Je m'appelle Erika et je suis une fatty

So after a visit at Versailles, ma prof pointed out one of the best places to buy des macarons in the old town part of the once muddy wasteland Louis XIV decided to call/create? home.

AND dear America, let me tell you, unless you have been to Paris/France to experience this exquisite thing le macaroon It's something like NO OTHER. Somehow the idea that a piece of food can go from zero to hero (holler hercules) simply by means of its texture is a small fact that I feel gets left by the wayside in America...but is WORSHIPPED here. A fresh macaron is really an orgasm for the mouth, no not the tastes, the MOUTH-- it's like you're biting into a cloud, its about breaking that delicately crispy exterior that seems to dissolve just as you reach to the soft cross between of a cake and cookie beneath to find the perfectly rich moist cream at the center (people with "moist" phobia, GET OVER IT NOW, first of all, its overplayed, WE GET IT, also, is it really that bad if you're not thinking about.....other things...... well now you're thinking about it if you weren't before, go me!). BUT YES, needless to say, its pretty much a religious experience (akin to speaking in tongues or getting baptized...? ok no good examples, KILL ME). So as my snack I ate two of these Sacajawea Dollar sized petit gateaux as I walked. It was difficult to walk.

And of course, upon returning home, I was greeted by a dinner followed by two desserts. Du Vin chaud - a dish of wine boiled with honey, fruit,to which ice cream and biscuits are added. and chocolate mousse.

Dear america, I am a fatty.

amicalement,

erika