Since I don’t, I downloaded the electronic version. This book is full of beautiful photography and recipes that would take me weeks to prepare, as each component of the dish is a recipe in itself. That does not, however, deter me from the pursuit of the glamorous section called “mignardises.”

“Mignardises,” per the Wikipedia definition, are tiny, bite-sized desserts served at the end of a meal. The Eleven Madison Park recipes for mignardises involve playing with such fun items as nitrous oxide, liquid nitrogen, and other chemistry lab supplies. I, on the other hand, am starting with my first use of sheet gelatin. (No, wait! Come back! I promise I won’t bore you to tears…)

So finding gold-strength sheet gelatin in Buffalo is like finding a moose in Iowa. I’m sure there’s one in a zoo somewhere, but I wouldn’t call them rampant. As always, Premier Gourmet to the rescue!

Gelatin is sexier in German. So, off we go! I read the recipe a few times, and got cracking. It’s essentially a cinnamon macaron shell with a carrot curd filling, plus a dab of cinnamon-sugar cream cheese in the middle for good measure. About halfway through reading the recipe, I noticed the “curd” called for whole eggs. Whole eggs? In a curd? That can’t be right! So now I start the frantic Googling.

Lo and behold, I find a great blog by this chick named Victoria who moved from Hollywood to NYC and took the dive into culinary school. She has already made the carrot curd, and lived to write about it. The bonus is that she made a few adjustments to the recipe, making it much easier to understand. Click here to see it.

Long story short, I followed her tips, made the carrot curd, and the macaron is delicious! End of story. (Okay, almost.) See, her version used powdered gelatin, where I used the sheet gelatin mentioned in the original recipe. It didn’t bloom properly. So my curd is a little runny. I’m sure it will be better in round 2.

Okay, that truly is the end of story. And if you haven’t checked out Victoria’s blog yet, this specific entry gives you a great idea for what to do with that giant batch of “almost perfect” carrot curd. I’m enjoying my cake right now.

I have a routine for reading Bon Appétit. I tear off the plastic wrapping and dive for the dessert spread in the back. There’s always a dessert spread in the back. So imagine my pleasant surprise to find this:

Chocolate orange…..wait for it…..macaroons?  Two o’s!?!!??!?!? For crying out loud, THE TITLE OF YOUR MAGAZINE IS IN FRENCH!! Ugh.

Now here’s my frustration. I read magazines like Bon Appétit for a few reasons. One of them is to be able to hold informed conversations with people who know more than I do about food.  And I expect that if a magazine is going to be educating the public about food, its writers and editors should should know a lot about food. More than most people. Certainly more than I do.

Thank you to The High-heeled Contessa for this illustration.

So I plead with you, Bon Appétit. Stop dumbing it down for the masses. Spread the joy of the macaron to the world! And leave the macaroons for another article.

On a side note, props to Oprah magazine for getting the spelling right, even if these might be the ugliest macarons I’ve ever seen.

Okay, here we go! In order of preference.

Raisin & cannelle – This translates literally to grape and cinnamon. It was my absolute favorite. The base of the filling is thick and creamy, like a white chocolate ganache, but without the flavor of white chocolate. It was strong and complex, with really nice floral undertones. Absolutely amazing.

Pistache – Again, absolutely delicious. The filling was intense and creamy. My guess is that they whipped a good amount of pistachio paste into butter and confectioners sugar. The pistachios are a very fine grind, but till noticeable. I love the texture.

Citron (Lemon) – Ahh, the tart & sour. This macaron is absolutely delicious, but I know they couldn’t have achieved that zing without the tart additive, and I’m torn here because that’s what makes it incredible. Lemon curd mixed into buttercream for the filling. Delightful.

Chocolat – Holy wonderful bittersweet ganache, Batman! This was a great lesson for me, because in the past when I’ve made chocolate ganache it’s been incredibly thick. Too thick. This ganache is like the filling of a very high quality truffle. What’s the difference between theirs and mine? 100% cacao? Glucose? Egg yolk? Technique? This one is going to drive me crazy.

Caramel à la fleur de sel (Salted caramel) - I’m torn here. I love the way I make my caramel macarons. I think the combination of caramel sauce and caramel buttercream is really nice. This macaron was filled with a thick layer of caramel that had a consistency right in between a sauce and a soft candy. It pulled just a tiny bit when you took a bite, but never dripped. Just enough burnt sugar flavor, just enough butter. Not enough salt for me, but that’s just a personal preference. I like some crunch in my salted caramel.

Noix de coco (Coconut) – The filling of this one is just like the inside of a Mounds bar. I’m thinking shredded coconut mixed with condensed milk and confectioners sugar. Soft and chewy.

