As I was driving home from the grocery store just now, I did something that I may not have done if Andrew — or frankly anyone for that matter — had been with me.
I heard the beginnings of In The Air Tonight over the radio… and I turned the volume UP.
Oh yeah. I cranked it.
Phil Collins has long been my guilty pleasure. At the right moments, when left to my own devices, when struck by the right mood, I will turn it up. Tonight was just such a night.
I mean… it’s my first night at home after being away for 22 days or whatever it was… but I’m home alone… and a huge storm is looming, and the first drops were beginning to fall. I could see people in parking lots rushing for their cars, the wind picking up, and cyclists pedalling faster, faster.
Come on, this song is just right for such a situation. COME ON.
I have another guilty pleasure… and I had begun fantasizing about it long before I ever arrived at the airport in Paris. Frankly, I’d known exactly what I’d do alone at Charles de Gaulle for months now. Ever since Andrew booked my flight home alone, and I saw my flight itinerary.
“Wait. I’ll have four hours by myself in Paris?”
“I see.” I paused, steepling my fingers. “Excellent.”
This was the image dancing in my head:
Yeah. French macrons.
Last time I was in Paris, when I was actually out and about walking on the streets, I saw macrons in a shop window, darted in, bought a box of 9… and proceeded to eat them ALL as I walked to join the rest of my traveling companions. My only goal? To consume every single one of them before I reached my friends. Because I did not want to share. I handily accomplished my mission, and was extremely proud of myself to boot.
And thus, my own little Paris tradition was born: greedily stuffing my face with macrons.
I’ll be honest. I didn’t spend all of those four hours eating macrons. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely wanted to… I planned to… but fate had other plans.
For whatever reason, I spent three and a half hours standing in a variety of long, slow-moving lines.
But that’s okay! Because when I finally emerged from these cumbersome queues, I free to spend my last precious half hour in Paris with seven carefully chosen macrons from a beautiful shop I chanced upon as I hurried to my gate.
It was meant to be.
I had just spent three weeks with Andrew, watching as he carefully rated various new beers of the world. Clearly he had influenced me… because I found myself making notes as I devoured each carefully chosen macron. Here are notes from my journal:
Marie Antoinette It’s Smurf-blue with… caramel (?) coloured filling. It was okay.
Vanilla Delicious!!! Like a cake.
Earl Grey Different! Love it! Like the tea!
Salted Caramel Ooh, the caramel was thick and high-quality. YUM.
Orange Blossom I forgot what kind this was… until I bit into it. LOVE IT! So delicate floral and citrus together. It’s so good, it gave me pause in the midst of stuffing my face.
Rose Classic rose, very delicate, I’d like the rose essence to be stronger. Still, I loved it. Love how the rose taste lingers!
My favourites in order: Orange Blossom, Pistachio, Vanilla, Earl Grey, Rose, Salted Caramel, Marie Antoinette.
Conclusion: From now on, I’m going to try to make orange blossom everything. I have fallen in love.