What is it about not being able to have something that makes you want it so damn bad?
This week, I yearn for French Macarons. The first time I had them was in London at a tiny shop made to look like a gilded cave. The macarons were lined up in the window like gemstones studding Wonka-esque ore.
(photo from Melpomene.net)
Lord knows what kind of food coloring they used to give them those saturated hues of red and black, but they tasted heavenly nonetheless. The flavor-enhancing effects of European air probably helped. I recall biting into one for the first time and being surprised by the soft crack of the outer shell. The layer of meringue collapsed into a gooey, fruity interior that made my eyes wide. Tangy, creamy filling balanced the borderline headachey sweetness of the cookie. Clive and I ordered more than we thought we could eat after a full day of chocolate tasting, but ended up fighting over the last crumbs.
When I think of macarons, I lust after that first one most. I want to behold its deep beet color and inhale its sickly sweet aroma. But alas, Laduree is a long way away. And it’s not on the Candida diet anyway.
So I channeled my obsession into something (sort-of) constructive (depending on who you ask): Making miniature macaron beads. Yes that’s right, tiny polymer clay replicas ready to be strung into jewelry. I may sound crazy but I’m not the only one—I actually found a lot of helpful resources on the internet for capturing every detail. Thanks, Gentleman Bunny.
The foot is the most challenging part of a clay macaron. Getting those crumbs to look right takes precision. Apparently a well-formed foot is a sign of a good macaron in real life too.
photo from SeriousEats.com
Come see my mini food jewelry on display at my shop, The Xocolate Bar, just in time for Lent.
Such an inspiring post. I seem obsessed with macarons!