Happy Saturday, everybody!
My weekend is going to be a feat of engineering, schedule-wise. I have booked myself into plans all over this great city, back to back. It’s going to start with yoga in a few hours and end with a Swell Season/She and Him/Bird & the Bee concert on Sunday night. And in between all that… madness. Traffic. Laughs. Hopefully, good times. (Swell times? Hahaha?)
And on Monday morning when people ask me what I did, I will sincerely make a very confused face and say, “I don’t remember.” For some reason the words, “What did you do this weekend?” always throw me off, and I draw a blank. Because you have about a one second window to say something before the other person stops caring (if they cared to begin with), and that creates a vortex of pressure that my poor brain cannot handle.
I should probably plan for this and plot out my response before I get to work, but… I never do. So people generally think that I did nothing, or my weekend was SO crazy that I can’t remember it. Like, it must have been a non-stop drug-fueled orgy.
That’s never the case.
But I do have some food porn to share with you. (Or just go straight to the Paulette website.)
Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I wanted to take a moment to show you a delightful vision. A feast for your eyes!
But first, a little story.
Until very very recently, if you told me that you loved macaroons, I would have thought you were a crazy person. Because, to a little Jewish girl from the suburbs, this is a macaroon:
Basically, it’s a shitty Passover dessert that we eat because all of the good desserts are forbidden. Passover macaroons are kind of chewy and waxy and usually seem to have coconut shreds in them. (I’m not a fan.)
BUT when I was at my former job, one day I walked into the kitchen and saw a box of some strange delightful little cookie-puff thing, and I was told that they were… French macaroons. (I maybe have written about them here. Much like my weekends… I don’t remember.) Ooh la la.
I believe that they were from Paulette, which actually spells it “macaron,” but most people I know (…Americans) seem to pronounce them the same.
Anyway, this morning I stumbled upon the Paulette website and was blown away by the color and adorability of these macarons. They are the awww-dorable little babies of desserts. They are the Anne Geddes babies of dessert photography. (Okay, not sure if that sentence made any sense.)
Okay, sorry about that.
Now I will cleanse your palate with a Double Rainbow‘s worth of colorful macarons.
And they’re so light and melt-in-your-mouth, with that sweet layer of gooey creamy whatever goodness in the middle. (I know, I know: That’s what she said. But it’s hard!) (That’s also what she said.)
Don’t we all aspire to be described in those terms? Sweet, beautiful, delicious, easy to love?
How did I live 20+ years without knowing about the GOOD macaroons? I thought I disliked macaroons, but I hadn’t met the RIGHT macaroons. (This is starting to sound like a romantic comedy.) (Starring my tastebuds.)
Now I’m going to sit and wait for the macaron hate-mail to roll in. (Or the Anne Geddes hate mail.) (Or the Passover macaroon love mail.)
Oh wait, no I’m not. I have a very busy weekend to attend to!