to complete, but when they were complete, they were delicious. Her conclusion was: M. Hermé on adore vos macarons, mais comme dit Alexia, on a réalisé qu’il faut les acheter dans vos magasins!
Basically: M. Herme, It is easier to buy your macarons than attempt to make them. I am easily convinced. A trip to Paris would be much easier.