Ceci n’est pas un hamburger.
Really. That’s a macaron the size of a slider. It was called a macaron individuel. The ones that look “normal-sized” were in fact labeled as “mini.” And I thought it was the American way to go big.
My biggest accomplishment of the week was consuming my first macaron. The beautiful event happened after class, aka the time of day when my taste buds have been spoiled to crave sweets.
We took a short walk to the streets near Étienne Marcel and ended up at a random boulangerie patisserie. Amidst the glistening vibrant pastries and desserts, I finally decided it was high time for le macaron to happen. So I shelled out a couple euros and went big.
Un macaron individuel, s’il vous plaît. Chocolat.
The madam wrapped it up for me, reminiscent of a burger. But a sweet kind.
After stopping by a small mart for fruit and drinks, we sat down on a street bench and dug in.
Just being able to unwrap and hold it was amazing.
It filled up my whole palm.
The first bite was so crunchy and then so soft.
As I continued eating, it became rich and soft and gooey. Like if they had somehow baked a brownie into a macaron.
It was indeed magical.
I could barely eat dinner two hours later.
I can’t wait to do this again.