Too bad. Add one more blogger's post and mouth-watering photos to the long list. This time it comes from the same blogger (me) who once left a comment vowing to boycott further posts on the topic on the grounds that such descriptions and their accompanying pornographic photos were too "deliciously cruel."
Call this photo set my revenge.
"So, Brett, what did you think?" you ask to be polite, suppressing your yawn.
Here's my take. (This is the part where I get in trouble).
Macarons are to Paris what cupcakes are to America. Like cupcakes, they're ubiquitous. Also like cupcakes, they're as irresistibly cute as baby chicks and as colorful as a bouquet of tulips. You just wanna squeeze their little cheeks and say "aawwwww." The main difference is that, instead of being smeared on top of cake, the buttercream frosting is squished between two sugary meringue buns, like a hamburger re-imagined by Oompa-Loompas.
Don't get me wrong. I like cupcakes. Even the sickly sweet ones sold at NYC's Magnolia Bakery. On occasion. Like once every year or two.
And I liked Pierre Hermé's macarons. At least some of the flavors. Whenever the master pâtissier added a healthy dose of bitterness to the cookies' buttercream filling, I was in heaven. Café, Chocolat, Caramel à la Fleur de Sel, even Huile d'Olive & Vanille (olive oil and vanilla) all made my tongue smile. I could gobble them up all day long. But the rest, brilliant and creative and sexy as the flavors were, made my teeth ache.
Did I say sexy? You bet. Check out the names PH has bestowed on the petite sweet nothings in his "spring collection." They're the strippers of the pastry shop: Jasmin, Rose, Arabesque (apricot and pistachio), Mogador (passion fruit and milk chocolate), Mosaïc (pistachio and cherry), and Ispahan (litchi, rose, and raspberry). Next month, Céleste (passion fruit, rhubarb, and strawberry) and Satine (cream cheese, orange, and passion fruit) will be joining them on stage. Rrrrowrr! Tell me you're not perspiring!
In my opinion, though, the reality of these sugar pills didn't live up to the promise of their fantasy names. But ain't that always the case?
So tell me, did I miss something? I mean, I like rosy, girly desserts more than your average feller. Were my expectations for the PH macarons too high? Is there a context for consuming these treats that's unknown to me? Am I just too much of a grease-stained, restaurant kitchen hot-line hillbilly to get what the fuss is all about over these gussied up French macaroons?