Foodjianese |
Food is not my life but it makes me feel alive. I was born in Fujian, in southeast China, and somehow got dragged onto a plane to New York at the turn of my teenage years. (Thanks mom!) I inhaled 3 plates of roast pork and cabbage on rice after sneaking my way out of summer tutoring school (I'm Asian) during lunchtime to gorge on Indian Mee Goreng and Indian pancakes when I was in junior high, so there is no doubt that I LOVE to eat. Cooking, on the other hand, is a recent obsession. I generally do not rely on recipes except for baking because I feel constrained by the scientific preciseness of most recipes. I like to improvise. The lingering taste of a sweet and spicy lamb tagine from a recent restaurant meal prompts me to turn on my stove. The smell of sweet cardamom and rose water gracefully peeking their way out of an Indian bakery seduces me to invite them to my kitchen. Ok, enough about me, let's cook, eat, and share, which is what food is all about. |
My recent trip to Paris incited another food obsession - macarons. I dragged my friend Ari all over Paris, from one patisserie to another, in my quest to find the best… I just couldn’t get enough of ‘em.
Macaron is a French wafer pastry sandwich made of egg whites, almond powder, icing sugar, and sugar. Nowadays, macaron flavors range from the usual suspects like vanilla and chocolate, to the exotic oddities like wasabi and ume (Japanese plum). In New York, macarons grace the counters of Bouchon, La Maison du Chocolat, Almondine, Madeleine Patisserie, etc. I have not tried any of them, yet. However, I was enticed by Will Cotton’s latest exhibit at Partners and Spade on Great Jones Street near Bowery, and had to get a piece of the pie, or macaron.
Will Cotton’s “bakeshop” was tucked away in the back of the vibrant design and conceptual art studio/storefront, as if to prevent an invasion by a mob of hungry-eyed rapacious macaron fiends such as yours truly. But civility came to call in such a pleasant space, I allotted a few minutes to check out some of the art pieces on display before I dashed to the back. It was a dreamland; pastel blue and pink “birthday” cakes austerely sat on what looked like porcelain stands, apple and almond phyllo square tarts neatly laid out on white rectangular plates, cupcakes with cloud-like frostings as high as the ceiling proudly made their presence known on the pastry stands. And then there were the palettes of golden yellow, sienna orange, and rosy pink rounds of macarons, neatly lined out on porcelain white plates.
I appreciated the recommendation for the cupcake by the gentile-looking woman leaving the store as we were entering but, I knew what I wanted, and I wanted it right then and there.
To my dismay, they capped a limit of 2 macarons per person. Thankfully, I did not have many flavors to choose from since there were only three left: lemon, pumpkin, and vanilla with pink peppercorn. My friend Ari and I both chose the pumpkin and the vanilla with pink peppercorn.
We gleefully walked out of the place and inadvertently shrieked out an orgasmic “Oh. My. God!” when we took a first bite into the vanilla and pink peppercorn macaron. A hint of toasted almonds rounded out the mild sweet marshmallow ganache sandwiched between two light crispy yet pillowy pink wafers. I cherished every crumb and brittle of the dainty little pink macarons, about the diameter of a golf ball. Every little bite was a flight back into a more carefree, joyous and innocent childhood. I hesitated, took a good long last look at the macaron before I indulged the last peanut-sized crumb… I did not want the spell casted upon me to end. The $2.50 was the cheapest and most satisfying journey back to a long foregone wonderland.