Framboise (Raspberry) – The jam in this has a great texture. It is not so wet that it soaks through the macaron. It has a little bit of raspberry seed in it, which I like. It’s also a great balance between tart and sweet. If you’re going to fill a macaron with jam, this is definitely the way to do it.

Vanille – I know a lot of people who love this type of macaron, but I prefer a vanilla bean buttercream to ganache. (See my previous post from 5/22/11. I won’t rehash it.) However, this macaron had a very interesting floral undertone that I couldn’t quite figure out. Very interesting.

Pétale de rose (Rose petal) – My husband and I are in complete disagreement over this flavor. It was one of his top three. The scent of rose hit you before anything else. I liked it enough. On a technical note, this was the point where we noticed the distinct lack of sweetness across the board. I mean, there’s obviously a certain amount of sugar that has to be used to make a macaron, but none of the fillings were overly sweet. The essence of rose was definitely the star.

Cassis violette (Blackcurrant & violet) – I liked that the consistency of this was very thick, almost like the texture of fig paté. A bit tart for me, and I have to admit that I expected a more complex flavor from this combination. I just couldn’t identify the violet.

Fleur d’Oranger (Orange blossom) – This one smells amazing. I wish it tasted as amazing as it smells. You immediately get white chocolate from the ganache, then a little note of floral, but it’s just such a delicate flavor it gets lost in the ganache. I wish they had used buttercream.

Pomme verte (Green apple) – White chocolate ganache base, sour apple Jolly Rancher flavor. An incredible intensity that does not occur in nature. If I could have gotten past that fact I probably would have loved it, but I couldn’t and I didn’t.

Fraise mentholée (Strawberry mint) – Oh, my dear friends at Ladurée, there are so many varieties of mint out there. How did you manage to find the one that tastes the most like toothpaste? Is this spearmint extract mixed into strawberry jam? Yuck. I tossed the rest of it out the car window.

Café (Coffee) – I can’t believe this was my least favorite! If I took a cupcake from your average bargain grocery store, scraped off the grainy frosting and mixed in espresso powder, I’d have the filling for this macaron. It was the worst of the bunch. You too, little guy. Out the window you go.

Overall, here are my two lessons from the experience:

1) Pierre Hermé is the pastry chef who revolutionized the macaron while working at Ladurée. I have relied heavily on his cookbook for the past nine months, but after gaining more experience and my visit to Ladurée, I know there are bits of info that are missing. I’m at the point where I really need to understand the chemistry behind what I do. If anyone knows of a comprehensive online resource for this stuff, I’d love to know.

2) There’s an abundant use of artificial flavors in Ladurée’s macarons, particularly tart & sour flavor enhancer. In some of the macarons, it really gives them a spark they wouldn’t have otherwise. In others, it’s so obvious to me the flavor is artificial that I can’t appreciate it. Rhetorical, I suppose. I’ll let you be the judge.

As we’re walking up the street, I can see Ladurée from a block away. Why? Because it’s the only store with a line of people standing outside of it. 18 people, to be precise.

I figure this has to be a controlled operation. There must be a doorman letting new people in as the satiated clients exit, so that all may have a chance to waltz around the store, taking in the whimsical surroundings. Oh, wait, do you hear that? That was the sound of my bubble bursting. Not only is there no doorman to greet you, this line is simply the extension of the controlled chaos going on inside. When you open the door, you don’t get to take in the breadth of the store. You are greeted by a Disney-style queue that snakes its way around the boutique. The total line is about 50 deep.

Now I’ll admit, the wait isn’t all horrible. First you saunter past the jarred offerings, such as caramel au beurre sale (salted caramel sauce), tea, jams, and honey. The next bend of the queue takes you past some lovely perfumed candles and gives you a clear view of the famous French soap-style packaging. Finally, after a 45 minute wait, you arrive at the counter.

I’m sorry to say that for as long as it takes to get to this part, it goes much too quickly. There is no large menu with the flavors that you can view while standing in line. One chart rests on the counter and the decisions must be made quickly, for there are quite a few anxious patrons standing behind you. I, of course, asked for one of each flavor. When the sole purpose of your trip is to purchase macarons, you don’t skimp on the selection.

The kind woman behind the counter loaded up my box and handed me a ticket. I proceeded down the line to the register and paid for my treats. I won’t lie, it was nice to be sent on my way by a handsome French gentleman calling me “Madame,” but it was all a blur. I know there were chocolates and other offerings, but once it’s your turn, there’s really no time for indecision.

The drive from New York to Buffalo takes about seven hours. The macarons almost made it to Rochester. In my next post, we’ll go through each of the flavors and what made them magnificent, good enough, or so bad I actually threw them out the window.

The possibilities for vanilla bean filling came down to two prominent options: vanilla buttercream or vanilla ganache. I recently put the choice up on my Facebook page as a fan poll, and the winner was ganache. Determined to please my clients, I set off to the bakery and got to work.

