On my latest trip to Europe, a birthday eating/drinking tour across Rioja, Basque country and Bordeaux, with romance provided by the Baker, I received the most perfect birthday gift of all: French macarons.
A box of classic, assorted macarons by a well-known maker purchased in the Paris airport is not cheap. It’s gorgeous in its silky brown covering, tied with a ribbon, holding its precious contents elegantly. Patiently concealing its perfect rows inside.
And once you open it: such pretty colors! Then take a bite: the airy, crispy ookie plus creamy middle embodying the perfect essence of chocolate, lavender, pistachio, coffee. It’s so rich and lifelike, you have to give half to your partner, so you can watch his face while he takes a bite and tastes this sensation. Doing it with someone you love is much better than solo; this experience has to be shared.
It’s heartbreak when the last macaron is eaten and all that’s left are crumbs, colorful crispy pieces of their former glory. But even days-old macaron crumbs are fulfilling when shared with the right person in the right place.
The perfect gift.