I hadn't realized how much I'd been flogging the macaron horse (that sounds really wrong) until today, when Colin lit up upon entering the kitchen, then peered into the mixing bowl where I was creaming some butter and in a crestfallen tone said, "not making macarons"?
Since K's refresher, I've been trying to practice, to keep the wheels of precision and cogs of memory well-oiled. To prevent myself from forgetting or my memory to get stale. But also because it is such a rewardingly aesthetic process. I actually do think I'm improving- these are some strawberry macarons I made, filled with raspberry white chocolate buttercream. I'm especially better when I have the time and isolation to be disciplined and unhurried about the whole thing. I almost think macaron-making is a state of mind and I aim to become unflappable, serene, tranquil in my steps and breathing....still a big step away from where I am now.
"You always give them away" he elucidated reproachfully, as he carefully carried out three on his plate for breakfast, "and then we have so very few left". It's true. How could you not love the aesthetic of macarons? Who could resist looking at them? Seeing the world in one of these lush little packages of almond meal and rich, dark chocolate- it's simple and complex at the same time, yet oh so good.
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