Vanilla bean ganache

Vanilla macarons are my dream flavor to make. Without the adulteration of flavorings or food coloring, they turn out perfectly every time. The feet always rise evenly, the shells firm up in the perfect amount of time, and they never crack. I whipped up a batch of the shells in no time, and moved on to the filling.

The essence of a ganache: heat up your cream and vanilla bean, pour it over white chocolate, stir in butter. I took a nip and cringed. Much too sweet! I spread a layer across one of the shells and tried it in tandem. Worse! Vanilla ganache without another partner (pistachio paste, passion fruit purée, etc.) is boring. Too sweet and no complexity.

Macaron with vanilla bean ganache

Now I’ve made vanilla macarons a few times, but I’ve always made them with vanilla butter cream. A nice Italian meringue buttercream has a very similar consistency to fresh whipped cream, but lasts a lot longer. Scrape out some vanilla beans and mix them in, you have a perfect macaron filling that, in my opinion, makes the ultimate accompaniment to a glass of Vidal icewine.

Macaron with vanilla bean buttercream

I had to make a decision, and my gut told me to go with the buttercream. I’ve been told that I tend to be a “pleaser,” trying to always make others happy. In this case, I decided that, as the professional, it’s my job to tell my clients what they want, even if they think otherwise. I look for the same trait in other professionals I depend on every day. If I go to a restaurant and order a special that wasn’t a hit that night, I would hope my server would give me the evil eye. In the past, I’ve seen articles on chefs who refuse to allow substitutions to their menu, and for the first time ever, I understand why.

For those of you who picked the ganache, I apologize for not pleasing you. But I promise, you wouldn’t have liked it anyway.

Photo by Amy Doyle Photography

Let me be the first to tell you that the amount of work that goes into a farmers’ market is astronomical. When I first joined, I used to think to myself, “How hard can this be? You grow vegetables, show up, and sell them. Done.” Au contraire, mon frère. First, you have to work with the town or village to get permission to use public property. There are volunteers who schedule the music, volunteers who schedule community and children’s tents, a whole team of volunteers who organize parking, a volunteer who manages the vendor paperwork and scheduling, and one critical volunteer who manages to pull this whole crazy thing together.

Photo by Amy Doyle Photography

Notice how many times I used the word “volunteer?” That’s because I want to stress the fact that with the exception of the person who has to babysit the market for the entire day it’s open (because inevitably, problems do arise), none of these people are paid. Additionally, for the two months before the market begins, this is easily a 20-hour a week job. With meetings. Lots of them.

Photo by Amy Doyle Photography

The hard part is that volunteers burn out. Farmers’ markets can only survive if they can generate enough income to pay their volunteers, thereby making them employees. The market manager job can easily take up 40 hours of a week, and it’s incredibly demanding. Many markets that fail are markets that have high market manager turnover, which often accompanies markets that can’t pay their managers.

Photo by Amy Doyle Photography

So, how can you help make sure your market doesn’t die? Go buy something! Successful markets are markets that can pull in more vendors, and therefore increase their membership revenue. Visiting a farmers’ market is great, but if you don’t buy while you’re there, vendors don’t make money. And vendors who don’t make money don’t come back. (As an added bonus, you can learn a lot more about where your food comes from, and how it’s grown or raised. Fun stuff!)

I’ve shared some photos taken at the Williamsville Farmers’ Market by Amy Doyle. Check out her website, the chick has talent. Better yet, go to your local farmers’ market and see it all in person!

Gosh, why ever did I not choose the fondant-covered fruitcake? It must be an acquired taste. Besides, the biscuit cake is really easy to make.

It starts with a package of McVitie’s rich tea biscuits. Sadly, the royal brand is not available in my area, so I had to go with Lyons. I did my homework, and they’re close enough.

They really weren’t what I was expecting. They’re more like a sweet cracker than a cookie. I think I envisioned them tasting like Walker’s shortbread. They don’t, at all. But I can see how they’d be nice with tea.

Forging ahead, the first step of the recipe instructs you to crumble them into almond-sized pieces. I really didn’t need to bash the heck out of them in a freezer bag with a rolling pin. Next time, I’ll just crush them by hand. It made too many crumbs.

Part two of the recipe calls for melted chocolate to be mixed into creamed butter and sugar, and then for a raw egg to be stirred in. I know this is a no-bake recipe, so I’m a little uneasy about the raw egg. I envision the royal baker going out to the Queen’s hen house and pulling an organic, free-range egg from under the bottom of a beautiful, exotic hen. I pulled mine off the shelf at Wegmans. Next time I make this, I’ll find a better source for my egg. Moving right along, the biscuits get mixed into the chocolate…

…and then spread in a springform pan. It’s worth taking a little extra time to really push the mixture into the bottom of the pan, because this becomes the top of your cake.

The cake must now sit in the refrigerator for 3 hours. About 2 hours into chilling, I mixed up a thin chocolate ganache and let it chill. Once the cake has firmed up, the ganache can be poured over the cake .

I couldn’t wait to see what this looked like inside!

And eat it. Not quite as pretty as the Prince’s cake, but I’ll have to keep working on it.

For those who aren’t familiar with Ladurée, it is often referred to as the “House of the Macaron.” The store was founded in 1862 and is the birthplace of the macaron as we know it today. Pierre Hermé came into his own while working with Ladurée and later opened his own shops. I feel like I should go into a full history on Parisian pâtisseries, but I digress. (No offense, Fauchon.)

The macarons from Laduree are beautiful. I notice that their fillings are very specific. They opt for ganache most of the time, and also a filling that reminds me of a grainy frosting. I have to admit, I don’t love the texture of the pistachio and lemon fillings that I tried, but the flavors are bombastic. You absolutely cannot miss the zing of lemon or the nuttiness of the pistachio.

At this point, you’re probably thinking, “Right. Big deal. They’re the oldest macaron house in the world, of course the flavors are spot-on by now.” But here’s my big “aha!” moment. I pick up the Chocolat Passion macaron with its little chocolate flecks on top, and they don’t rub off on my fingers! I gasp. I’ve stumbled across a technique that’s new to me, and so smart it kills me that I didn’t think of it first! (Right, I wasn’t alive in 1862. But still….)

Every time I’ve made a macaron that involves chocolate, I dust the top with cocoa powder. I love the speckled look it lends to a macaron, but it frustrates me to no end because even though I sprinkle it on while the macarons are still wet, it always smudges. In fact, I made an order of “thin mint” macarons for a client this week, and each time I boxed a pair, I noticed the cocoa powder getting all over my little clear boxes. I hate mess. It drives me nuts.

The Ladurée macarons, on the other hand, have clearly been sprinkled with extra-fine chocolate shavings. When the macarons bake, these itty bitty specks of chocolate melt right into the shell of the macaron. And when they cool? Voilà! Macarons with chocolate specks that don’t smudge!

The gift of macarons hot off the plane from Paris would have been enough for me, but the gift of a new technique truly is the icing on the cake. (Or the chocolate on the macaron.) I can’t wait to try it out this weekend!!

I give the bride a lot of credit for researching the symbolism of the flowers she chose for the decorations. For example, the cake will feature acorns, which could be made of fondant or sugar, and pay homage to their new Coat of Arms.

I love trying to imagine what the cake will look like. Will it look like this elaborate design from Kuwait?

Source: http://www.funzug.com/index.php/miscellaneous/royal-wedding-cakes-for-you.html

Will it be a floral-laden beauty like this Sylvia Weinstock cake?

Source: http://weddingcakeideas.spruz.com/pt/Sylvia-Weinstock-Cakes-Gallery/blog.html

Or will it be a more modern version of luxury, like this Ron Ben-Israel design?

Source: http://www.instyle.com/instyle/package/general/photos/0,,20351917_20349462_20751981,00.html.

Only nine days until we find out! (Personally, I’m hoping it’s covered in macarons, but my sources say that’s highly unlikely.)

Now traditionally, whoopie pies are not bite-sized. They’re a big fat gob of a dessert – dense mounds of cake filled with a creamy frosting. According to Wikipedia, the jury is still out as to whether they originated in Maine or Pennsylvania Dutch country. I like to think they originated in Maine, like Moose Munch, and lobster rolls. As for the name, the story goes that Amish women would bake these desserts and put them in farmers’ lunchboxes. When farmers would find the treats in their lunch, they would shout “Whoopie!” (I got this story from the Wikipedia article. They got it from the NY Times. College is over, I’m done with MLA.)

So I like this concept, that my dessert will make me yell “Whoopie!” And I also like that if I make them small enough, they look like my macarons. Just naughtier. Because my macarons are made of egg whites, sugar, and almond flour. These puppies have Crisco in ‘em.

It’s a common misconception that the filling of a whoopie pie contains marshmallow fluff. I fell for that misconception and bought a whole container. After researching the traditional recipe and reading the vehement cries of whoopie pie purists who insist the marshmallow is reserved for the moon pie instead, I am now stuck taking fluffernutters to work for the next month. Why the tub sized container? Because fluff doesn’t come in a pint-sized jar. Tricksters.

Anyway, there are a million recipes online for this little guy. I’m still trying to figure out which combination of features is my favorite. Google them, pick the one that looks best to you, and give it a try. I’m looking forward to perfecting my whoopie pie recipes by summer, so I can pair them with macarons in a picnic pack. Which will you choose? With a few light, airy macarons next to the dense and delicious whoopie pies, it just depends if you’re feeling like an angel or a devil.